The Treasured One

Andar smiled. ‘It’s just a symptom of a fairly common disease, Danal. It’s called “youth”. They’ll all get over it - eventually.’

‘You’re a cynic, Andar.’

‘I know. It’s quite possible that’s a symptom of still another disease, the one that’s called “old”. Unfortunately, people don’t get over that one.’

It was early that afternoon when the buckskin-clad archer Longbow led a sizeable party of native bowmen down the slope to join Narasan’s force in the breast-works, and that quite obviously brightened Commander Narasan’s day. Despite the training Longbow’s friend Red-Beard had given the amateur Trogite archers, they were still fairly inept. From what Andar had heard, the native bowmen were much more skilled.

‘Have those church armies finished building that bridge yet?’ Narasan asked the tall archer.

‘They’re fairly close, I think,’ Longbow replied. ‘Sorgan’s finished his trenches and barricades, so we’re ready for those church armies. I think you should probably follow that plan you came up with earlier, though. We can’t be completely sure how long it’s going to take the church armies to get through Sorgan’s defenses, so you’d probably better continue to delay the creatures of the Wasteland until we’re more certain just exactly when our friends - who don’t know that they’re our friends - are going to reach Gunda’s wall.’

‘We’re in a position to be fairly flexible here, Commander,’ Andar said. ‘We can continue to hold each breast-work for two days, if it’s absolutely necessary, but if it starts to look like the church armies are going to arrive early, we can skip over a couple of our defense lines to make our time match theirs.’

‘You could be right there, Andar,’ Narasan agreed.

‘Our army and theirs need to be closely coordinated,’ Andar added, ‘but, since their people are a little distracted right now, we can take care of the coordination for them, and they’ll be able to concentrate on how they’re going to spend all that gold they’ll have in their purses before very much longer.’

‘I like the way this man thinks,’ Longbow said with a broad smile.

‘So do I, now that you mention it,’ Nasrasan agreed, giving Andar a speculative sort of look.

At sunrise - as always - the voice of the Vlagh roared its command, and the lumbering, awkward new breed of bug-warriors came mindlessly shambling across the open spaces lying between the several now-abandoned breast-works. The amateur Trogite archers held back, but the far more skilled native bowmen unleashed their arrows with a stunning accuracy, and the plodding, mindless attack faltered as the clumsy bug-men were suddenly obliged to clamber over heaps of their dead companions.

‘That’s pure idiocy!’ Andar declared in disgust.

‘Actually, it’s about ten steps below idiocy, my friend,’ Danal corrected. ‘In the world of bugs, an idiot would be a genius.’

‘Here come the turtles!’ a soldier standing on top of the breastworks shouted.

‘That’s odd,’ Danal noted. ‘We didn’t bother with those poisoned stakes this time, and I was fairly sure that the main job of the spidery turtles involved breaking off the stakes.’

‘Not entirely, Danal,’ Andar disagreed. ‘Their shells also protect them from arrows. It’s quite possible that the Vlagh might have graduated from idiot to imbecile. Go tell the catapult crews to get ready. I’d say that it’s just about time to reintroduce the servants of the Vlagh to the wonderful world of fire.’

‘If that’s how y’ want ‘er, Cap’n, that’s how we’ll do ‘er,’ Danal replied.

‘I think you’ve been spending far too much time with Padan here lately, old friend,’ Andar observed.

A bank of clouds had built up along the western horizon that day, and the sunset was glorious. The Land of Dhrall had many faults, Andar felt, but the beauty of the place was almost heart-stopping. Civilization was all right, perhaps, but it fouled the air to the point that sometimes it was nearly impossible to see across the street.

The sun was still painting the sky a glorious red when the earnest young Keselo came down to the breast-works. ‘Good evening, Sub-Commander,’ he greeted Andar rather formally. ‘Commander Narasan suggested that you might want to consider pulling back to the seventh breast-works tonight.’

‘Suggested?’ Andar asked.

‘Well . . .’ Keselo replied, ‘actually he was issuing a command, but commands aren’t really very polite, so I almost always modify them a bit before I pass them on.’

‘This young fellow’s the only man I know who apologizes to an enemy before he kills him,’ Danal said, laughing.

‘I do not, Brigadier Danal,’ Keselo protested. ‘I just try to be polite, that’s all.’

‘What’s the polite way to kill somebody?’

‘You’re supposed to tip your hat first, Brigadier,’ Keselo replied with no hint of a smile.

‘I think he just got you, Danal,’ Andar noted. Then he looked at Keselo again. ‘I want a straight answer here, Keselo,’ he said. ‘Things might start getting a bit complicated from here on. Do you think Omago’s men are ready to respond - even if they don’t know exactly what’s going on?’

‘Omago himself will know exactly what to do,’ Keselo replied, ‘and his men have learned to respond to his commands without so much as blinking an eye.’

‘That takes them even beyond professional soldiers,’ Danal declared. ‘How did he manage that?’

‘The farmers all believe - with a certain amount of accuracy - that Omago speaks for Veltan.’

‘And they’re afraid of Veltan?’

‘Not one bit,’ Keselo replied firmly. ‘The only ones who fear Veltan are our enemies.’ He paused. ‘Oh, before I forget, Sub-Commander,’ he said to Andar, ‘I’m told that there will be fog again, just like there was the last several times your men have pulled back. That’s Lady Zelana’s contribution during this current unpleasantness.’

‘Maybe you should ask her not to waste it,’ Danal said with a slight frown. ‘I’m not exactly sure how she manages to fog things over every time we pull back, but if her supply of fog happens to run dry when we decide to run away, the bug-people or the church soldiers might realize what we’re doing, and that could cause some serious problems.’