“I’m not staying back here, if that’s what you were going to suggest,” Ky’ara cut her off before she could speak.
Calistra narrowed her eyes. “Fine, but Joran comes too. He may be able to sense any danger and give us a warning.”
Joran shrugged, moving to stand next to Ky’ara. “Is there a reason you have to do this yourself?” he asked pointedly, “I could just go and save you both the trouble of risking your own safety.”
Calistra shook her head. “If this isn’t a trick, I want to know why our people are here, without having to hear it all second-hand. Besides, your danger-sense may not work the same if Ky’ara isn’t with you.”
Joran accepted that, and after leaving a few more instructions with the captain, the three of them rode out toward the approaching army.
* * * * *
When they reached the next hilltop, Calistra signaled a halt. The army lay spread before them, a flickering barrier covering the left side of their company. The image shifted slightly in Ky’ara’s vision. Sometimes it seemed like there was nothing under the barrier, sometimes it appeared to be trying to hide half the army. Joran frowned, his eyes flicking back and forth over the two sides.
“What is it?” Calistra asked, “Do you sense something?”
Joran shook his head. “Not danger...but I think it’s just a trick.”
“Well obviously,” Calistra replied, “they’re trying to appear smaller so we underestimate them, but their mages aren’t keeping it up very well.”
“Actually, I think it’s the opposite. They’re trying to appear bigger. Look at the two sides. They’re mirror images of each other.”
Calistra frowned, murmuring a spell to enhance her vision, and examined the approaching army again.
“Also, look at their uniforms,” Joran pointed out, “they may carry the King’s banner, but their uniforms are just an illusion. They don’t look any more detailed when you get closer.”
“Hallahna was right then...they must be our people. They’re probably hoping to avoid confrontations by disguising themselves as the King’s people...and by appearing bigger than they are they’d avoid being attacked by any towns that have decided to rebel,” Calistra surmised.
“But why haven’t they dropped the illusion yet?” Ky’ara asked, “They should realize that we’re more likely to attack them if we think they’re soldiers.”
“They might not be sure we’re us,” Calistra said, “If the King had managed to defeat us, he could’ve used our camp to set a trap for the other rebels.”
“Only one way to find out,” Joran said, clicking his tongue and urging his mount down the hillside toward the camp at a fast clip.
“Joran!” Calistra called exasperatedly, but either he ignored her or he was already out of earshot.
“Do you want to wait and see, or follow him down?” one of Calistra’s guards asked.
“I think we’ll—Ky’ara!” Calistra sighed in frustration as Ky’ara followed Joran down the hill before she could tell the girl to stay put with one of her guards.
“We may as well join them,” she said, rolling her eyes in irritation.
They caught up to Ky’ara and Joran just at the base of the hill. Calistra pulled alongside her brother, intending to lecture him on the dangers of being impetuous. The rebuke died on her lips as they passed through the border of the illusion spell and were able to see the army clearly.
“Oh no,” Ky’ara murmured. Roughly half the group had disappeared, as had their uniforms, leaving only a couple hundred ragged looking men, women, and children. Calistra and Joran both searched the weary faces of the approaching group of refugees for someone they knew. But before they got very far, someone recognized them.
“Calistra! Thank the Light, we weren’t sure if we’d guessed your route correctly or not.” A short, plump man in what must have once been opulent robes broke away from the main column and rode toward them. He was one of only a few on horseback, the main bulk of people walked, their pants and skirt hems heavy with dust and grime from weeks of travel.
“Ulrik, what happened? Why are you all here? Where is General Gighu, I need to speak to him immediately.”
Ulrik’s round face took on a grim expression. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Ainon Caseia was attacked a fortnight ago. We’re all that’s left.”
“You’re all—? There were close to six hundred people in that fortress! Where is the General?”
“I just told you. We’re all that’s left...General Gighu is dead.”
* * * * *
Iregh sat absolutely still within his makeshift prison cell, listening. The tent walls were spelled to keep out sound, but he’d discovered in the first few days of his capture that the spell itself vibrated ever-so-slightly when it was inactive. Which meant that if he paid close attention, he could determine whether or not people were talking nearby. Right now, everything outside his cell was silent.
The rebel leader was a talented mage, he’d give her that. But she had a tendency to focus her spells a little too precisely. For instance, the spell to prevent him from doing magic was actually a spell to prevent him from speaking the Ancient Language—he’d noted that little detail thanks to the fact that she’d cast the spell rather slowly whilst demonstrating it for Ky’ara. Unfortunately for the rebels, he’d studied magic more broadly than any other mage alive...including some practices of the ancient Onnun people, who’d done most of their magic through complex, interwoven rhythms. He felt that their spells lacked the finesse of spoken magic, but he’d practiced and memorized a few anyways for precisely this kind of situation.
He tapped slow, measured beats with his right hand, focusing his magic through the chair he was bound to. When he felt it build to its peak strength, he drummed the fingers of his left hand in quick succession, over and over before finally slapping both hands down simultaneously. A sharp crack was swallowed up in the otherwise silent tent. Iregh stood, shaking the ropes and shattered remains of the chair from his arms. He listened carefully. He’d counted on the spell that kept him from hearing the guards also keeping them from hearing him. The vibration was still there. Good.
A slight frown tugged at his lips as he considered the walls of his prison. He couldn’t be certain which side led out to the room where the guards stood and which led to the alleyway behind the tent. He hated leaving things to chance, but this was the first time he’d detected silence for more than a few minutes at a time during the day. Something was preoccupying most of the camp, and he had to seize the chance to escape while the opportunity lasted...better just pick a wall and be done with it.
Iregh approached the wall and laid both hands against it, feeling not only the thick canvas of the tent, but also the fabric of the spell Calistra had laid on it. To his hands it felt more solid than steel, but in some ways its rigidity was beneficial to him. Soft cloth wouldn’t amplify the spell’s vibrations as well. He repeated the procedure he’d done on his chair, with a few variations, and smiled tightly when the wall in front of him shuddered and split. He peered through the narrow opening, using his hands to pull it wider. The edges of the crack were now soft like the cloth they were actually made of, his spell having interrupted the flow of the rebel leader’s magic.
He was in luck. The opening revealed a small dirt path that passed behind numerous identical tents pitched close together. No one was in sight. Iregh smiled, stepping through the slit—or at least he tried to. A sharp jolt shot through his leg and up his spine, throwing him back into the tent. He muffled a grunt of pain and stood up, wincing as he attempted to put weight on his now tingling leg. His leg buckled and he nearly lost his balance a second time. He sat carefully, silently berating his own sloppiness. Of course the rebel leader had placed another protection spell on the outside of the tent! It likely had an alarm feature built in as well—he may have just alerted her to his escape attempt. At the very least, the guards had probably heard something that time...his opening would have created a gap in the
sound spell.
There was no time to wait. He slapped both hands against the ground rapidly, focusing the beats sharply toward the other spell. It was crude magic, but he’d already exposed himself. There was no time to try a workaround. He felt the protection spell break and heaved himself up, carefully shifting his weight away from the injured leg. Iregh slipped through the opening and limped quickly toward the relative safety of the shadows cast by nearby tents.
“Hey, what are you—”
Iregh acted quickly, diving for the guard who had come around the back of the tent to investigate and pulling her to the ground with an arm locked around her neck to cut off her shout of alarm. Her head cracked sharply against the ground and she lay still. Iregh rolled into the space between two tents and crawled around the corner before anyone else came to investigate the noise. He had to keep moving. The edge of the camp was still a long ways away and he wouldn’t be able to do proper magic until he got far enough away to break the spell Calistra had put on him.
Through a combination of luck and a few more simple spells, Iregh managed to make it through the camp and past the perimeter guards. Once he’d made it to the safety of the trees, he looked back at the rebel camp. Little figures stood anxiously along the northern perimeter, preoccupied with whatever distraction had allowed his escape. A sneer of derision crossed his face. They should have known they couldn’t hold him for long. His eyes flicked over the group, contemplating whether to attempt a spell to punish them for their hubris. A tall figure with long blonde hair caught his attention momentarily. He hesitated for a moment, then turned away and limped into the woods. Better not to risk eliciting a retaliatory attack.
* * * * *
Lauryn looked up, trying to find the source of her discomfort. For a moment she’d thought she felt someone watching her.
“You ok?” one of the guards asked, apparently noticing her frown.
“Yes,” she replied quickly, shooting him a quick smile. She shifted the basket of medical supplies she’d brought with her to the perimeter, and quickly caught up with the rest of the healers about to head out towards the approaching army, which apparently was actually made up of refugees from one of the rebels’ fortresses. She glanced around one last time, then shrugged. She must be imagining things.
Chapter 15: Contention
The arrival of the refugees from Ainon Caseia had thrown the rebel camp into chaos once more. In her short time with the rebellion, Ky’ara had met many of the members, most of whom belonged to families who had been part of the organization since its inception. That meant that almost everyone in the rebel army had relatives of one kind or another who had lived in Ainon Caseia. After Calistra had broken the news of the city’s fall to the captains, all haste had been made to get the survivors food and medical care. The travel-weary refugees hadn’t been able to rest much, however, between inquiries about the battle that had taken place and people looking for family members who may have survived or someone who knew what had happened to them.
Amidst all the commotion, no one discovered Iregh’s escape until Sukylar found Nori passed out behind the prison tent. She still hadn’t woken up, and since the healers had their hands full with the new arrivals, they hadn’t been able to do much more than a preliminary examination to determine that she wasn’t in immediate danger. Between that and the news of his father’s death, Sukylar was a wreck. Ky’ara watched him worriedly from the corner of her eye. Calistra had called them both to a meeting about the rebels’ situation, and they were still waiting for her to begin. Sukylar sat on the floor, his arms draped across his raised knees as he stared absently at nothing.
Ky’ara reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t know your father well, but he raised three of the best people I know—the world needs more men like him.”
Sukylar glanced in her direction and nodded once before returning to his contemplation of the floor in front of him.
“Somehow I just never thought it’d be him, you know?” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “He was tougher than anyone I’ve ever met...but I suppose even the best warriors can’t hide from death forever. No matter how well we fight, it’ll catch us all someday.”
Ky’ara felt tears prick her eyes as she thought briefly of Taren, held captive or possibly dead, his fighting skills having failed him. She pushed the image away, locking up the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. He was alive. She refused to believe otherwise.
“Alright everyone,” Calistra said, entering the tent with three people Ky’ara didn’t recognize.
‘They’re members of the Elder’s Council from Ainon Caseia,’ Joran informed her silently, ‘they tend to want to control everything, and they haven’t been happy with Calistra’s campaign to help you, so be careful what you say.’
Sukylar stood slowly, nodding a greeting to the newcomers and looking at Calistra. Ky’ara turned her attention to Calistra as well, noting that the rebel leader looked more weary than Ky’ara had ever seen her.
“We’ve suffered a major blow with the loss of Ainon Caseia. Not only in numbers, but in morale as well. It’s my fault, I suppose, for assuming that the King would not attempt to conquer the city a second time after we defeated his Elrackon last year. But what’s done is done. What can we do to remedy the situation?”
“We should return to Doraicolé, where we will be safe. The people of Tirem do not want our help anyways,” one of the newcomers said. Her suggestion was greeted with silence, then everyone started talking at once—some protesting vehemently while others voiced tentative agreement.
Calistra let them argue for a minute, then put out a hand for silence. “We will not retreat. We would not be safe in Doraicolé for long anyways, and we will not abandon the innocent people we have promised to help. Many of these towns have already pledged their support, we cannot simply give up after one loss.”
The old woman who had spoken up first pursed her lips and crossed her arms against her chest. “Our army is miniscule compared to the might the King can raise against us.”
“Our numbers are growing every day,” Calistra countered, “And we don’t have to beat him head-on. We just have to give Ky’ara enough time to defeat the Destroyer.”
“An enemy you still have no idea how to eliminate,” the Elder argued, “or has something changed since your last report?”
“We’re getting closer to a solution,” Ky’ara interjected. Despite her personal worries on the matter, she didn’t like the old woman’s attitude. Giving up and returning to Doraicolé would only be a temporary solution...and it would do nothing to help the townspeople still living under the King’s thumb.
“Hmmph.” The old woman eyed her with contempt.
“What I’m more concerned about is the fact that you let Iregh escape!” one of the other ‘Elders’—a middle aged man—interjected. “Capturing him was perhaps the only true success you’ve had since leaving Doraicolé. Now he’s gone. Who knows what secrets he may have learned while you kept him here!”
Calistra opened her mouth to reply, but the third Elder jumped in before she could utter even a single syllable.
“We’ve seen some serious blunders in leadership since arriving. I think our first step needs to be questioning that Elysian you foolishly left standing guard over the sorcerer. Clearly she corroborated with him on his escape.”
“What!” Sukylar jerked around to stare at the Elders, seeming to care about their conversation for the first time. “He knocked her out! Why would he do that if she was helping him?”
“To leave a convenient spy behind, of course,” the man looked irritated at being second-guessed.
“What makes you think she’s a spy?” Sukylar argued.
“Well for starters, she tried to kill you when you first met, didn’t she?”
“She was under a spell! And she’s proven her loyalty time and again since then.”
The room once again dissolved into chaos as people j
umped in to defend both sides. Calistra caught Ky’ara’s eye and rolled her own upwards. The Council of Elders had fought her on nearly every major decision she made as leader of the organization, why had she thought this time would be any different?
“Enough!” Calistra held up a hand and glared around the room. “There’s no need to argue about it. I will send someone to guard the woman. When she wakes up, we can ask her about it.”
Sukylar opened his mouth to protest, but Calistra gave him a warning look and turned to Joran. “Go tell Silas to keep an eye on Norika. His unit will be responsible for her. Oh, and tell him to send a messenger if she wakes up.”
Joran nodded and left, patting Sukylar’s shoulder consolingly on his way out.
‘Who is Silas?’ Ky’ara asked silently. She could feel Joran’s amusement.
‘Sukylar’s second in command. But he was only moved to the Scouts a month ago, so the Elders don’t know that.”
“So Calistra essentially just put Sukylar in charge of keeping watch on Nori?”
“Yup.”
Ky’ara fought to keep a straight face as she tuned back in to what the others were talking about.
* * * * *
Hallahna listened to the discontented muttering with growing annoyance. Her clansmen had only heard scant details about what had happened to Ainon Caseia, but they were bent on drawing their own conclusions about what it meant for their kin in the homeland. If the rebel fortress had been wiped out, there was a distinct likelihood that the King’s men had continued on to the Shaari’s neighboring valley and continued their work of destruction.
“The whistling of wind is but the sound of air passing from one place to another.”
Hallahna turned toward Asara as the Shaari captain sat next to her. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she asked peevishly.
Asara smiled faintly and rested her glaive across her knees, one of the wickedly sharp blades only inches from Hallahna’s leg. She motioned toward the clustered warriors. “They will talk regardless of whether you let it worry you. Either ignore it or do something about it.”
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