“There will be no siege,” Darien insisted. “If Proctor allows himself to be surrounded, his entire force will be destroyed.”
Pratson paced away toward the fireplace, raking a hand through his hair. With his back to Darien, he asked, “And if this Enemy host is not stopped in the pass, what makes you think our people will be safe even in Rothscard?”
“Your people will be far safer in a fortified city with its own standing army than they ever will be in Wolden.”
The mayor nodded, turning back with a look of resignation. His face was pale and glistening with a sheen of sweat. Shoving his hand into the pocket of his jacket, he retrieved a white kerchief, using it to dab at his forehead. “Then I suppose I ought to thank you, Master Lauchlin, for the warning. Is there anything further you require?”
On impulse, Darien pushed his chair back and rose from his seat. “I’d ask you to leave something behind for the soldiers passing through in your wake.”
Pratson frowned at him. “What do you have in mind?”
“Anything you can think of that might be of use to a retreating army. Food. Remounts. Medicinals. Weapons, if you have any to spare. Arrows, especially, would be critical. An army on the run doesn’t have time to stop and retrieve spent shafts.”
“Greystone archers have always favored the longbow, have they not?”
Darien nodded.
Pratson raised his hands helplessly. “Out here on the plains, we’ve little use for them. I’m afraid I am simply not equipped to supply an army with arrows for bows we don’t use.”
But Darien was not about to let the man off that easily. “What sort of bows do you have?”
“The local nomads use horn bows to defend their grazing territories. I’ve supplied my own guardsmen with them.”
Horn bows. As the mayor had suggested, arrows meant for the horn bow would be of no use to the Greystone archers. And yet … he had seen one of these horn bows on a guard at the gate. It was much smaller than the longbow yet had the look of an effective weapon.
Such a bow could be used from horseback. Longbows could not, at least not without enormous difficulty. The only chance of success Proctor had would be to strike and fall back, as fast as he could, as often as he could. If his bowmen were mounted and supplied with horn bows, their chances would be greatly improved.
Darien asked, “How many bows might you be able to lay your hands on in the span of a week?”
“While trying to organize an evacuation? You ask too much.”
“What I’m asking for is the means of defending your homeland,” Darien reminded him. “If you provide the Greystone archers with horn bows and remounts, they could make use of them to harry the Enemy and slow their advance.”
Pratson stared at him with raised eyebrows. “I can try. But I make no promises.”
“Do your best. For every Enemy soldier that falls along the way, that’s one less to threaten the walls of Rothscard.” He released his grip on the mayor’s arm.
Pratson scowled at the floor. “Now I remember why I’ve never liked dealings with your kind. No good news ever comes on the wings of a black cloak.”
He reached out and clasped Darien’s hand in parting. Naia rose, gathering her white skirts and dipping her chin as she moved past Darien out the door. Kyel followed in her wake, looking a bit pale.
Darien almost smiled as he watched his young acolyte leave, thinking the meeting had been a good lesson for him. Then he frowned, remembering the next lesson he had planned. It was almost time to implement it.
17
Follow the Field
Wolden disappeared behind them, swallowed up by the rolling folds of the prairie. Kyel closed his eyes and slouched in his saddle, moving with the steady rhythm of his horse’s gait. It felt good to feel the sun on his face. He tilted his head back, luxuriating in the warmth of the breeze that caressed his cheeks and ruffled his hair.
He paid little attention to where they were headed, happy just to watch the scenery go by. It wasn’t until the priestess angled her horse off the road and guided it westward that Kyel began to wonder where they might be headed. Every once in a while, a small tree broke the monotony of the grass. Otherwise, the prairie was like a sprawling ocean, stretching out in infinite tides to the distant horizon.
“Where are we going?” Kyel asked, contemplating the enormity of the view that surrounded them. It made him feel extraordinarily small and insignificant, yet hale and fortunate at the same time.
Naia glanced back and smiled. “There is a shrine of the goddess a few leagues west of here,” she said, her veil fluttering about her face.
Staring out into the vast emptiness before them, Kyel wondered aloud, “Why would anyone want to build a shrine all the way out here?”
The priestess slowed her mount, pulling back on the reins until she was riding abreast of him. “Death is a universal human experience, Kyel. It doesn’t happen just in towns and cities. Also, the governorship of this province strictly forbade us from building a temple in Wolden.”
Kyel found that strange. “Why?”
“Oh, for political reasons,” Naia said as her mare twitched its tail into Kyel’s leg.
“I fail to see how a temple has much to do with politics.”
Darien glanced back over his shoulder and exchanged an amused grin with the priestess. Kyel frowned, feeling like the butt of some joke he didn’t understand.
But when Darien turned his smile on him, Kyel realized there was nothing scornful about it. Rather, the mage’s expression seemed almost fatherly. He said, “Once you become a bit more traveled, I think you’ll find the temples have more authority than most people would guess.”
Kyel nodded, thinking it strange a man only scant years older than himself could make him feel so much like a child. He figured it was because Darien’s range of experiences was so vastly different from his own. Kyel had lived in the same remote township all his life, learning what he could about the world from what he could glean from the few books that passed his way.
Darien, on the other hand, had actually been to many of the places Kyel had only ever read about. More than that, a critical part of his training had been the study of the Rhen and its various peoples. It created a broad gap between the two of them, making Darien seem far older than he actually was.
Kyel realized he didn’t even know the man’s true age. Thinking back to the first night he’d seen Darien entering Greystone Keep, Kyel remembered noticing how young he looked for a full Master. But Darien didn’t seem that young anymore. He’d grown into that cloak on his back remarkably. Kyel frowned. Since he’d known him, the Sentinel seemed to have aged.
He thought back to the night Darien had tested him, when the mage had shared his fear about the amount of raw power he’d taken in. Kyel couldn’t help wondering if that had something to do with it. Darien no longer resembled the quiet, gentle man Kyel remembered meeting that night in the tower. There was nothing quiet or gentle about him at all anymore. The mage reminded him of a banked fire burning low, awaiting only the smallest draft of air to ignite.
The sun was starting to sink toward the horizon when Darien drew his horse up and announced it was time to make camp for the night.
Naia stared down at the waist-deep grass beneath her mare. “If we press on ahead, we could make it to the shrine before full dark. It’s not much farther.”
But Darien was already unloading his horse’s saddlebags. “Not tonight. I’ve something for Kyel to do first.”
Kyel waited for him to elaborate, but the man didn’t say another word. Finished with unloading the last of his bags, he hobbled his horse and turned it loose to graze.
Kyel decided he’d better stop watching and offer to help before Darien said anything. Soon he found himself set to the task of wading through the tall grass in search of wood while the mage finished setting up their campsite.
Finding enough wood for a fire in the middle of a prairie was not as easy as it seemed, Kyel soon disc
overed. He tromped through the grass over uneven footing, his boots sinking through the topsoil into burrows abandoned by whatever animal had originally dug them. He spread his hands out at his sides, letting the blades of grass trail against his palms as he moved through it.
At last, he found a small, dead tree hidden completely in the grass. He wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t tripped over it first. The wood was decayed and brittle, so it wasn’t hard to snap off enough branches to make a few armloads of wood, which he hauled back to the campsite.
As soon as he had the wood brought in, he found himself set to clearing a space for the fire and then cooking supper, as well. After which, he got to clean everything up while the priestess lounged on a bed of grass and Darien occupied himself by sliding a whetstone along the edges of his blade in long, slow strokes.
By the time Kyel had cleaned out the last pan and stuffed it back into his pack, he’d had just about enough. He’d half a mind to tell Darien exactly where he could shove this whole acolyte business. It was starting to feel more like servitude than any apprenticeship he’d ever heard of.
He was just about to cast his tired body down beside the fire when the Sentinel finally sheathed his blade and rose to his feet. He walked away from the camp, beckoning for Kyel to follow.
Kyel didn’t bother suppressing his groan as he trudged after him. Darien led him up the rise of a low hill, where he stopped and turned, waiting for Kyel to shuffle up the slope. The moon was rising over the mountains in the east, its disk a murky yellow-orange.
“It’s time for your next lesson.”
Kyel felt a shiver of dread caress his skin. There was something in Darien’s tone he didn’t like.
“The first step is learning how to sense the presence of the field,” Darien said. “You managed that quickly. Let’s see how well you do with the second step: learning how to read its strength and direction.”
Kyel was taken aback, especially after Darien’s warning to him earlier that day. “Can you do that? I thought you said this was a vortex.”
Darien shook his head. “I can’t. But for you, this vortex provides a great opportunity for learning.”
“If you say so.” Kyel still didn’t like the sound of it. He also didn’t like the way Darien seemed to be deliberately avoiding his eyes. Instead, he appeared to be looking out at the moonrise, as if studying it for some portent or sign.
Darien said, “You’ll need to reach out from deep inside your mind and get a sense of the magnitude and direction of the field. In a vortex, the field lines run almost parallel and become compressed together till they overlap. It’s called superposition. The strength of the field increases the farther you go in.
“There’s a trick about it. You’ll have to ease your mind along the direction of the current. If you go against it, you’ll know right off.”
Kyel swallowed. “That doesn’t sound very reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
Kyel could only nod. Taking a deep breath, he did what Darien had told him, tentatively reaching out toward the field with his mind. Immediately, he felt a stabbing jolt in his head that crackled down the fibers of his nerves like a liquid slap of lightning.
With a cry, he brought his hands up and hugged his head. The pain was gone, but the memory of it still jolted through his body.
“That bloody hurts!”
Darien shook his head, folding his arms. “Then you went about it the wrong way. Try again.”
Kyel brought his hands down and stared up at him incredulously. “You’re not serious. I can’t do that again!”
“You’ll do it till you get it right. Now. Try again.”
Kyel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Darien stared down at him, arms folded against his chest. There was no hint of sympathy or even compassion in his face. He just stood there, waiting expectantly.
Feeling at a complete loss, Kyel tried to do what the man wanted. This time, he used a slightly different approach, using the most delicate touch he could manage. He actually felt the field for an instant, a tremendous, wild energy that seized his control and wrenched it sharply away.
This time, the pain was exquisite.
Kyel screamed, doubling over. Clutching his head, he fell to the grass and flopped onto his back, gasping. The pain took longer to go away. His head throbbed with the pulse of every heartbeat, and his body shook in quivering spasms.
At last, the grip of the pressure in his head eased enough for him to relax back into the soft grass. He lay there, trembling, staring up at the stars as the Sentinel lowered himself down beside him and placed a steadying hand on his arm.
“Try again.”
Kyel shook his head. He couldn’t do that again. He blinked back tears as he stared up into Darien’s face. “Why are you doing this to me?”
The look in Darien’s eyes was as hard and desolate as the black slopes of the mountains behind them. He rose to his feet, turning his back. Then he walked away.
Kyel lay back and watched him go, feeling hurt and more than a little betrayed. He could still sense the weight of Darien’s disappointment lingering in the air long after the man was gone.
He had no desire to return to their camp. He didn’t want to get up. His joints ached, and it wasn’t just from the ride. So he lay there in the soft and scratchy grass, looking up through the tall blades at the wash of stars above in the heavens. The stars were so many, their lights seemed to combine and run together.
He lay there for perhaps an hour. Maybe longer. He had no way to be sure. Around him, the night was cooling steadily, and the ground was growing hard. There was a rock digging into his back that he hadn’t noticed before. Kyel sat up, yawning, and used his hands to push himself to his feet.
Looking around, he tried to remember the way back to their camp. The fire had burned out; he couldn’t see the glow of the coals. But at last he made out the form of his horse grazing in the distance.
As Kyel trudged down the slope of the hill, his eyes picked out the shadows of their campsite. But when he got to it, Kyel looked down in dismay.
Both Darien and the priestess were gone.
Kyel’s pack and bedroll were still there next to the ashes of the fire that had been smothered with dirt. But Darien, the priestess, and their belongings had disappeared as surely as if the prairie had just opened up and swallowed them.
Angry, Kyel tossed himself down on his bedroll. Had Darien decided to abandon him, just because he hadn’t been able to handle the test of the vortex? Or was it because he’d given up after only trying twice? Whatever the reason, it hardly mattered. He was alone.
Kyel’s hand went to a foot-long piece of wood lying next to him on his blanket. He picked it up, wanting to throw something. He moved his arm back to toss it. Just as he did, he noticed words carved into the bark. Blinking, he held it up before his face, staring down at the letters that had been scratched there, then rubbed over with charcoal to darken them.
Follow the field.
Kyel almost choked on the sudden anger that flooded through him. He howled in rage as he threw the piece of wood with all his strength. His horse looked up from its grazing, snorting as if offended by his action.
He couldn’t believe Darien was doing this to him. The man had said he wouldn’t go easy on him, but this was downright cruel. He should just pile his things on his horse and ride back to Wolden. From there, he could follow the Great Northern Road all the way back to Covendrey, back to home. He’d been doing the man a favor when he’d agreed to accept Darien’s offer. If this was the way he was going to be treated, it wasn’t worth it.
He surged to his feet and went to his horse. The moon was full and bright, so it wasn’t hard to see as he saddled the animal and loaded up. He swung his leg over the horse’s back and, with one last, contemptuous glance at the campsite, set his mount heading east, back across the prairie toward the road.
“You did it to yourself, Darien,” he muttered.
He’d gon
e perhaps half a league before he pulled back on the reins. Cursing the mage silently, he wheeled the animal around and sent it at a gallop back to the campsite, where he climbed down and led the beast forward.
He had made the Sentinel a promise, and the mark it left on his wrist was a visible reminder that was going to haunt him to his grave. Kyel had never gone back on his word in his life. He wasn’t about to start now.
He thought about just heading west, the direction the priestess had been leading them. Naia had said the shrine was only a short distance away. Maybe he could find it on his own, without having to open his mind to the fierce energy of the vortex.
Or maybe he would get turned around in the dark and find himself hopelessly lost. Grudgingly, he decided that strategy wasn’t going to work.
Closing his eyes, he tried to brace himself for the pain. Then he groped outward with his mind.
The lightning-like strike in his head was immediate and intense. It almost took him to his knees. In his mind, he could hear Darien’s voice coming back to torment him:
Try again.
“No,” Kyel groaned, shaking his head even as he forced his will out again into the torrent of the field. This time, he actually got a sense of the direction of the current, right before the searing backlash of power drove into his mind like a molten dagger.
Sobbing outright, Kyel staggered forward, clenching the reins of his horse in one hand, his other hand clutched around the back of his head, gripping his hair in a fist. His vision was so streaked with tears that he could hardly see. He felt his way ahead with his feet, stumbling as he tripped over something in the grass.
He groped again for the field, taking just a tentative sample before flinching back away from it. He waited for the slap of pain. It took a moment to realize that it hadn’t come. Startled, Kyel blinked the tears out of his eyes.
He’d done something different. Something right. Only, he wasn’t sure what it was. He tried to remember, but it wasn’t something he’d consciously thought about. He just hoped he could repeat it again when he had to.
The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy Page 22