Atop the high stone walls of Lyonsgate, the men who had only a short time before been cheering loudly at the appearance of Captain Cooper’s army looked on in horror as a swarm of enemy enveloped their rescuers.
“By the gods,” the commander of the city’s defenses swore as he watched the horrific scene unfold. “If those men are defeated there is nothing we can do to keep them from laying siege to the city. Order the men to prepare to meet the enemy. On my order, throw open the gates, but keep a heavy repelling party ready to cover our retreat.”
Commander Aaronson took the wooden stairs down to the courtyard two at a time and mounted his waiting steed. He would ride at the head of his own paltry cavalry, just shy of a hundred horses, and a third of the men were militia, not regular army.
With another two hundred men afoot, Commander Aaronson ordered the gates open and the portcullis raised and held. He and his men set forth, pushed by the cheers of the men still manning the walls, though every man with a view could see that the Valarians were still outnumbered nearly two to one.
Commander Aaronson did not wait for his slower-moving infantry. He and his cobbled together cavalry lowered their lances and charged into the southern flank of the enemy cavalry. Lances snapped and were dropped as they punched through steel armor and the flesh of men and horses. Commander Aaronson began shouting for the king’s men to retreat to the city as he waved his longsword over his head and hewed off the left hand of a halberdier that stabbed at him from the ground.
The decimated forces under Captain Cooper took up the call to retreat, and rallied by the sudden support, began a fighting withdrawal toward the gates of the city. Commander Aaronson’s infantry reached the melee and drove a wedge between Kayne’s northern cavalry and Cooper’s soldiers to give them an avenue of escape.
Lyonsgate’s cavalry and the remaining horsemen under Captain Cooper formed a thin wall between the Hell’s Legion mercenaries and their own routed infantry. The mounted soldiers fought furiously and inflicted grievous damage to the ranks of marauders, but their numbers were far too few and their enemy far too numerous to do anything except buy the men a few more seconds to reach the dubious safety of the gates.
As the invaders pressed the soldiers back toward the city, they came within range of the archers atop the wall. Arrows began falling dangerously close to the pummeled cavalry but managed to strike almost entirely within the enemy ranks, giving the few remaining cavalrymen a chance to turn and run for the gate themselves.
Ragged volleys of arrows from Kayne’s archers chased after the fleeing men but most fell short. Kayne ordered his men to stay clear of the town’s arrow fire and retreated to a safe distance as the gates slammed behind the last of the soldiers to enter the city.
Inside the walls of Lyonsgate, the mood was a mixed affair. Only thirty-two of the ninety-four horses under Commander Aaronson returned to the city and he was not amongst their numbers. Many families would also be mourning the one-hundred and six footmen that followed him to the grave. While the survivors of Captain Cooper’s army found joy at their rescue, only two hundred and fifty-four out of the nearly one thousand made it to the relative safety of the city, and their commander had also given his life to give his men a chance to escape.
Lyonsgate welcomed the surviving king’s men but now faced the daunting prospect of repelling a siege. Fear of such a prospect turned to confusion as the defenders watched the invaders march off toward the south and disappear into the distant low, rolling hills. Five days passed before the city began to think that the marauders were not returning and began to relax but the confusion remained. Why did they attack if they had no plans to besiege the city? No one in the city was likely to get an answer anytime soon, probably never.
Kayne led his victorious forces south until they met up with the support personnel and the rear detachment. It was not the total victory he had hoped and planned for. He had hoped to crush them utterly but had not counted on the men from the city to face almost certain death to attempt to rescue their rescuers much less fight with such fury and tenacity. Kayne accepted the fact that he had broken the back of a large portion of King Jarvin’s military might and counted it as a decent victory despite the more than two hundred men he lost.
Kayne’s forces marched westward and then northward where Duke Ulric planned to load his men onto waiting ships for the voyage north. Only the infantry would be sailing by ship. The beach where they would be picked up would not allow the big war galleys to land near enough to get the horses on board even if there was enough ships and space available, which there was not.
Several days of marching brought them to the deserted stretch of coast where the mercenaries could see the tall-masted ships already waiting for them. Longboats were launched almost immediately upon Kayne’s arrival to begin ferrying his men to the awaiting vessels.
The plan was for his men to be taken by ship where they would be unloaded maybe two days march from North Haven onto one of the few stretches of coastline that was not too rugged to do so. Kayne would lead his cavalry northward, avoiding towns and people as much as possible, but it was not so vital that his presence remain a secret at this point. His support elements would follow by caravan at their best speed. They would take at least a week longer to reach North Haven, but they would not be needed before then. With luck, he will have secured the city by the time they arrived.
Duke Ulric would supplement his forces with over a thousand men of his own who would then slip away once they took the city to rejoin the duke’s main force so that they could “liberate” North Haven. It is unfortunate that the frigid duchess would be dead by then, but he would be just in time to rescue her daughter who would join their two cities by marriage. If not, she would suffer the same fate as her mother and Ulric would simply annex the city.
As much as Kayne despised over-complicated plans and politics, he had to respect the way the duke had it all worked out. As the hero who saved Brightridge, Groveswood, and soon North Haven, as well as routing the marauders once and for, his bid for the crown was almost guaranteed to be successful.
CHAPTER 19
Hati stood upon the crenellated roof of the tower alternating her gaze between the grey clouds above just being lit by the rising sun, and the hard ground more than sixty feet below. It was early and the sun was peaking above the distant horizon just barely visible to her keen eyes through the thick but wispy cloud cover.
She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and took several steps away from the precipitous drop. Hati looked down at the tar-coated wood beneath her feet then spun around, sprinted for the edge of the tower, and launched herself with a powerful kick off the low ledge between the crenellations.
Her powerful muscles propelled her several feet above the top of the gap-toothed-looking crenellations before gravity reasserted itself and tried to drag her back down to the ground—tried and failed. With just a twitch of inhumanly strong back and chest muscles, her fourteen-foot wings spread out, instantly arresting her fall. She glided a score of yards in seconds before she put her powerful chest muscles to work, pumping her mottled brown and red-tipped wings up and down, carrying her higher and higher into the damp morning sky.
Hati’s initial fear was almost instantly replaced by a sense of overwhelming joy and an exhilaration she had never before felt. She stared down at the dark green canopy of the evergreen trees falling away and racing past far beneath her as she continued to rocket up and away into the sky.
The shame she had felt for her forced deformity turned into pity for everyone who could never know this kind of freedom. Flying was life to her, as important as eating or breathing. Within the first few minutes of her first true flight she could not imagine ever living without it and it made her weep with joy.
She looked down and saw a small figure racing along a large open glade below her. Hati had no problem identifying each feature on the young boy that clung to the back of the solid black horse that galloped across the meadow below. She pulle
d in her beautiful wings and went into a steep dive, reaching a speed that not even that sleek and powerful midnight horse could hope to match.
Peck was riding bareback as he often did, perched upon the back of his favorite, and by far fastest, horse Azerick owned. Only his hands and bare feet touched Newmoon’s broad back as he raced across the meadow, whooping and recklessly waving into the air as Hati dove towards him at a fantastic speed.
Hati let out her own shriek of joy, sounding as much like a human as she did a dire hawk as she spread her beautiful wings and leveled out a hundred feet above Peck. She marveled at the boy’s ability to ride as he clung to the horse’s back with such apparent ease. Another twitch of her wings sent her soaring back upwards until the misty clouds were just above her and the edge of the world appeared to lie just past the horizon only an hour’s flight away.
She did not know where she was going nor did she know when she would return, only that she had to follow the urge that drove her into the skies. Hati was certain she would come back one day. She was grateful to the old wizard for removing the mark that had enslaved her and Colleen’s instant friendship. They were the only people that had ever seemed to accept her without question or reservation despite her appearance. Not even in her own village had she been so welcomed, and she did not even have wings then!
Yes, she would return one day, but for now she had to fly, had to hunt. She had a few things in a pack strapped tightly to her stomach but most of her food she would have to find herself. Her blood ran unnaturally hot. Even at this high altitude where the air was thin and near or even beyond freezing, she was warm in her simple, tight fitting clothing. Colleen had cut a large slit down the back of the leather jacket she wore. Laces allowed her to tie the top of the collar around her neck and a long belt kept the bottom tightly secured around her trim waist.
Hati had heard the nervousness around the keep as word of a possible invasion of some sort spread. She felt guilty for leaving them at what seemed a dark hour after all they had done for her, but she was not a warrior though she could wield the short blade at her hip well when needed. The urge to fly was simply too great and could not be ignored. Hati was certain that they would all understand and not begrudge her. She prayed that they would stay safe as she flew off in search of whatever it was her heart seemed desperate to find.
***
Jansen stood alone atop the wall. He had sent the young men that were also assigned to this shift’s guard duty to the kitchens to get something warm to drink and to break their fast a little early. He watched Hati sail over the treetops until she disappeared into the distance, marveling at her grace and beauty.
The young woman’s beauty took him by surprise when Zeb first brought her into the keep, but that changed to something like awe when the old sailor pulled the blanket off her and he saw her amazing wings. She looked to him like a goddess of legend. But he would never allow his face to betray an emotion like surprise or amazement or even the desire that welled up in him when he first beheld her in all her unique splendor.
As the former captain of the King’s Blackguard assigned to protect Jarvin’s father, something not even his employers knew, he had avoided any personal attachments during his service and prayed that she would return. He knew she was not going to return this day and likely not for some time to come. He had never felt such intense feelings for a woman as he felt for Hati, and the sensation unsettled him more than just slightly. Jansen was unable to put his finger on the source of his sudden ardor for such an unusual yet captivating creature. He hoped she did not possess some innate charm ability like a siren or nymph.
Perhaps it was because for the first time in years his mind was able to focus upon something other than his duty. For nearly ten years he sought the Rook so that he could fulfill his vow to kill the man. That quest came to a bitter end when the assassin got himself killed by a lowly goblin.
He could still not believe it. Ever since he had failed in his duty to protect Jarvin’s father from the deadly killer, Jansen had made it his life’s focus to achieve that vendetta. After several near misses, then completely losing the trail, he had attached himself to the sorcerer’s friend, figuring that their paths would cross one day.
He tucked his personal thoughts and feelings deep into the recesses of his mind, just as he had done by necessity so many times in the past that it was a perfectly natural state for him. This time, it seemed just a bit more difficult to shut the lid on them. The bodyguard continued his patrols upon the wall. He could smell danger in the air, an acrid sort of tension that seemed to cast a pall across the land. He just wondered when the source of it would finally show itself.
***
Wolf and Ghost plodded through what were probably the last snows of winter even though spring should have arrived weeks ago. It was still cold and the snow would not likely melt for another few weeks, but he and Ghost had been cooped up inside the keep far longer than either of them could tolerate.
Wolf enjoyed the clean cold air blowing on his face and filling his lungs. He hoped he might bag a nice winter hare or two today. Ghost suddenly stopped and stared toward the south as a deep, low rumbling filling his massive chest.
“You feel it too don’t you, boy?” Wolf asked. “Someone is in our woods that don’t belong. I thought it was just my nerves from being cooped up too long, but it’s not, is it?”
Ghost glanced up at his half-elf friend with his golden eyes then stared south once more.
“I didn’t think so. Let’s go see what it is.”
The snow was still fairly deep even beneath the thick bough of the evergreen trees as they walked south in search of whatever it was that disturbed the spirit of his forest. Wolf wore a pair of snowshoes he made from deer sinew and soft pine branches earlier in the season. He did manage to take down a winter hare and a pair of grouse with his bow, for which he was grateful. He knew he would not find whoever or whatever it was that he was looking for before nightfall.
Wolf found a good hollow under a young evergreen and shoveled out the remaining snow until he managed to reach dirt and old pine needles and cleared a large enough space for the two of them. He then kindled a small fire inside the hollow and roasted the two birds and the rabbit. Wolf dropped a fist-sized chunk of coal from his fire kit onto the fire that would stay smoldering and giving off heat for hours and quickly fell asleep.
Wolf found himself loping through the snow-covered woods. Because the pristine white snow covered nearly everything, it took several minutes before he realized that he was colorblind. He saw that where the snow had fallen from some of the tree branches the needle-covered limbs were a dark grey, not green.
His lack of color vision was far from a handicap. Whatever has happened to him, he can see more shades of grey than he thought were possible. He could also hear with amazing acuity and the scents that came to his nose were so strong and concise that it was almost like a second type of vision.
His view was also oriented lower to the ground than he was accustomed to. He looked down and saw his broad black chest and forefeet. He was not Wolf but Ghost. The feeling was strange but exhilarating. Wolf-Ghost caught the scent of a deer and raced off in the direction from which it came. He could tell just by the smell that there was a buck and at least two doe not far from where he stood.
His delicate nose picked up the scent of fear that suddenly roiled off the prey animals as their own acute hearing detected the sound of his careless charge. Wolf-Ghost caught a flash of movement ahead and saw the broad, white rumps of the deer spring away into the woods. Wolf-Ghost laughed aloud but it sounded more like a yip and was about to give chase when another scent intruded onto his senses—smoke, men, and horses and not far away.
He resisted his chase instinct and moved toward the source of the smell but with much more caution than he had the deer. The scent of a lone human separated itself from the others. It was stronger, closer. Wolf-Ghost crept nearer, skirting around the base of the trees so his black coat would n
ot stand out so much and would appear as just another shadow.
He heard the human’s breathing before he saw him. He was dressed in white and grey clothing and furs, blending in with the surroundings quite well. Wolf-Ghost knew that he would have to get past this human if he were going to be able to see who else was in his woods without his permission. Though technically outside the area he frequently marked as his own, in both his forms, he still considered these his woods and he did not tolerate interlopers—especially ones that stank of foul intent as these did.
The human was vigilant but he did not belong here as Wolf-Ghost did. He was out of his element and it was going to cost him dearly. Wolf-Ghost was able to creep within a few paces of the man before the human turned and saw the crouched black form against the base of a nearby tree.
The human tried to pull one of the long, steel claw-fangs hanging from his side but Wolf-Ghost was faster. Before the human could shout a warning to the rest of his pack, Wolf-Ghost’s powerful jaws pierced the soft flesh of the man’s throat and crushed his windpipe, riding the falling body to the ground.
The human was dead before his head hit the snow. Bright red blood, dark grey to his wolf eyes, ruined the pristine snow all around the body. Wolf-Ghost’s black coat did not show the blood that covered his jaws and chest but he could taste it. It was not the pleasant taste of his usual prey food, but it was not altogether vile.
He followed the human’s tracks back toward the rest of his pack, more by smell than by the sight of the prints, but he could use those too. Even when he was just Ghost, he knew what tracks looked like and could decipher their meaning. Within minutes, he saw the dying fires of the humans and the dens the humans made of hides that came from plants. Canvas, the Wolf part of Wolf-Ghost said in his bilateral mind.
The Sorcerer's Vengeance (The Sorcerer's Path) Page 30