The Hunter's Gambit

by Nicholas McIntire

  He was cold.

  Jonas shook, trying to sit up. He needed to get his bearings, but he was frozen.

  He reached for the Archanium and found only silence. Silence so terrifying it brought tears to his eyes instantaneously.

  They froze before they could fall.

  Gods, but he was cold!

  And then, cutting through the strange nimbus sea, he heard a voice. It was the most beautiful sound Jonas had ever heard in his entire life, yet there was something strangely familiar about it.

  With a startled gasp Jonas sat up, panting for breath in the sudden vacuum. The air retained the same chill, but color had replaced the soulless blue-white of the light world. He was sitting in a bed, but he couldn’t remember where in the heavens such a bed would be.

  A hand pressed against his naked chest and Jonas found himself gently pressed back into the pillows.

  “You haven’t completely recovered. You need sleep before the last of the effects wear off completely.”

  Jonas stared up into the luminous brown eyes of the Angel Leigha.

  “Do you know your name?” she asked calmly.

  He frowned, “Jonas?”

  She nodded encouragingly, “Good. And the rest of it?”

  Jonas arched a chestnut eyebrow, “What?”

  Leigha sighed and pressed a hand to his head. The fight came back to him in a thunderclap of memory. His hand went immediately to his shoulder, but his fingers found only whole flesh and bone.

  “You’ve been healed, Jonas.” Leigha said softly. “You’re extremely lucky Autricus found you when he did, but even the magic of the High Priest is limited compared to the power of the Seraphima. He did everything he could to keep you alive until I could get here.”

  “Why are you here?” Jonas asked instead, trying to allow his brain to regain some sense of what had happened since he’d lost consciousness.

  “You’re welcome.” Leigha laughed. “I received the High Priest’s summons a few days ago.”

  “Gods, how long have I been out?” Jonas asked, looking out the room’s sole window for some sign as to the time of day.

  “About a week. Autricus decided that waking you would prove too much of a strain on your body, so he kept you in an extended state of suspension until a healer arrived.”

  Jonas frowned, “And it just so happened that the healer they sent was the first-born Cherub?”

  Leigha shrugged, “Grandmother figured only you would get yourself into such a situation at the Cathedral. She was going to send someone else, but I insisted. She was understandably reticent about letting me go after what happened to the guards she sent last month.”

  Jonas nodded his understanding. It wasn’t hard to guess what she meant.

  “Now, I’ve kept you long enough. You need your sleep. I’ll come check on you tomorrow and we’ll see how you’re mending. Sleep well, Cousin.”

  Jonas smiled for the first time in what felt like years. “Thank you, Leigha.”

  She bowed her head slightly, then shut the door.

  Jonas waited until she’d been gone for several minutes before closing his eyes. He had to be sure she wouldn’t come back any time soon or else there was no point in even attempting it.

  A few moments later he was floating on the tranquil waves of the Archanium, casting his mind to the south.

  “Aleksei?”

  And then he dissolved into dream.

  Aleksei gave an exasperated growl of irritation and buried his face in his hands. The small roll of paper bearing the most recent message from his spies in Relvyn drifted about his desk before settling a few inches from his left elbow.

  Emelian Krasik had crossed the mountains. Somehow he’d managed to move a thousand tons of snow and rock out of his way and was even now pressing north for Kalinor.

  Thoughts and preparations raced through Aleksei’s mind.

  He hadn’t slept in three days.

  There hadn’t been time. He’d been rounding up the citizens of Kalinor who were willing, ready for the journey to Keldoan, though more by far refused to be moved from their homes, inspecting the anti-siege equipment progress, ensuring the foundry was producing enough arrows…the list went on and on.

  And now this.

  Aleksei was approaching his wits’ end. Rysun’s communiqués had been vague at best, cryptic at their worst. He still had no concrete idea of how far his men were from reaching the city. If they didn’t arrive soon it would be too late. For any of them.

  “A force of eighty thousand men is marching towards me,” he growled to himself, “and I’ve got five thousand men and a three hundred Magi who can’t quite manage to make fire.”

  It was enough to thrust him into the waiting embrace of madness.

  Aleksei reached under his desk and picked up a bottle of Dalitian firebrandy. He took a long pull before replacing the cork and returning it to its resting-place next to his right boot. It wouldn’t do for his men to see him drinking, but the pain the firebrandy manifested in his throat was the only thing keeping him awake any longer.

  He reached into his coat and removed a fine, crumpled crimson scarf. The same scarf Jonas had worn the day they’d first met. He pressed the dark red fabric to his face, inhaling Jonas' scent.

  His mind cleared, if just for a moment.

  Aleksei?

  A wave of exhaustion crested over him and Aleksei coughed, shaking his head and trying to keep his eyes open. A second wave crashed across his consciousness and his head struck a pile of reports.

  He opened his eyes to find himself still at his desk. A weary, shirtless Jonas Belgi sat across from him. Though the room remained unchanged, Aleksei recognized the now-familiar sensation of Dreamspeak.

  “You have got to get some sleep, Aleksei.”

  The Lord Captain smiled wearily at his Magus, “I’m afraid sleep is a bit impractical at the moment.”

  “Aleksei,” Jonas said, leaning forward across his massive desk, “you’re not doing anyone any favors by torturing yourself.”

  “I don’t have the time.” Aleksei insisted, picking up the message from Relvyn and tossing it in front of the Prince.

  Jonas picked it up and scanned it briefly, then let it fall back to the desk. “Good gods.” he whispered.

  “For all the good They’re doing me.” Aleksei grunted sardonically. “And I still haven’t gotten a clear answer from Rysun. All I know is that he’s somewhere west of Kalinor, and that he’s theoretically moving his men towards us as fast as he can.”

  “What do you think the problem is?”

  Aleksei sat back in his chair and shook his head, “I couldn’t begin to guess. For all I know, he’s picked up the bottle again.”

  Jonas scowled, “I hardly believe Henry would stand for that.”

  Aleksei conceded that Jonas had a point. He had a hard time imagining Henry Drago sitting idly by while a man drowned his sorrows in drink. He knew quite well how little patience Henry had for such abject displays of misery.

  “I just wish there was some way I could talk to him. I have a feeling I could get all this straightened out if I saw him face to face.”

  Jonas suddenly looked hopeful, “Well, it’s true you can’t go talk to him. But I can.”

  “You?”

  “I’m in Dalita now, but I can fly pretty fast. And a force of twenty-six thousand men…that wouldn’t be difficult to find from the air. I imagine I could get to their position in a few days. And it would only take me a few more to get from there back to Kalinor.”

  Aleksei considered the idea for a long moment. On one hand it was true that Jonas could be there just as fast as any of his apparently ineffective orders. But could he afford to lose Jonas for that long?

  Suppose Bael decided to show up and cause trouble? Could anyone in the Voralla truly defend against such an attack? He had already done without his Magus for a shocking amount of time, especially given his present condition.
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br />   In the end it all came down to risk. Was it worth risking an attack from Bael or one of his followers just to get a message to Rysun? But then again, could he afford not to? After all, it was very difficult to create a battle plan when you were uncertain where the majority of your force was located.

  “Alright.” he said finally. “Get to him as fast as you can and tell him that I don’t care if men are dropping dead from exhaustion, just as long as he gets here before Krasik.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. Yes. Tell my father I love him.”

  The prince smiled and gripped Aleksei’s arm comfortingly, “They’ll get here in time. You’ll see. After all, you sent Rysun the order to advance weeks ago. I can’t imagine he’s more than a few dozen leagues from the city.”

  Aleksei tried to smile, but had a difficult time adopting Jonas' optimism. The vision of his men burning swept across his mind, the sounds of their screams filling his ears. He knew what awaited them if help didn’t arrive in time.

  “Any luck on your end?” Aleksei asked, deciding a change of subject was most definitely in order.

  Jonas' face took on a new level of anger. Even from across the desk Aleksei could feel the man’s burning rage. “The Cathedral has been defiled. What’s more, I was attacked.”

  Aleksei sat straighter, “Attacked? Are you alright? Who was it?”

  “I’m alright. But Aleksei, we’ve got to do something. I was attacked by Sammul.”

  Aleksei felt his breath catch in his throat. “Sammul? I didn’t think he had that sort of power.”

  Jonas shook his head, “I’ve been a horrible fool, Aleksei. I should have seen this ages ago and yet I didn’t want to believe it. Sammul was our second Dark Magus. He’s been helping Bael this entire time. For all I know, he helped plan the rebellion. He probably handed Bael the Prime Key.

  “You’ve got to tell Aya. Tell her she has to guard the Apsis before anyone else can get there. And they’ll have do something about his acolytes. Besides those we know, no one in the Voralla can be trusted. I don’t know if Sammul is still alive, but if he is he can’t be allowed anywhere near the Voralla.”

  Aleksei nodded, his head spinning with the possible implications. “I’ll see to it at once.”

  “Aleksei.”

  He paused, realizing that he had been rising from his chair.

  “Take care of yourself, Aleksei. Please. For me?”

  The dream office melted away and Aleksei sat up, fighting off the clinging threads of sleep-deprivation. He did his best to suppress another coughing fit. They were coming on faster and faster lately.

  “Gods,” Aleksei muttered to himself, rising to his feet. “and here I thought it couldn’t get any worse.”

  He stepped out of his office and stumbled down the hall towards the Voralla. Every step seemed to pull him down towards the floor, and yet determination kept him moving. Aya had to be warned. The Voralla had to be warned.

  About halfway down the corridor he began to cough again.

  Aleksei suddenly realized he was on his hands and knees. His vision swam, and he could smell the stink of blood on the carpet beneath him. He tried to struggle to his feet, but only succeeded in falling flat on his face.

  He hardly registered the black as it consumed him.

  CHAPTER 41

  An Ancient Hunger

  COLONEL CHARLES ANDER stared blearily out into the yawning darkness, fighting desperately to stay awake. He had been summoned from his bed mere moments ago by a very excited sergeant, but as he stared into the mournful blue of morning he could see nothing to engender such urgency.

  “They’ll be in view any moment, Sir.” the sergeant promised earnestly.

  All around Ander drooped equally-exhausted men, some going so far as to lean against the battlements of the city walls, others pacing in an effort to stay alert.

  It had been a little over a week since he’d found the Lord Captain collapsed in the corridor, and yet he felt sure that any moment an aide would appear to inform him of the Lord Captain’s unfortunate but, sadly unsurprising demise. Despite the best efforts of the Ri-Vhan Healers and Magi to keep him alive, Ander knew without question that without Aleksei, their fantasies of victory would die.

  “Colonel!” a voice rang out in his ear. He jumped, startled at the explosion of sound amidst the quiet.

  “Yes, Sergeant, what is it?”

  “Colonel, men approach.”

  Ander frowned and aimed his spyglass into the gloom. After a few moments he realized he could make out shapes emerging. Columns of soldiers were marching towards them, thousands of men.

  They wore the crimson and blue of the House of Belgi.

  “Rysun.” Ander breathed in relief.

  “Do you really think so, Sir?”

  “I doubt Krasik would permit his men to wear the Queen’s colors. But we’ll wait until they call us formally and see what they have to say for themselves.”

  The men along the wall began to rouse themselves, some whispering excitedly to one another and pointing down at the advancing columns. It seemed they were to be delivered at last.

  “Hail Kalinor!” a voice rang out from below.

  “Hail, soldier. Speak your piece.” Ander called.

  “Sir, the armies of Lord Perron are close behind us! Hurry, Sir, the gates!”

  Ander opened his mouth to question the man further, but suddenly thought better of it. He turned to his sergeant and nodded, “Tell the gate house to open up. And quickly!”

  The sergeant darted away towards the gatehouse, leaving Ander to stare down into the ranks of men. Aleksei had told him how long they had been in the wilderness, yet Ander noted how crisp their uniforms seemed.

  Remarkable, he thought, that they had been able to maintain such a high level of personal discipline so far out in the brush.

  The gates slowly ground open.

  Ander watched impatiently, noting the restlessness of the men below.

  A sound to his left caught his attention. Ander turned and almost tripped over himself at what he saw.

  And then the world went mad.

  Aleksei sat up, coughing violently and staring around in confusion.

  He was in his own bed, staring at the richly paneled wall on the other end of his chamber. He was naked, the sheets drenched in cold sweat.

  His heart hammered in his chest and in his ears. His chest felt like it was on fire. The fire licked up and down his body before escaping out his throat in short, barking coughs, and some part of him keenly understood one thing with absolute certainty; his sickness would shortly kill him.

  He managed to roll onto the floor and pick himself up. Every step seemed another league before him, yet he managed to reach his small wardrobe and pull out a pair of breeches. Aleksei wasn’t even sure how he managed to pull them on. One moment he was struggling with them and the next he was lying on the soft carpets that covered the cold marble floor, breeches on and the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

  He had passed out. The gods only knew how long he’d been lying there.

  Aleksei pulled himself back up and managed to stamp his feet into his boots. As he stumbled for the door he grabbed his sword belt from the wall and pulled his leather coat over his bare shoulders. Aleksei knew he was incapable of managing the buttons of his uniform in his present condition.

  And then he ran.

  At least, he tried to run.

  In the end he managed a sort of galloping fall that moved him jerkily down the corridor. Every few moments he would pause to cough, to spit up blood and phlegm.

  “Gods,” he gasped as another coughing fit finally abated, “I can’t take much more.”

  Time lost all meaning, yet somehow he found himself standing before the doors leading out onto the Lawn.

  As he stumbled across the grass, one of the Guardsmen saw him and rushed over, “Lord Captain! Lord Captain, what are you doing out here?”
r />   “I need a horse.” Aleksei choked, pointing to the mount the man was leading. “I have to get to the outer walls.”

  “Sir?” the man asked, not understanding.

  “They…can’t…open…the gates!” he coughed.

  “I’ll go straight away and tell them, Sir.” the man promised.

  “No!” Aleksei gasped. “No, you close the Palace gates. Sound the alarm. It may already be too late.”

  The man seemed confused. He could tell Aleksei was feverish. What if he didn’t listen?

  “What are you waiting for?” Aleksei barked.

  “Here.” the young man said, handing Aleksei the reins to the roan gelding. “I’ll help you into the saddle, Sir.”

  Aleksei found himself clutching the horn of the saddle desperately as he fought to steady himself. The Guardsman had already run to the Palace wall to sound the alarm. Aleksei managed a feeble kick, but the roan sprang forward as though he was wearing spurs.

  “Take me to the walls.” he whispered, praying to the Gods that this horse could understand at least something of what he said.

  He galloped through the city, down the central avenue and towards the South Gate. Everything was moving so fast. It was impossible for Aleksei to make sense of it all. The only thing he was truly aware of was that they were heading south. The danger was south.

  He had a chance.

  Had it not been for the chaotic thunder of eighty thousand heartbeats roaring in his ears, Aleksei imagined he would still be unconscious in his bedroom.

  But his Hunter senses told him very clearly what waited on the other side of that wall.

  Aleksei lost time again during the ride, but when he swam back into awareness he was being pulled off the horse by two Legionnaires.

  “Lord Captain? Are you alright, Sir?”

  “The wall!” he coughed. “I have to get to the gatehouse!”

  The two men didn’t ask any questions. They each wedged a shoulder under one of his arms, lifting him quickly up the towering series of stairs that led to the top of the wall.