One more thing, Captain Aren stopped in his tracks, clenched his teeth, and turned once more. Yes, sire.

I hear you found something of a treasure, said General Karpasic, his face splitting into a knowing grin.

Halik, Aren thought. He must have been bragging about it to the general staff. Hardly a treasure, sire. Just an old sword buried in the ruins.

Nevertheless, I think it would do nicely as a symbol. The general grinned back at him, and leaned over the left side of his chair, causing the merchants on that side to groan under the added weight. The general reached across himself, his right arm and hand extended toward the captain. It will show the people of Midras that their power is now our power. I shall bear it down the street so everyone may see the tribute they have given to the Obsidian Empire.

Aren drew in a breath, hesitating.

The sword, Captain, General Karpasic insisted, the fingers of his right hand urging Arens compliance. For the greater good.

Aren permitted himself a slight sigh and then reached for the hilt of the sword. It slid out of the scabbard with a bright ringing sound.

Arens eyes were drawn to the merchants supporting the litter. There were eight of them on either side, each of them doing their best to support the weight of the general, his armor, and his opulent chair. It was for Aren as though he had seen them for the first time even though he recalled choosing them himself only the evening before. All of them were men from the citys major trade houses, but now he remembered each of them in turn. The tall one in the front with the long, clean-shaven face but eyes that still burned with defiance. He was a textile merchant who had also been a member of the priestesss closest circle of advisers. His lower lip trembled with humiliation, his eyes were fixed forward, but his back was straight and unbowed. Behind him was a shorter man, soft and in poor health. He, too, came from a long-established family of Midras, although, Aren recalled, it was his wife who actually owned the cooperage. Aren, in his haste to organize the procession, had ordered the woman to be one of the litter bearers, but her husband"who by all appearances had never done a days work in his life"had insisted he take her place and spare her the shame of it. Already the shorter mans arms were shaking from the burden but a satisfied smile played about his lips, welling up from some secret thought of his own.

In just a few days we have taken from these people what it took them a lifetime to build, Aren thought. And still they stand, unbending before us.

Captain Bennis! the general insisted.

Aren shook himself from his reverie and offered the weapon hilt first to the general.

A smug and victorious grin spread across the broad face of the general as his eyes took in the vision of the sword. He reached down again from atop the litter, causing even greater groans to come from the merchants. His broad hand wrapped around the grip. Aren took a step back.

The general lifted the blade up in front of him, eyeing the weapon with open avarice.

Then, in an instant, the generals face transformed into a look of abject terror. Karpasic stood suddenly on the platform of the litter, suspended between the two long poles. The merchants staggered under the suddenly shifting weight, struggling to keep their feet under them.

General Karpasic shook visibly as he gaped about him, his face a reflection of horror. He gripped the sword so tightly, the blood appeared to have drained from his fingers. His mouth opened and closed as though he were a fish suddenly pulled from the stream. Sounds and words began to form, low at first, but soon rising in fear. No You cant You cant look at me that way! I order you to stop looking at me that way! Im in command! Im the one you have to respect! You think Im weak. You think you can take my place and no one would care one way or the other. Because Because Karpasic realized he was still holding the sword. His eyes shot to look at it as though he were holding his own death in his hand.

General Karpasic flung the sword away from him and fell back into the chair. The merchants again struggled to steady the weight on their shoulders as the sword tumbled through the air and fell with a dull thud into the mud of the road.

For a moment the only sound was the patter of the rain.

Aren quickly stepped over to where the sword lay, s.n.a.t.c.hing it out of the mud.

You did this! the general screamed.

Aren turned toward the sound.

The general lay slouched back in his chair, his breastplate rising and falling rapidly with his quick breaths. His thick finger pointed back at Aren in accusation.

You You deliberately set out to embarra.s.s me! Karpasic snarled. Ive known it all along. Youve been jealous of me and my position from the very start! Well, it will do you no good, Captain Bennis, and I dont care how many friends you have among the Obsidian sorcerers. No doubt they helped to conjure up this cursed sword as some sort of vicious joke, but no one is laughing, Captain Bennis!

Sire! Aren protested. I swear to you I didnt"

I wont hear it! The general was in a full rage now. Youre a fine enough officer, but you need to learn your place. You are my subordinate in every way, and until you learn that, you are relieved of your combat command. Go back to the encampment and take charge of the supply caravans. Maybe if you follow my army long enough, Captain, I may let you lead some of it again.

Aren drew in a deep, calming breath before he responded. As you will, sire.

Yes, as I will, the general hissed.

It was a long walk back to the encampment from the city gates. Aren heard the drums of the March of Triumph diminishing behind him, but with every step, he grew firm in his resolve as to what he must do. Each footfall brought with it the faces of the merchants, the faces of the crowds dragged forth to give their heartless cheers, the faces of his own warriors far from their homes and struggling to find purpose in being there, and the face of the woman who led them into the ruins and to this strange and wondrous blade. And he saw the faces of the dead"especially the dead who had given their lives in exchange for what? General Karpasics parade?

Aren held his rage until he pushed through the folds of his tent. He had barely stepped inside before he turned and threw his helmet with such force, its spikes embedded themselves into the side of his wooden war chest. At once, he threw wide both arms, his fists clenched and shaking in the air as he threw his head back and roared against the world at large.

Aren closed his eyes and struggled to control his breathing. It took him a few minutes, but still, he knew what he had to do. It was essential he be calm. When at last he was ready, he opened his eyes and began to whistle.

A shadow shifted behind the cot.

Well, Monk, Aren said evenly. I have a little job for you.

The emberlike eyes peered back at him from behind the cot.

Aren whistled again, holding his left arm in front of him. The homunculus flapped its leathery wings and settled obediently on the captains arm near his wrist. It faced the captain with its pointed ears swiveled forward in antic.i.p.ation.

Personal message to Obsidian Evard Dirae, said Aren, gazing into the eyes of the homunculus. Our old friend, General Karpasic, has relieved me of my command duties over the army and has decided to relegate me to the supply wagons at the end of the column. This after insisting on holding a March of Triumph celebrating his own immense self in a city that is not yet secure and, I believe, at the expense of our promptly following the orders conveyed to us from the Obsidian Brotherhood. All this was brought about because of a relic sword I discovered in the ruins of"

The homunculus suddenly started screeching and beating its wings. Aren stopped speaking, and the creature calmed down almost at once.

d.a.m.n, Id forgotten how limited these things are. The captain sighed. He cleared his throat, determined to try again. Personal message to Obsidian Evard Dirae. General Karpasic relieved me of combat command and is living up to our worst expectations. I am now in charge of supply caravans. This army would benefit from your guidance in person.

Aren paused for a moment. The message had conveyed everything he meant to say, but he felt there was enough room in the tiny brain of the homunculus to add a little more.

Recovered an ancient blade from the ruins here"possibly Avatar in origin. Come soon.

As soon as Aren stopped speaking, the claws of the homunculuss feet began anxiously kneading the captains forearm. Aren stepped outside the tent, and the small creature instantly spread its wings, pulling itself swiftly into the sky. Aren watched it for a minute as it disappeared to the east, then turned back into his tent to pack up his things.

CHAPTER.

5.

Dark Horizon The last to leave Midras were the caravans and their escort warriors under Arens command. The column of heavy wagons laden with food, equipment, tents, and all else needed to support the army wound northwest across the plains, the road running close beside the meandering course of the Shimano River. Before them always was the dust cloud raised by the bulk of General Karpasics army with which they struggled to keep up. The dust would have been unbearably choking during the dry season, but the recent rains had dampened the ground before them and granted something of a reprieve to the teamsters at the end of the column. Behind them, the towering column of smoke from the still burning Midras continued to remind them of where they had been and what they had done.

Aren, astride his horse, found himself looking back often.

Of course, not everyone under Karpasics command was leaving Midras. Nearly one out of five of their warriors had been left behind to garrison the city. The Guardians of the priestess had proven to be both resourceful and tenacious. While General Karpasic had declared Midras pacified, no one among the armys command staff, including the general, was so foolish as to believe it to be true. The city itself had been built upon the ruins of the previous city, and its roots were honeycombed with pa.s.sages, chambers, and tunnels in which rebellion could fester and flourish. While they had dispatched many of the Guardians, there was no way of knowing for certain whether all them were dead.

And it was not just a question of keeping the priestess from retaking her own city. Weakening the defenses of Midras sufficiently enough so it could be taken by the Obsidian Army meant it was now ripe fruit to be picked by others as well. Midras had been the greatest city-state in the Midmaer region, far too strong to be challenged by any of the petty clans and kingdoms scattered across the plains. But now, having proven itself weak, it was subject to any number of jackals wishing to prey upon its carca.s.s. Even Ardoris, the next great city-state to the southeast, might rouse itself for such a prize as Midras, its people emerging from where they cowered on the Perennial Coast. It would surprise no one if they were marching even now across the Brightbone Mountains and north along the upper Shimano River on the chance of liberating the city and nearly doubling their own landholdings in the process.

Aren reminded himself that far more than a quarter of the army was left behind. The siege of Midras had proven to be a difficult and more costly a task than Aren or any of his fellow commanders had thought. Nearly two in ten of his comrades in arms had bled their last drop of blood among the walls of Midras, and an equal number again were too wounded to continue traveling with the campaign.

Aren shook his head vigorously, trying to throw the thoughts away from him as a wet dog might throw water off its back.

The river twisted around the low set of gra.s.sy hills, turning slightly to the north. Trees lined the riverbank to his left, their leaves whispering with the wind along the river. The wagons had crowded into a single file as the road narrowed. Aren saw the trampled and shredded remnants of what had been tall gra.s.s that had swept down the embankment to the rivers edge, and here and there a bright petal from the wildflowers that mustve grown here before the army trampled them under its feet. Aren smiled slightly. It might have been a beautiful spot, he thought.

And, he realized, it would be again. Once the might and glory of their warriors had pa.s.sed, once the drums had all been beaten and the sound of the trumpets had pa.s.sed beyond the hills and memory, the gra.s.s would return. The flowers would take root again once the resolve of men had pa.s.sed over them and would be gone and forgotten.

Aren smiled warmly at the thought. There was a triumph in patience that no temporary application of force could conquer.

And Aren was a patient man.

He was pulled from his reveries by unusual movement farther on in the column ahead of him. A rider was coming back down along the side of the road. Aren recognized the figure at once.

Well, this is a good day, he said, chuckling to himself.

Syenna reined in her horse as she approached, swinging around to ride beside him. She waited for the captain to address her first, but all he did was whistle happily to himself. They both continued in this way for some time before Syenna decided she could speak.

What is that tune youre whistling? Syenna asked casually.

Oh, just something I picked up in Grunvald, Aren replied. You know, sometimes a tune just stays with you. You never know when it will come to cheer you up.

And you need cheering up?

Hardly! Aren grinned.

Well, you are looking rather sad to me, she said, and chortled, examining him with a critical look. I dont believe that a single piece of the armor youre wearing"what little there is of it"came from the same armor. And where did you get that lobster-tail helmet?

Do you like it? The captain turned to look at her, a smug grin on his face. Picked this up during the Drachvald campaign near Rhun. We had even captured the armorer who made it, so he put it back into pretty good shape, I think.

Its hardly regulation for the Army of Obsidian Triumph, Syenna said with a raised eyebrow.

Have you ever tried to wear one of those steam kettles while riding over a long stretch of road? Aren shook his head. They are beautiful, awe-inspiring statements of authority that chafe terribly after the first half hour on horseback. Their princ.i.p.al function on the road, so far as I can tell, is to draw about five pounds of sweat from its occupant and boil him in it at the same time. Dont get me wrong; I cherish my Armor of the Night So much so, I have it safely packed on that wagon over there so it will remain sufficiently clean and odor free for when I need it next.

And are you expecting this look to get you back in Karpasics good graces? Syenna said with a barbed smile.

My attire today is practical, functional, reasonable, and logical. Aren bowed slightly from the back of his horse. None of those qualities either impress or apply to General Karpasic, as you well know.

You shouldnt say things like that. Syenna looked away with a frown. Someone who doesnt understand you the way I do might hear you.

Captain! Here, Captain! The shout came from the caravan just ahead of them. Aren spied a familiar wagon among them.

Ah, my command skills are required. Aren urged his horse forward even as he beckoned Syenna to follow him. Come on!

They both drew up alongside the drivers bench of an enormous supply wagon.

Jester! Aren called out. How are we doing?

How are we doing? The man gripping the reins at the front of the large wagon scowled back at him. He was an enormous, broad-shouldered teamster who looked as though he might have loaded every wagon in the caravan himself. His wide, red face was framed in a bushy white beard that extended up over his ears and around his bald head. His name itself was something of a joke, as there was nothing jocular about the man. When he wasnt ranting of the other teamsters in the caravan, he was bemoaning the perpetually impending doom he believed with fanatic devotion was his unbending destiny. How might we be doing on such a terrible day as this? Ive had no word from my home since we crossed the Grunvald, and me leaving the wife with the grumble-wombles and all. Them healers in the Drachvald could manage it well enough, Im thinking, but them Obsidians insist on doing the healing themselves. Even in service of the army, I cant be affordn no healing from an Obsidian.

Grumble-wombles? Syenna asked.

A mysterious malady that, I understand, is only suffered by Master Jesters wife, Aren answered with a nod, and then turned back to the teamster. What do you need, Jester?

Its that Murdoch! Hes driving that team of his too close behind me, Jester fumed, his face turning a deeper red as he spoke. Every time I look back, I see the face of his oxen nigh onto brushing my tailgate, and his stupid face big as a pie staring back at me. As though I could be in the way!

Well, Master Teamster, if you just didnt turn around to look"

If a wolf or a bear, or dragon maybe, were to jump out in front of my team, and Id have to stop all sudden like"the teamsters words were rolling now and had momentum"then Murdochs oxen would come crashing into the back of my wagon and maybe jar those wheels right off!

I see your point but"

And it wouldnt do them oxen any good either!

Arens hand unconsciously touched the hilt of his sword.

Syenna gave a short laugh.

Aren drew in a deep breath, withdrew his hand from the swords hilt, and held it up in an attempt to stop the avalanche of Jesters complaints. Jester, youre absolutely right. Its shameful the disrespect he is showing you. Im going to put an end to this right now.

Aren wheeled his horse around and, with a short gallop, came face-to-face with the puzzled Murdoch, leaving Syenna with Jester.

Hes a right man, that captain, Jester said.

As right as you can be in this army, observed Syenna.

Now theres a man who could protect a woman. Jester grinned a gap-toothed smile at the army scout. Keep her sheltered from the troubles of the world and make sure shes fed and warm.

Keep her? Syennas eyes narrowed as she looked sideways at Jester. You mean like a dog?

Well, a maiden needs protecting You do realize I regularly kill men bigger than you, Syenna said, an icy edge to her tone.

All Im saying is, hed be a right good c-catch for anyone, the teamster stammered.

Well, if you like, I can let him know youre interested, Syenna said as she raised both eyebrows.

The teamsters mouth opened, but no words came out.

Behind them, Murdoch pulled his reins, and the oxen dragged his wagon out of line with the caravan, opening a large s.p.a.ce behind Jesters wagon. Aren trotted his horse forward and rejoined Syenna next to Jester. Ive taken care of it for you, Jester. He wont be bothering you again for a while.

My thanks to you, Captain, Jester said with a nod. For all the good it will do you or any of us. Each turn of these wheels is taking us toward that dark horizon. Its always takes me farther from home, but it never seems to get no closer.

Aren gave a short bow and a quick salute to the teamster and then urged his horse away from the column. Syenna followed him on her own horse, riding side by side for a time in silence.

So this is your new command, Syenna said at last. It doesnt make much sense.