It took them the better part of two months to get to the front, mostly because they kept running into troops of Amalites. None of their scouts had reported activity so far in, so they'd had no idea how close the country was to being entirely overrun by the Amalites.
Persius was appalled. They had told him it was bad on the front, but they hadn't said a damn thing about the bastards being spread throughout the countryside. By the time they got to the front they had killed over a thousand Amalites, and had lost over one hundred of their own men. Tarius had replaced them with men from the villages they passed through, taking men who wanted to fight and were big enough and strong enough to handle themselves in battle. Tarius assigned one of the newcomers to one of the better swordsmen in the company to train. He outfitted them with the armor and weapons of the men they were replacing. At first there had been a great outcry from the men. It was customary to bury these things with the fallen soldier.
Persius himself had called Tarius to one side when he had first tried to implement this practice and explained the tradition to him.
"Sire, with all due respect, the Amalites are over-running your country," Tarius said. "My own sword was built by the hand of my dead father. In its handle is a finger which once graced my very hand. Yet should I fall in battle, I would not want my blade to be retired with me. Dead men can't swing steel, and they have no need for armor. Surely my brothers who have fallen would have felt the same way as I do. We are in danger of losing to the Amalites, in which case the whole world will likely be wiped out by them. Let us not let silly customs stop us from wining this war."
Persius then gave the exact same speech, using his own sword—also left to him by his father—as an example. From then on, the men had no problem stripping a dead comrade of his armor and giving it to the first willing man who could wear it.
They handed the spoils gleaned from the Amalites they killed out to the villages they encountered, thus arming still more men. Tarius gave each village a quick lesson in how to use a sword, how to use a club, how to use an ax, how to use a staff. She gave them instructions on how to keep watches, and what to watch for. Then they went on till they came to the next village. It slowed them down, but not too much, and meant that they left an armed and battle-ready countryside behind them and none of the enemy at their backs. Since it was Tarius's own way to come in from behind her opponent as well as in front, she expected the Amalites to try to do the same and she didn't want to find herself walled between two groups of Amalites with no way to retreat.
Persius noticed that the attacks came closer together with every day that they got closer to the front. More and more the attacks were not launched against hapless villages, but were aimed against the king and his entourage. No doubt word had gotten back to the Amalites that the King of Jethrik himself was coming to join the battle with over a thousand well-trained men.
Nothing could have prepared Persius for the actuality of the front. The heavy spring rains had turned everything to mud, and then a long dry spell had baked it dry. Where his men were camped and all across no-man's land, not a blade of grass stood. Even the trees seemed to be in distress. Trenches in the open served as latrines, and the flies and the stench were unbearable. Far in the distance he could see the smoke from the Amalites' campfires.
He got out of his carriage against the advice of council and immediately stepped in a big pile of horseshit. He shook it off his boot and walked up to meet Tarius. All around him the men who had been holding the king's ground set up a great roar, applauding his arrival and bowing to his presence. Persius nodded and waved as he walked up to Tarius who dismounted as he approached.
The stench of death wafted up towards them, and even Tarius was unable to conceal his disgust.
"Well, Sir Tarius, you have not steered me wrong yet. What by the gods do we do now?" Persius asked in a whispered panic.
Tarius looked around surveying all at once the condition of the camp, the condition of the men, and their strategic location to the enemy. He took in a deep breath and shrugged.
"The men are tired and weak from hunger and disease. We are completely in the open here without any cover. The smell is hideous, and in itself would kill morale. I say we wait for cover of darkness and retreat."
"Retreat!" Persius screamed. "Are you mad! To give up more land to . . ."
"Hear me out. We won't go far—just up to where we can't be seen—back into the woods where it is cleaner. We dig proper latrines and put a good meal in these men's bellies. Then before light we snuff out all our fires. When the Amalites awake in the morning, it will look like we have run off, but we'll be on horseback waiting for them. They will send in scouts of course, and we will quietly kill them and wait. Soon they will believe they have us on the run and come after us with every available man. We will meet them there in the woods with everything we have," Tarius said. "By nightfall we will be able to make camp where they are now."
Persius nodded with a smile. After a moment's thought, he nodded again and patted Tarius on the shoulder. Then he climbed up on top of his wagon, called the troops near and told them of the plan. The men cheered, delighted with such a bright leader.
"Do you ever tire of him taking credit for your ideas?" Harris asked in a whisper.
Tarius smiled. "Not at all. If the plan fails miserably they'll only have one person to blame."
* * *
As soon as it was dark they started the task of moving camp. Tarius delegated authority, gave a bunch of orders, and got everyone moving. In the resulting turmoil, she and Tragon disappeared into the night.
"Do you want to tell me what we are doing?" Tragon asked riding up behind Tarius. When Tarius turned to face him, she was the Katabull, and Tragon almost fell off his horse. "Damn it, Tarius! You scared all hell out of me."
"We go to the enemy's camp. I will make a diversion." She smiled at him then, her long canines shining in the moonlight.
Tragon had forgotten how different she looked and sounded in this state.
"Yeah, I'll just bet you will," Tragon half mumbled. "So, what the hell am I here for?"
"Someone has to watch the horses," Tarius said.
"Why aren't the horses afraid of you? I'm afraid of you, and I'm not a stupid animal," Tragon said.
"Animals aren't stupid; they're simple. They have instincts that you humans have lost. I am the Katabull, as such I am more of their world than I am of yours. They know instinctively that I mean them no harm." She smiled again, and it made the hair rise on the back of Tragon's head. "Believe me, whatever I'm hunting gets plenty scared."
"So, where do I wait with the horses?" Tragon asked. "Because, quite frankly, I think this would be as good a place as any. Right here away from all those big, hairy-assed Amalites."
"Come on," Tarius ordered, and Tragon followed reluctantly. The closer they got to the Amalite camp the more it stank, and the more apparent it became that they weren't in much better shape than the Jethrik camp had been. Death, shit and decay. They were way too close for Tragon's comfort when Tarius finally stopped and dismounted. Tragon followed suit, and Tarius handed him the reins to her horse.
"What are you going to do?" Tragon asked.
She smiled—a look that literally turned Tragon's stomach. "Like I said. Create a diversion."
"A diversion from what?" Tragon asked in a whisper.
"From the fact that we are moving our entire encampment," Tarius hissed. She put the hood on her cloak up and walked towards the camp as if she belonged there. She was almost on the camp when a man keeping guard approached and stopped her spitting out a guttural sentence that no doubt asked her to give her name rank and purpose.
Tarius looked up at him and smiled. He almost had a chance to scream before she grabbed him by the hair of his head and dragged a dagger across his throat. She moved the rest of the way into camp unmolested, not really too big a surprise considering that the cloak she was wearing had been stripped from a dead Amalite. She walked right up to the fire where several men were warming themselves, her head down. She listened to them talk, not understanding a word they spoke, but understanding the emotion behind the words. Suddenly a man touched her arm, shaking it. She realized that one of them must have asked her a question. She removed the cloak in one smooth gesture and raised her head. The Amalites screamed. There were few things they feared as much as the Katabull. This was why they had tried to hunt them to the last child.
They ran away from her rather than at her, so she drew her blade and dove on them, chasing them through the camp, killing anyone she touched. She was the Katabull now, more animal than human, and an unbeatable force. She could see better than them, hear better than them, run faster, jump higher, and was ten times as strong. She grabbed a log from a fire on the unburned end and started igniting anything that would burn.
A man charged her with a glaive, and she threw the burning stick at him, catching his shirt on fire. He dropped the glaive and ran away screaming. Tarius sheathed her sword and grabbed the huge glaive. Then she started taking apart the rest of the camp with it, killing anyone who got close enough. When she tired of this, she dropped the weapon and tore through the camp grabbing screaming men and snapping their necks and slinging them aside like so much cordwood.
Then the first of the crossbow bolts whizzed past her, and she knew it was time to retreat.
* * *
From where he stood with the horses, Tragon could see the fires and hear the terrified scream of "Katabull!" as it was yelled throughout the camp. He could hear the sound of men dying. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of Tarius running amuck through the camp. Then suddenly she was at his side, covered with blood. She took the reins from his hand, mounted and was gone before he was even on his horse.
* * *
"By the gods! What is happening at the Amalite camp?" one of the captains asked.
"Tarius said he and his partner would create a diversion," Persius said with a smile. "It would appear that they have done so. Tell the men to work faster. We must be entirely moved by daybreak."
The captain moved away to do the king's business, and old Hellibolt took the captain's place at the king's side. "So, how do you suppose young Tarius is creating this . . . diversion?"
"What have I told you, old man? I'll hear none of your lies concerning Tarius. Besides which I don't care how he's doing it as long as it is effective."
* * *
If Tarius had been in her human form the night before, she would have awakened with stiffness in her joints. But she hadn't been human last night, and the only after effect of all that physical activity was the metallic taste of fresh blood still lingering in her mouth. She got up and took a long drink of water the minute she stepped out of the tent. Her leather was tight from the soaking she had given it last night washing off the blood, so she found some oil and rubbed it on her leather wherever she could reach.
"So, Tarius, do you ever take your clothes off?" It was Gudgin who asked the question. He wasn't trying to make her angry, in fact she and Gudgin had become rather close. He was a good leader and took her orders without question. Gudgin was ribbing her because he liked Tarius, it was his way of showing his acceptance of the foreigner.
"Not even to make love," Tarius answered, and Gudgin laughed.
"Quite some diversion you made for us last night. Care to tell me just what you and your partner did?"
"Just snuck in and started some tents on fire. Easy enough done. We were in and out before they were even aware of what was happening," Tarius said.
"So, do you think the king's plan will work?" Gudgin asked.
Tarius nodded. "Oh, aye, it seems a fine plan."
Tragon pulled himself out of the tent just as Harris ran over with a plate full of food for Tarius. Tarius thanked him and sat on a nearby rock. Tragon looked expectantly at Harris who in turn gave him a 'you've got to be kidding' look.
Tarius had almost finished eating when a page came running up as if a demon were on his tail.
"Sir Tarius! Amalite scouting teams approach. What are your orders?"
Tarius didn't look up from her food. "Tell the crossbow men to wait. Hold their fire until the scouts come into the cover of the woods. As soon as they're under cover, the crossbows are to open fire. Make sure none of them make it back out. Capture the horses if possible, but kill them if you have to. Nothing of the Amalites that comes into these woods is to leave to go back to their camp," Tarius ordered, and finished eating her breakfast as the page ran off. She put down her bowl and rose to her feet. She drew her blade and started to sharpen it with a whet stone. When she had run the length of the blade just three times on each side, she put the stone back in her pocket, sheathed her sword and put her helmet on her head.
Tragon took one look at her and swallowed hard. He knew this day there would be a hell of a battle. He knew it because he saw it in the way she sniffed the air, in the way her every muscle seemed to tense up ready to spring. She wasn't worried about the consequences right now, wasn't wondering whether she'd live through the fight, or whether they'd win or lose. In fact, Tragon doubted Tarius ever even considered that she could lose in battle. No, she had none of the nagging fears that the rest of them had. She lived to fight, and in battle none could equal her. She was truly in her element.
Tragon, on the other hand, was one bare nerve. He knew death could be waiting, and that his own indecision would likely bring about his doom. His lack of skill could get him killed. He had no blood lust; he didn't hate the Amalites, and he didn't even understand the reason for the war. So they wanted to take over. Was one king or one religion any worse than another? Tragon didn't think so. Tragon was here for one reason and one reason only. His father and his brothers had been Swordmasters, and he couldn't bring shame on the family name, not and hope to inherit. His father had never respected him, and he badly needed to gain his father's respect even if he gained it falsely, riding on the coattails of the she beast, hiding always in Tarius's shadow, hoping to avoid being hit or killed. Being pulled along in her wake, letting others believe that he was as brave and as powerful as Tarius.
It was only now when he stood poised on the brink of death that he doubted his plan. He might die, and what good was glory or respect or inheritance to a dead man?
"Are you ever afraid?" Tragon asked in a whisper.
"Only of losing Jena. I was afraid of bees until I was stung. I was afraid of snakes until I was bitten, and I was afraid of death until I had killed a man. Now I am not afraid of anything, only cautious. I certainly don't fear the Amalites. I don't fear them at all. My father says a brave warrior knows the day of his death. He told me that the day he died. I will not die this day," she said with the confidence of someone who truly knows their fate and knows that they have not yet finished their required task.
Tragon didn't know that. He didn't feel like he had any duty to perform. This was scary, and he wished with everything in his heart that he possessed even the courage to turn tail and run. At least that would be the truth. The real him. Tarius, he realized, was not the only one who had secrets.
* * *
They sat there for an hour, silent and ready. A second Amalite scouting party was sent out and then a third. Both times they dealt with them the same way they had dealt with the first.
Soon the entire Amalite army rode into the clearing, but not at a dead run. Slowly and steadily.
The royal page ran over, and before he could open his mouth to speak Tarius rode towards where the king sat astride his horse in full plate, probably even more uncomfortable than the rest of them. The king was to take the center unit in after Tarius had taken the right flank in. The left flank was to circle around and try to get behind the Amalites. To Tarius, who wished to utterly obliterate her opponent, it was always important that their retreat be blocked.
The page ran along beside Tarius. "The king wants to know when . . ."
"It's all right, boy. I'll talk to the king myself. Many thanks to you."
Tarius rode up to the king.
"Should we rush them now?" the king asked. "They seem in no hurry to charge us."
"Our archers have been instructed. Let our enemy come into range, we will call on the archers, and many of the Amalites will fall. They will become less sure of themselves. When I ride out, wait till we have engaged, and then bring your men in. When you have engaged the enemy force, Ramses will bring his men around and try to encircle them. The plan is working; why change it now?"
"Exactly right. Return to your place," Persius said with a rough salute. He wasn't used to the armor, and it showed.
"Take good care, Sire. It will do nothing for the men's moral if their king falls in battle."
Persius nodded his head.
Tarius rode back up beside Tragon.
"Why do they . . ." Tragon swallowed hard. At this point, he just wanted to have it done with. "Why do they not charge? Why do they approach with such caution?"
Tarius moved closer to Tragon; further away from Harris. "Katabull history is handed down verbally from one generation to the next," Tarius said in a whisper that Tragon had to fight to hear. "It is done so meticulously and with such care that very little has been lost. See, the Katabull come not from Kartik but from Amalite." She saw the shocked look on Tragon's face and smiled. "It's true, or at least it is what our history claims. We lived there in peace with the Amalites. Outcasts, we weren't allowed to live in amongst the natives, but we weren't hunted and killed, either. We lived by our laws, we lived on our own, and they left us alone. Much in the way the Katabull are treated today in your own kingdom. Not mistreated really, but not with the same rights and privileges of the common man. Such was our life in Amalite. Then the new religion came to the land. It promised things that people wanted, and it didn't seem to matter to them that everything the priests of this religion said sounded incredible. They wanted the things the religion promised.
"The followers were pests, but no one regarded them as a threat until the king clutched this new religion to his bosom. He made it the religion of the kingdom and ordered all the citizens to obey its oppressive laws. Those that would not were punished or killed. However the Katabull had never had the same religion as the Amalites, and had never been considered part of the people. The king and the priests were hard pressed to find a reason for the Katabull to be forced into conversion. None of them truly believed that we could be part of their religion any way, as we were not, and never had been quite as good as they were. We were also stronger and more powerful than normal men. It would take an army to bring down the smallest Katabull village. The king knew that he did not have the support he needed to raid the Katabull villages. They had never been part of the general populace, so why make them part of it now? They didn't want us to be part of their religion, and yet the fact that we wouldn't bow down to their gods angered them. The fact that we did things that they could not do, things that they wanted to do, made them still madder. The cunning king knew it wouldn't take much to stir the people into war against the Katabull because they already distrusted us.
"One night the king sent a company of men out to steal six children of noble families. They then killed the children, dismembered them, and spread their parts through the streets of a Katabull village. When the noble men found their children's mangled bodies, one of them "recalled" that he had seen a Katabull that night outside his home, and the rest—as they say—is history. The priests announced that their gods had ordered that all Katabull were to be killed. The Amalites descended on the Katabull villages in such numbers that even the Katabull could not fight them and had to flee their land. But they failed their gods when they failed to kill us out. We were forced to live in small packs in every corner of the world, but we were still very much alive.
"From that time till this, the Amalites have believed that if you see a Katabull at night, death will follow in the morning." Tarius smiled at the look of understanding that crossed Tragon's face. "They are afraid because they believe their own lie. They believe that the Katabull brings bad luck for them. Bad luck and death, and this one does. You always hate most that which you fear the most."
Tarius moved again, this time closer to Harris. She pulled her sword, held it above her head, and the archers perched in the trees above them nocked their arrows. She let the blade fall, and the arrows started to fly. The barrage of feathered death seemed to go on forever, but really only lasted a few minutes.
"Now!" Tarius screamed and started out of the tree line at a full gallop, her unit following close behind her, Tragon pulled along in their wake.
* * *
The Amalites were bewildered and terrified. They had been winning easily against their battered opponents, but these were not the same timid men they had been fighting. These were beasts. Beasts who hacked through them with a vengeance and surrounded them on all sides.
The first attack brought death from above as arrows rained down on them from archers hidden in the treetops. The first targets struck were the Amalite archers, making it impossible to shoot the crossbowmen from their perches. Then they started to take out their horsemen—especially any that appeared to hold rank. The second attack came suddenly. Mounted horsemen ran at them, hitting their right flank hard and heavy. Then, even as they sent their left flank in to save the right, shield men ran out hitting them in the middle. The shield men were followed by men with pikes and spears, and behind them were the horsemen waiting till their footmen made a hole in the Amalites' shield wall. Then their own shield men opened like a wave and this new batch of horsemen descended on them like locust. When they tried to retreat, they found that another troop of horsemen had come in behind them, and still the enemy's arrows rained down.
They had seen the Katabull at night, and death had followed the next day. As it was written, so mote it be.
* * *
Persius' sword and armor were nearly as bloody as that of his chief warlord. Many good men had fallen, but for each one that they had lost, a dozen Amalites lay dead by the sword, the arrow, or the battle-ax. Persius held his sword high above his head and let out a triumphant scream.
Tarius did the same, as did all the men.
Tragon did it, but didn't feel it. He had a nick on his left leg, and he felt sick to his stomach. He looked at his blade; it was bloody, for this time he had truly fought. He'd had to fight just to survive. He'd nearly been killed a dozen times, and he was badly shaken. He got off his horse because he was afraid he was going to vomit. Just as he felt the bile rising in his throat, he saw Harris and Tarius jump off their horses and run to embrace each other. They were real warriors. This carnage was what they lived for. They made him even sicker, and he threw up.
Tarius took three quarters of the able-bodied men and rode on to the Amalites' camp, making sure there was no one to follow them. They couldn't afford to leave the enemy at their back. They spent the remainder of the day caring for the injured, burying their dead, and stripping the Amalites' bodies. The next day they rose early and rode on till almost dark, trying to reclaim as much ground as possible.
On Tarius's instructions their badly wounded were sent to the nearest village to recuperate.
"Why carry the wounded with us?" Tarius had asked Persius. "It does them no good; they can not heal on the battlefield. Load them into wagons with the spoils stripped from our enemies, the weapons, and the armor. Send them to the nearest village to heal. Hand the weapons and armor out to the villagers as payment to nurse our men. Then choose from the villages enough men to make up for those lost in the battle and have them come back to base camp. We will leave a quarter of our men here to deal with the remaining dead, train the new men, and prepare to defend this area should we be pressed back. Meanwhile, let us move on to push the Amalites back. When we have won the next battle, we will pull this detachment of men up behind us to hold our ground. If we need them, they will never be more than a day behind us. We will send pages out four times a day, and they will likewise send them out four times a day. In this way we will always know what is going on there, and they will always know what is going on here. If we feel we need part or all of this force for reinforcements, then we call on them. In the meantime they can be training the new recruits and refining their own skills since we will leave the poorest of our fighting men behind at base camp. Only take care not to let them know that we have chosen them to stay behind because of their lack of skill. Point out to them that it is because they are such grand fighters that we have left them—a much smaller group—to guard our retreat. In this way they will try hard to be worthy of your respect."
Persius gave out the orders, but the plan of action was Tarius's to the very letter.
* * *
Three days later they encountered another Jathrik troop. The men were battered and battle weary. They were up against an Amalite force possibly half the size of the one they had slaughtered a few days ago. The men were all sick with fever from the mosquitoes that seemed to be everywhere. This camp, like the other one, was filled with the stench of death and human waste. Again their first order of business was to move camp, but this time they didn't even bother to wait for cover of darkness. Tarius feared that the disease would spread through their own ranks if they didn't move and do it quickly.
It seemed to Tarius that the Jethrik people were idiotic when it came to the simplest things. Yes, it was easier to make camp in the flats. But when it was raining and pooling up all around you, running your own shit out of the latrine trenches and up over your feet for you to walk in, it didn't make any sense. And it was raining again. It was the part of the country they were in—an almost subtropical region. The filthy water had pooled up making a breeding ground for the mosquitoes. It shouldn't have taken a genius to figure out that water didn't pool up on a hillside.
She immediately sent the sick and injured away in wagons bound for the nearest Jethrik village. Any able-bodied men would be sent back to their base camp. They moved and set camp, and the rain poured down.
"Sir Tarius!" She recognized the young soldier as Gudgin's page, Dustan. He held a shovel. "Master Gudgin sent me to ask where you want the latrines dug, Sir."
Tarius rubbed at her wet neck, then she looked at the river and smiled. It ran away from their camp towards the Amalites. There were no Jethrik villages downstream, because the river ran straight into Amalite lands. Tarius spotted a small gully that ran with rainwater; it met the river just past their camp.
"Tell Gudgin to put the latrines on that gully. No digging will be necessary. A nice little surprise for our enemies. Just make sure that everyone knows to get water from above the gully, not below."
The boy laughed and ran off to get Gudgin.
The portable latrines had been Tarius's idea. She had wanted them mostly because having them made her life easier, but had insisted that having privacy helped with morale. Holes were dug, a box with a hole was set over it, and a four-walled tent with a roof was placed over this. Twenty of them fulfilled the needs of their camp.
Gudgin had at first balked at the idea of being literally "Captain of the Latrine," but soon realized that he could delegate all the work, and that few things were as appreciated by the men as having a good clean place to take a crap. Gudgin followed Tarius's instructions to the letter, making sure that latrines that got full were quickly moved, the dirt piled on high, and a marker placed there.
The Kartiks and even the Katabull knew more about how disease spread than the Jethriks did. Tarius knew that disease could be spread through unchecked waste disposal. Of course, this was what she hoped to accomplish by feeding her enemies their shit.
Gudgin walked up to her then. He smiled. "Just to make sure . . ."
"Yes, I want them put on the gully."
Gudgin laughed out loud, slapped her on the back and walked away to direct his men.
Because of the rain, and because they were on the side of a hill, this time Tarius put the horses at the bottom of the camp. Thus ensuring that they wouldn't be walking through horseshit, either. There wasn't much fear of attack from above, since their camp spread to the top of the hill.
She was wet. She hated being rained on. Strange, she loved the water as all Katabulls did, but she hated being rained on. Maybe because she had no control over whether she got wet or not.
She made her way down towards the cooks' pavilion and saw that they had succeeded in starting a fire. Several of the Swordmasters, the king and Hellibolt stood under the pavilion out of the rain. They were laughing, and when Tarius joined them they laughed even louder. She looked at herself to see if she was anything but dripping wet.
"Tarius, did you really tell Gudgin to set the latrines on a gully that flows into the river?"
Tarius grinned sadistically. "Let the bastards eat shit."
They laughed still louder. They respected her now, but respecting her didn't mean they liked her, and she knew that many of them didn't and probably never would. She told herself she didn't care whether they liked her or not, but that wasn't exactly true.
At times like this when she felt not just their respect but their approval, she felt warm inside. Warm enough to almost—but not quite—forget that she was wet and cold. She moved closer to the struggling fire.
The head cook himself pushed a bowl of hot soup into her hands, and she took it gratefully.
"Thank you," she said. All the men just stared at her the way they always did when she thanked someone they considered to be an underling or worse yet a servant. She drank the soup down, marveling at the warmth it sent coursing through her body. She chewed the chunks and swallowed. Then she addressed a man named Yolen who had given her a downright scornful look when she had thanked the cook.
"Yolen, answer me this question. Can a hungry man fight as well as one who has eaten?"
"No, of course not."
"What happens to a man who has no food?" she asked.
"Eventually, he starves to death," Yolen said.
"And if some one saved your life in battle, wouldn't you thank him?" Tarius said.
"Why of course, but . . ."
"So why wouldn't I thank this man, who gives me strength to fight, and who saves my very life on a daily basis? No one in this camp is any more or less important to our effort than are the men who cook and serve our food. They are as heroic as any who take the field in battle. They endure the same hardships and dangers with none of the glory. The least we can do is let them know that they are appreciated." Tarius handed her empty mug back to the cook. "Thank you again." She walked away.
"Why, that insolent little Kartik bastard! I'll have his head!" Yolen muttered and started after Tarius.
Persius grabbed him by the arm. "Tarius has a good point. Let us all thank our cooks and servers."
Yolen looked as if he had been mortally cut, but joined along with the others as they repeated the king's words of thanks.
* * *
Tragon had been resting in his tent when Tarius walked in dripping water everywhere. She looked for and found her cloak, and Tragon knew before she looked at him with expecting eyes that he was going to have to go back out into the rain.
* * *
Tarius snuck into this Amalite camp more easily than she had the last one. She walked around the camp looking and listening. These men were in as low spirits as their own troop had been earlier today. Their camp was even filthier, and they seemed to have as many if not more sick and wounded. No doubt they had seen the reinforcements and knew they were up against more units.
Tarius went to where the horses were corralled, and she heard the guttural words of an Amalite at her neck. She turned, flinging back her hood and glaring at him. He froze in fear, and she grabbed his head between her hands and hit his head with her own, killing him instantly. She grabbed the logs of the makeshift corral, tore them out of their rope ties and threw them like they were firewood. Then she ran into the corral and chased the horses out. The horses, terrified by the Katabull in full hunting mode, ran kicking and screaming out of the corral. She herded them towards the encampment.
The terrified horses stampeded through the camp at an unstoppable pace, destroying everything as they trampled it. The men panicked, not knowing whether to run for their lives or try to catch their horses. They had barely had time to register the destruction caused by the stampede when the Katabull came ripping into their battered camp, swinging steel and killing everything it touched. When it left, they huddled together like men who had seen their own death.
* * *
The screams of terror from the Amalite camp were so loud that they were heard clearly across the killing grounds.
"What the hell is going on over there?" Yolen asked.
"Tarius and Tragon must have gone to scout out the enemy's camp," Persius said. "Tarius simply can't walk away without killing some of them."
Hellibolt stared at the king, but said nothing.
"What?" Persius asked harshly.
"Nothing that you have not forbidden me to say, Sire," Hellibolt said.
"Good, keep your madness to yourself," Persius said.
"Tarius is as black and tough on the inside as his armor is on the out," a Swordmaster named Jerrad reflected.
"Exactly," Hellibolt said. Then when he got a glare from the king he added, "Of course, I only mean that in the very nicest way."
Persius smiled. "It suits him. Tarius the Black."
* * *
When they woke the next morning it was still pouring. Tarius placed her forces. Shield men first, pikes and spears next, and then the horsemen. They marched at a quick forced march, and by midday they descended on the battered Amalite camp.
The Amalites started to flee, and Tarius changed tactics quickly. "Shield men break!" she screamed, and the shield men broke away to leave openings for the horsemen. The horsemen went after those who were fleeing, and the shield, pike and spearmen got the others. The battle was over in moments.
After they had rested for two days they left the troop that had been there. They would follow just behind the king's army, and the base camp would follow them with pages running from them to the others and back, so that each troop knew exactly what was happening with the others.
They moved to the east as word had reached them that there was a huge Amalite contingent forming on their eastern border. The first week they met two troops of Amalites. Each time they easily cut them down. One day a page brought word that the base camp had run into a troop of Amalites some one hundred strong. They had taken a number of casualties, but had slaughtered the Amalites and were now—after having sent their wounded to the nearest village and picking up new recruits—on their way again.
Also they heard news that one village that had been attacked by marauding Amalites had beaten their attackers back and sent them running.
The trek was long and exhausting. They traveled close to the border, making sure it was clear of Amalites as they made their way east.
The journey tired Tragon. It was slow going, and they moved camp almost daily. It was as arduous on the days they didn't do battle as it was on the days that they did. He was ready to go home—a couple of months ago.
It was close to the end of the day, and as always this meant they were all exhausted and ready to do the work of making camp, get a meal and fall into their bedrolls. Not even Tarius heard or saw them until it was too late. The arrows rained down upon them from above. They were on a narrow section of road and had walked right into an ambush.
Persius was safe in his carriage, but wouldn't be for long if his men fell around him.
"Shields up!" Tarius ordered. "Dismount! Bowmen, take aim and fire on the archers."
For once, Tragon didn't argue. The men had been trained as to what to do in case of just such an attack, and they responded like the well-trained force they were. The horsemen dove off their horses and hid under their bellies while the shield men who marched alongside them put their shields over their heads and moved to help protect the horses and riders. The shutters on the king's carriage were slammed shut.
Tarius had to think quickly. Archers in the trees, and no doubt ground troops and horse men waiting in the tree line. She decided on the one course of action they probably wouldn't count on.
"Foot soldiers, attack!"
The commanders down the line echoed her orders, and the shield, spear, and pike men on each side ran into the trees, leaving the horsemen behind.
"Horsemen, mount up and attack!"
No doubt the Amalites had counted on the fact that they would immediately protect themselves only from the hail of arrows. Then with their bellies wide open, the Amalite sword and pike men could descend on them. Tarius hoped to throw them off by reacting in an entirely different way. With all the men—except those charged with protecting the king's carriage—running into the woods, the archers would have a harder time finding targets, and they would have the element of surprise.
Tarius left her horse behind and ran into the battle, sword in hand. The crossbow men dropped one archer, then another. Then the bodies of Amalite archers started to rain down from above. No Amalite archer could hold a candle to a Jethrikian crossbow. Since the Amalites had no crossbows, they had nowhere near the firepower or the accuracy.
She found Harris and Tragon engaged by three spearmen and a man with a great sword hiding safely behind four scoot-ems.
* * *
A spear gaffed deeply into Tragon's leg, and he lost his seat and fell from his horse, losing his sword in the process. The spearman stabbed at his fallen opponent, and Tragon knew that he had breathed his last. From out of nowhere Tarius appeared, and her blade came down on the spear shaft, severing the head from the pole. She slung back with her blade, all but decapitating one of the shield men with the backstroke. Harris jumped off his horse and joined her. Tarius jumped up and kicked at the top of one of the scoot-ems. She rode it and the fellow holding it to the ground, landing on the shield on top of his head. As he lay lifeless under her, she killed the greatswordsman and then, spinning, took out the last shieldman. Then Harris ran in and between them they killed the spear and pike men easily.
They stood there over Tragon, shielding him with their very bodies, fighting over the top of him. Tarius yelled commands, but she did not leave his side. Tragon tried to reach his own sword and could not. He was paralyzed by pain and fear. If they left him, he would be killed, and surely they would have to leave him.
But they did not. When the battle was over they had taken many casualties, but they had won. Tarius had not left his side, and because she hadn't, Harris had stayed with her and Tragon had survived. Tarius reached down and helped him to his feet.
* * *
Tarius and Harris had started taking Tragon back to the surgeon's wagon when a soldier ran over.
"Sir Tarius!" he shouted. There were tears streaming down his face. When Tarius saw that it was Dustan, Gudgin's page, a sick feeling washed over her. "Sir Tarius, come quick! It's Master Gudgin. He's hurt, and he asks to see you."
Tarius nodded. "Yolen, help Harris with Tragon."
When Yolen had taken her place, Tarius ran off after Dustan.
Gudgin was lying in the woods with a spear sticking out of his chest. His chain hadn't been able to stop it. His gambeson was stained red with his blood. She knelt beside him, and her tears started to flow. For a second she wondered if there was a way to remove the spear so that Gudgin could be saved. When she realized there was no chance for him, her tears flowed more freely. She took his hand, and it was unusually cold. She squeezed it tight.
"Gudgin, my brother." Her voice would hardly work for her. "I have failed you. I led us right into an attack."
"Don't be a fool," Gudgin coughed. "None of us saw them. We won the battle; what else matters?"
"You matter." Tarius wiped her face with her free hand, wiping blood across it.
"I feel honored . . . " Gudgin coughed. " . . . that Tarius the Black, the great Kartik bastard, would cry on my account." He coughed again.
"Don't talk," Tarius said gently.
Gudgin laughed painfully. "I won't get any other chance. Tarius . . . I didn't like you."
"I know that," Tarius cried.
"Now I count you my best friend. Never have I known such a man as you. I'm sorry that I taunted you." Gudgin coughed again.
"Don't worry about that now," Tarius said.
"I feel so stupid. I practically jumped on the spear. I never was very good, was I?"
"Gudgin . . . You are one of the best. Certainly, you are one of the bravest."
Gudgin smiled and then the light started to leave his eyes. He squeezed Tarius's hand one time, forcing his lifeforce back in him for one last moment. "Look after Dustan for me. He's a good lad."
"I will, my brother. I will," Tarius promised. The light left Gudgin's eyes, and he went limp. She pulled her hand from his and closed his eyes. Then she threw back her head and screamed one long angry cry that seemed to be dragged from the very depths of her soul. When it finally stopped, the silence was deafening, and the look in her eyes wasn't sane. Spying an Amalite body still moving, she sprang to her feet, drew her sword and started hacking at the body until it looked like it had been run through a grinder. When she finally stopped she stood back looking at what she had done and the wild look slowly faded. She took three deep, rattling breaths, and then sheathed the blood-covered sword. She looked quickly around at the crowd that had gathered around her, and they all quickly pretended to be doing something else. She walked over to Dustan, who was on his knees bending over the body of his fallen mentor. She helped him to his feet and embraced him, then she put her arm across his shoulders and led the sobbing boy away.
"You will travel with me now. Go find Harris and help him with whatever he's doing. I have to make a report to the king."
He nodded numbly and automatically went to do her bidding.
Tarius was surprised to find Persius in armor and holding a bloody sword. Apparently he had armed rather quickly from the looks of it and joined in the battle.
"I am sorry, Sire. I have failed us all. I didn't hear them; I didn't smell them," Tarius said. "My partner is badly wounded. Master Gudgin is dead. I don't know how many more have fallen or are dead."
"No one else heard, either," Persius said solemnly. "No one expects you to be the only one on lookout. You wouldn't allow it anyway, so don't take the blame upon yourself."
"It's no man's fault," Hellibolt said as he held out a fistful of some strange herb. "Some witch put a spell on this place so that we couldn't hear, see, or smell them as long as they were still. A camouflage spell is an easy spell that any competent witch could do."
"But the Amalites . . . Magic is against their laws! They execute witches," Tarius said.
"Oh yes, but they're losing now. What do you want to bet that their gods told them it would be all right just this once? Their gods are always doing that, don't you know? Bending the laws to suit them. No doubt it would be evil if we used magic against them," Hellibolt said.
"But . . . They don't have any witches," Tarius said.
Hellibolt looked at both the king and Tarius as if they were idiots. "And what does that tell you?" Hellibolt asked.
The king shrugged.
Tarius looked puzzled for a minute and then smiled. "It means the witch is Jethrik," Tarius said. "Why would she help them then?"
"Perhaps they forced her. Perhaps they paid her, and she is without scruples. Either way the witch is not here now." He looked at Tarius. "You and I must find the witch and stop her from helping them again."
Tarius shook her head. "I have too much to do here, I . . ."
"What if she returns with more Amalites? What if this is just a simple spell for her?"
"My partner has been badly wounded. Take a group of men . . ."
Hellibolt stared deep within her eyes. "I need you."
Tarius looked at Persius, who shrugged his consent. So Tarius called her horse, and he ran over. Just gathering the horses was going to be a big job. She started to mount the horse and Hellibolt put a hand on her shoulder.
"We'll have to walk. Wizards never ride horses. They don't like us."
"Old man, I have much to do, and nightfall will come soon . . ."
"Don't you even want to know how the witch got past even you?" Hellibolt asked with thinly veiled meaning.
"What even makes you think she's close to this place?" Tarius asked.
"Because the nature of the spell is such that she must have been present to cast it. This way I think."
Hellibolt started walking with amazing speed considering his fragile appearance, and Tarius followed. When they could no longer hear the activity of the soldiers behind them, Hellibolt turned to Tarius. "We could have this done quicker if you would only change."
Tarius didn't miss a beat. She stopped and slowly turned to face him as the transformation became complete. "You mean like this?"
"Oh, yes! That's very good," Hellibolt clapped his hands together happily. "You really are an exquisite creature . . . Well, go on now, find the witch."
Tarius sniffed the air, gave Hellibolt a disgusted look, and then started off in the opposite direction from which he had them traveling.
"It wouldn't have happened if you had been like this," Hellibolt said.
Tarius turned and glared at him.
"Well, everyone knows that magic doesn't work on the Katabull."
"Everyone also knows that the Katabull can't belong to the Jethrik army," Tarius said.
"Not to mention your other little problem with gender," Hellibolt said looking at his nails as he followed her.
"So you know about that as well?" Tarius growled out. "Well, you must be very proud of yourself."
"Oh, I am," Hellibolt laughed. "You needn't worry, though. I've told Persius all about you, and he thinks me quite daft. He needs you. He can't afford to believe anything that means he might have to quit using you."
"People believe what they need to believe," Tarius said in agreement. She got down on the ground on all fours and sniffed the earth. After several seconds she stood up snarling and took off at a near run. "The witch is accompanied by two Amalites."
"Perhaps she was being coerced."
"Maybe so." Tarius was sure she was on the scent now, and she took off at a dead run, leaving Hellibolt far behind. Soon she saw the two Amalites dragging a woman between them. She stopped for a second and listened.
"You horrid witch! You purposely lifted your evil spell and got my men killed! You'll pay, bitch. Oh, yes, you'll pay, and it won't be pretty," one Amalite said in an ominous tone.
Tarius snarled, he spoke Jethrik, must be one of their damned missionaries.
"Please! I didn't lift the spell! I swear to you I didn't. I told you it would only last until the moment you attacked." She squirmed in their grip and tried to get away.
Tarius quickly closed the gap between them. She jumped on the bigger of the two, knocking both he and the witch to the ground. She rolled him to his back and cut his throat. She then descended on the second who had been in the process of drawing his blade. She grabbed hold of his wrist where it gripped the hilt and crushed it. He let out a blood-curdling scream just before she drew her own blade across his throat as well. The witch was running, but Tarius quickly caught her, dragging her to the ground. She was preparing to kill her, too, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She swung quickly, blade at the ready, to see Hellibolt standing there. He took hold of the end of her sword between thumb and forefinger and carefully pointed it away from himself.
"Don't you even want to know why she did it?" Hellibolt asked.
"No," Tarius answered plainly. "I don't care. She is a danger to our war effort. She got my partner maimed and my dear friend killed. That is all I need to know. Now let me be."
The woman squirmed beneath her, obviously terrified.
"Please! I beg you! I didn't want to do it. They have my lady. Don't you see? They have her and they will kill her now. She is doomed, and what crime has she committed? Me . . . I admit I helped them, but she is blameless and without power. Only help me save her, and I will gladly let you kill me."
Tarius thought of her own love, of Jena, and her heart softened. She stood up. "I will help you save your woman, but then you must die, for you are a danger to the war effort."
"Fair enough." The woman led them down a well-worn path to a clearing where a small cottage with a large garden was nestled quietly in the trees. Six Amalite horses were hitched outside.
"What next?" the witch asked. "I have lots of spells."
"Oh, please. Allow me," Hellibolt said. "Rope of hemp, wood of tree, let these little horses free."
Both Tarius and the witch turned to stare at him.
"Hey! It works."
They watched as the rope fell away from the hitching post.
"Little horses by the house, go and play with the field mouse," Hellibolt intoned.
The horses started walking slowly and quietly away.
"I'm very impressed," the witch said.
"Why thank you," Hellibolt said. "Just a little trick I picked up from an old witch who only used it on weekends."
"How do you do it? I mean it's certainly not your incantations, which I have to tell you are just horrible," the witch said.
"Well, first you gather the energy of the forest into you, and then . . ."
"Quit it right now," Tarius hissed out. She glared at the witch. "You I'm going to kill, so you don't need to learn any more spells."
She turned to Hellibolt. "And you, I'm just plain annoyed with."
"Sorry," the witch said.
"Me, too," Hellibolt added.
"I don't want you to be sorry! I want you to shut up!" She glared at the witch. "If you hope to trick me . . ."
She gasped. "Oh! I wouldn't dare! You're the Katabull, and everyone knows that you can't use magic against the Katabull. Please, can't we just save Helen now?"
Tarius nodded and moved forward. She looked in the window. The girl was tied to a chair and there were four men in the house. She came back to the other two.
"What you say is true," Tarius said.
"Well, you don't have to sound so surprised," she said. "Is Helen all right?" she added with real worry.
"Seems to be. Can either one of you do a glamour?"
"Yes," they both said in unison. "But not on you."
"I know that; I'm not an idiot," Tarius spat back. "If Hellibolt goes in with a glamour on him, looking like one of the men that had hold of you back there, he can drag you back in there. He could say the enemy has followed him and that the other man has been killed. Then we can get them out of the house and away from your woman."
"Good. She hates it when the house gets dirty," the witch said.
Tarius stared at them expectantly. "Well, get on with it."
"Can I do it? I mean it's probably the last spell I'll get to cast, seeing as she's going to kill me in a little while," the witch said pointing her thumb at Tarius.
"Be my guest," Hellibolt said.
"Just get on with it," Tarius hissed.
"It's done," the witch said.
Tarius nodded. She couldn't tell, but she took their word for it.
"Go through the door and tell them your story. When they run out, shut the door behind them. I'll be waiting for them outside," Tarius said.
"Ooh, are you taken?" the witch asked with a wink.
"You can tell I'm a woman, too?" Tarius growled in disbelief.
"Well, it's pretty obvious," the witch said shrugging.
"No one else seems to notice," Hellibolt said. "She is taken by the way. Beautiful young girl. Has no idea she's married to a woman."
"Wow! That must be awkward," the witch said.
"Would you just get on with it? I have work to do back there," Tarius hissed, embarrassed as much as she was frustrated.
They started to walk away.
"It's so seldom I get to talk to one of my own kind," Hellibolt said. "It's so nice to be in the company of one that I don't have to explain the simplest of illusions to."
"Tell me about it! All the 'How did you do this, and how did you know that?' It gets tiresome after awhile," the witch said.
Tarius smacked herself in the head in total disgust. She watched as the door opened a crack and moved swiftly and stealthily into position. In a few moments the four men ran out the door bearing steel. Tarius ran at them, and they scattered in a panic. She killed the first two easily enough, but had to chase the other two down.
When she returned to the house they had already untied Helen and the two women were embracing.
"All right I have to kill you now," Tarius said coolly. She was in a hurry to get back to her men.
"No, please! Have mercy," Helen pleaded. Apparently they had already told her of the deal. "Jazel was blinded by her love for me . . ."
"She got a lot of my men wounded and killed. She helped the Amalites—the sworn enemy of all of our people," Tarius said, glaring at Jazel. "Now come on, we had a deal."
Jazel started forward, and Helen hung on her. "If you are to kill Jazel, then you might as well run us both through because I don't want to live without her."
"Don't you understand? She has helped the enemy once, what's to stop her doing it again? Good men's blood has been shed, better men are dead because of her," Tarius said. "It's really nothing personal."
"Please, I beg of you," Helen said, moving now to hang on Tarius's sword arm, as if that could stop Tarius killing her lover.
"Please, you're making this very difficult for me," Tarius said,
"Tell her, Jazel. Tell her you'd never do it again," Helen pleaded.
"But, darling, under the same circumstances I would," Jazel said truthfully.
"See?" Tarius said.
"But I wouldn't let her!" Helen pleaded.
"What if it were Jena who was held, Tarius?" Hellibolt asked.
"Ah, now, that's not fair," Tarius said. Then added, "Whose side are you on, anyway?"
"You can't tell me that there is anything you wouldn't do to save Jena," Hellibolt said. "Anyone you wouldn't betray to save her."
"Damn it, Hellibolt! She got men killed," Tarius said. "Is there to be no punishment for that? For treason!"
"What if we leave?" Helen asked. "Go to Kartik, where the enemy can never use Jazel again."
"Would you swear an oath?" Hellibolt said.
"I would. We'd leave tonight," Jazel promised.
Tarius shook Helen off her arm and sheathed her sword with a sigh. "Is a witch's oath any good?" Tarius asked Hellibolt, not looking at him.
"As good as the Katabull's," Hellibolt said, more than a little offended.
"And you'll leave tonight?" Tarius asked the witch suspiciously.
"Right away. Thank you. I won't forget your kindness," the witch promised.
"I know I'm going to regret this," Tarius mumbled and left.
"Well, it was certainly nice to meet you. Safe voyage," Hellibolt said.
They started the walk back to their troops. For all her talk of being in a hurry to get back, Tarius was walking at something less than a fast pace.
"What's wrong, Tarius?" Hellibolt asked.
"What isn't? I shouldn't have let her live. Gudgin's dead along with dozens of others. It's her fault. She'd do it again in a heartbeat. I let her go because you were right about what you said about Jena." Tarius walked with her head down. "I wish I'd never met her."
"Who?" Hellibolt asked.
"Jena, you old fool! She messes with my thinking."
"Because you love her."
"Yes," Tarius said. She took a deep breath. She had too much to do to waste time wallowing in self pity. She licked the blood off her hands and turned back into her human form. She gave her self a second to catch her breath after the transformation, and then took off running. When she got back to the road, Hellibolt was already there.