He felt a stab of unexpected pain at a fleeting memory of his mother and Rosalyn, then let the thought go as the riders came clearly into view.
It was a company of at least thirty men, all seasoned warriors by their look. At the head of the company rode a heavyset man of middle years, his grey beard hanging down to his stomach. He signaled for a pair of his men to circle out and around the fortress, and slowed as he approached. As soon as he came within hailing distance, he shouted, “Hello, the fort!”
From the wall, Calis shouted back, “Who rides?”
“Bilbari’s Regulars, fresh from the fall of Khaipur,” and, glancing around, he added, “or what’s left of us.”
The outriders returned and Erik assumed they were informing their leader that it was a closed fortress, not a simple barricade. Calis called back, “Who commands? I know Bilbari, and you’re not he.”
The leader again looked around. “I guess I do. Bilbari died at the wall”—he spit and made a sign—“and we took the day’s grace after the fall. My name is Zila.”
Praji came to stand next to Calis, and Erik could hear him say, “I know them. A good enough band for butchery, though I’d not want any of them sharing my bunk. They’ll honor the peace of the camp, more or less.”
“I can give you the peace of the camp,” said Calis.
“How long?”
“Two days,” answered Calis.
“Fair enough.” Then Zila laughed. “More than fair. Who commands here?”
“I do. Calis.”
“Calis’s Crimson Eagles?” asked Zila as he dismounted.
“The same.”
“I heard you died at Hamsa,” he said as Calis motioned for the gates to be opened.
As Erik and the others waited, Foster came by and said, “Stand down, but be alert. These wouldn’t be the first to promise the peace of the camp but change their minds once inside.”
All thought of such betrayal vanished when the company entered the village. They were beaten men. Erik noticed that several horses were injured and all were footsore. Even two days of rest would not be enough to bring some of those mounts to soundness.
Erik heard Zila snort, clear his throat, and spit. “Damn dust,” he said. “The smoke was worse. Fires from one horizon to the other.” He glanced at the men of Calis’s company. “You did well to avoid that one.” Motioning to his horse, he asked, “Got a smith in your company?”
Calis motioned for Erik, who handed his sword and shield to Roo. “Put these away for me, would you?”
Roo’s answer was rude, but he took the armor and headed off toward their tent. Erik came up to Zila, who said, “Threw a shoe somewhere along the way. She’s not lame, but she’s going to be.”
Erik only needed a glance to tell Zila was right. He picked up the horse’s leg and saw that the frog of the hoof was bloody. “I’ll clean this and dress it. With a new shoe, packed and padded, she should be all right if you don’t push her too hard.”
“Ha!” said Zila. To Calis he said, “There’s an army of thirty thousand or more coming this way. They just kicked hell out of us. Unless someone organizes a rendezvous north of here soon, we’re but the first of maybe a hundred or more companies that are going to come riding this way, and most of those lads are damn out-of-sorts over having been butchered by the lizards—”
Calis said, “Lizards?”
Zila nodded. “For a drink, I’ll tell you about it.”
Calis instructed Erik to care for the newcomers’ horses, and Erik signaled the nearest men to take charge of the others as he took Zila’s mount in tow. The animal was limping, and by the time they reached the pen for remounts, Erik was certain she would have been useless in another day, two at the most.
The newcomers were split equally between those who were content to let Calis’s men treat their animals and those who insisted on following along to ensure their animals were well cared for; Erik was completely unsurprised to see that those who came along had the best mounts. Despite the hardships, those horses were the fittest and should recover after resting up. The others were a poor lot at best, and Erik suspected that others besides Zila’s would soon be unable to carry their riders.
Erik had each horse inspected and made a mental list of which animals would be worth caring for and which would be best killed today. After conferring with a couple of the more experienced horsemen in Calis’s forces, he found no argument.
As he moved away, one of the newcomers approached. “You. What’s your name?”
“Erik.” He paused and waited to see what the newcomer had to say.
Lowering his voice, the man said, “Mine is Rian. You know your way around horses.” He was a large man with a flat face, reddish from the sun and covered in road dust. His eyes were dark, but his hair was reddish brown, his beard grey-shot. He carried himself easily, one hand absently resting on a longsword.
Erik nodded, but said nothing.
“I could use another horse. Mine will come sound if I don’t ride her for another week. Do you think your Captain would sell me one?”