by Paul Collins
Jelindel and Daretor quickly selected the two least spooked Delbrian Markers and saddled them in silent haste.
Once ready, they led the horses to the rear of the stables where a blank wall confronted them. Jelindel climbed on her horse and, with Daretor’s help, lashed herself to the saddle so that she would not fall.
Daretor took the reins of both horses in his hand. ‘I’m ready.’
‘You remember the route?’
‘You do your part and I will do mine.’ He gently rubbed her thigh.
Jelindel smiled fleetingly then spoke a complex charm, inscribing a shape in the air as she did so. She built the spell slowly and carefully and when she was sure it was ready, she uttered the word that activated it. Immediately, she slumped into unconsciousness and would have fallen had it not been for the bindings that held her to the mare.
At the same time, part of the wall vanished, leaving a high arched doorway. Daretor quickly led the two horses through the gaping hole and into a dark alleyway that ran behind Argentia’s close-packed buildings.
The moment he passed through, the spell evaporated with a dull pop and the wall became whole again. But all of Jelindel’s strength did not return at once. She remained groggy and disoriented for some time.
An hour later they were outside the town and riding swiftly on their way. ‘How long will the changing spell hold?’
Jelindel laughed. ‘I’m afraid it’s permanent. I tapped some of the energy of the gems to effect that, rather than my own life-force. Calabias will soon realise that his horses are no better than the stable master’s nags. Yet to others, they will appear to be his Markers.’
‘But they will never win any more races.’
‘That’s true, but the poor things will probably have a brighter future than the rather sticky one they were destined for. Poor racers they may be, but Calabias’s pride will never allow him to destroy them.’
They both laughed and rode on into the darkness.
Two days later they reached the Marisa River, a hundred miles east of Tol. They gazed down at the wide waters from a high bluff: the current was fast and flowing towards Passendof, where they would veer north for the final dash across Bravenhurst to Sezel.
‘Notice anything?’ asked Jelindel.
Daretor looked along the water. ‘No river traffic, except for the Passendof barges. That’s not normal.’
‘Which means the Preceptor’s men control the river upstream and down. How does he keep finding us?’
‘I am open to suggestions,’ Daretor said, gloomily. ‘He’s trying to box us in, and I very much fear he is succeeding. He knows we will make for the north.’
‘Then we must convince him that he is wrong.’
‘Fa’red is with him. He will not be so easily fooled,’ Daretor pointed out.
‘On the contrary, Fa’red is the key to fooling the Preceptor.’
Daretor closed his eyes in mild exasperation. ‘What is going on in that brain of yours now?’
‘A half day’s ride north of here is one of the Preceptor’s garrisons. If they were to spot us heading north and give chase –’
‘They would send a message saying we had been seen making north.’ Daretor smiled for a moment, then shook his head. ‘It will not work. Fa’red is not so simple.’
‘No, he isn’t, and he doesn’t trust the Preceptor’s intelligence. So we will pass the garrison heading north, allow them to give chase, then turn back south as if we are heading for the river again. At that point we will secretly turn north again, but this time we will make sure that only the one who follows us sees …’
Daretor spun around, gazing back the way they had come. ‘Who follows us? I’ve not seen anyone.’
‘Yet one does. I hazard a guess that it is Larachel.’ She shrugged. ‘I wish I could control these … instincts I keep getting. They come and go as they please. No matter. Should he be in the employ of Fa’red, it would make sense. He has the deadmoon aura about him.’
‘So let Fa’red’s own “eyes” give him false report?’
‘Hopefully,’ Jelindel said.
They crossed the river that night. This time even Daretor thought he saw a dark shape break from the farther shore and plunge into the river close to where they themselves had crossed. They did not wait to confirm if they were being followed, but sped north as fast as the Delbrian Markers would carry them.
Midnight found them a mile from the garrison town of Obly. From this point they could see the watch, bearing flaming torches, patrolling the battlements of a dark watchtower which thrust up from the town’s centre like a finger aimed at the sky. Stopping briefly to fortify themselves with food and a brief rest (and to allow their shadow to catch up), they remounted their horses and rode down the sloping road, straight into the main street of Obly.
Almost at once, a patrol spotted them and gave the cry. Soon the town was full of shouting, and lights sprang up in all directions. Jelindel and Daretor did not slow their pace, however, and galloped like the wind through the town and out the other side before any serious opposition could be mounted.
Pursuit was not long in coming, and soon they heard the pounding of many hooves on the road behind them. They veered off the main road and headed east. As they had hoped, their pursuers were too canny to miss their trail in the dark and go astray. Not only did they stay on their trail but they closed the gap considerably.
Bouncing on the back of his galloping mare, Daretor managed to gasp out a question. ‘Was it part of your plan that they catch us and skewer us before we give them the slip, or after, Jelli?’
‘Sarcasm ill becomes you, Daretor,’ she laughed.
They reached a forest and plunged into it. A little way in they encountered a narrow stream. Here they quickly dismounted and, leading their horses by their reins and talking to them gently to quiet their nerves, moved back in the direction they had come.
‘I am betting it is too dark in the forest even for their best trail-finders,’ Jelindel said.
They soon reached the forest edge, though at a point further east from where the road entered it. They were just in time to see their pursuers pass in amongst the dark trees, their horses’ hoof-beats almost immediately muffled.
‘Let’s go,’ Jelindel said. They remounted and moved at a light canter back south again. For over an hour they kept to this course before slowly veering round in a long, slow circle that saw them heading north once more. They stopped several times and, under the cover of her thick cloak, Jelindel checked her map and the tiny inscriptions that provided local information. On one such occasion she expelled a deep sigh of relief.
‘We’re almost there.’
‘Almost where?’ Daretor asked.
‘We’ll come to a wide, fast-flowing river on the farther bank of which a dense forest known as Tanglewood begins. It is a place where even a lindrak would have trouble following us.’ They remounted and urged their tired mounts on. ‘Let’s start inflating the bladders.’
Back in Argentia, Jelindel had purchased several bladders normally used to carry wine. They now filled them with their own laboured breath and tied them with twine. As an added precaution, Jelindel filled the ‘valves’ with fast-acting glue. Moments later they reached the river.
Two large bladders were fitted to each horse, one on each side, and each rider strapped two smaller ones, back and front beneath their shoulders. Thus outfitted they rode into the inky water. Before long the horses were unable to keep their footing and the river swept them southwards into a watery darkness.
‘It is a feint, I tell you,’ the Preceptor said. ‘They move south, back to the river.’
The army moved slowly up the Marisa River, having commandeered several Passendof grain barges for the purpose. Fa’red watched the Preceptor pace the length of the former captain’s cabin before clearing his throat.
‘You do not agree, I take it?’ the Preceptor asked.
Fa’red smiled. ‘Perhaps. There are feints within feints here.
The skill is in reading the true intent from the false.’
‘Why state the obvious? If you have better intelligence, bring it out.’
‘Your garrison at Obly saw them heading north, yet turn south they did almost immediately. My own spy followed them as they slowly bent their course northwards again until they reached Tanglewood. There he lost them.’
‘Heading north? And do you think they were unaware that they were being followed?’ asked the Preceptor, icily.
‘On the contrary, Preceptor, I instructed my agent to give himself away …’
‘Ah-ha. Then they knew they were being followed and the strike northwards was a feint indeed.’ The Preceptor smiled, satisfied. ‘They are somewhere on the river ahead of us, concealed on a grain barge. I will have messages sent. The barges will slow down imperceptibly and we will overtake them. Meanwhile, my lancers will be sent down from the Passendof border. We will smash them between two irresistible forces!’
The Preceptor slammed his fist into his palm. A happy man again, he strode from the cabin. Fa’red, on the other hand, did not move. Almost to himself he murmured, ‘A good thing I did not tell him that in all likelihood they knew my agent was supposed to be seen. Ah, feints within feints within feints …’
As it happened, Daretor and Jelindel were concealed on a grain barge some thirty miles northeast of the Preceptor at that very moment. They had floated south for many miles, eventually returning to the Marisa River. Cold and hungry, they risked a fire in a ruined cottage and warmed themselves. This time Jelindel abandoned her modesty and stripped, pretending not to notice Daretor’s occasional sidelong glances. Perhaps she was feeling more comfortable with him, or perhaps she was simply too numb and tired to care.
Before dawn broke they boarded a grain barge when it drew alongside one of the many depots scattered along the banks of the river. Jelindel cast a spell of invisibility that, while it failed to make them truly invisible, had the useful effect of deflecting all eyes away from them. Thus, they could walk amongst many and be seen – or at least remembered – by none. In time, the spell had the effect of weakening Jelindel considerably, forcing them to hurry aboard with Daretor supporting her most of the way.
The hours passed uneventfully, even somewhat pleasantly, since they were able to rest. However, late in the afternoon, the barge began to slow down. Before long they heard the familiar sound of wharfjacks shouting instructions. Soon, the barge thumped into something and then lay still, rocking slightly. They were cinched to bollards, which alarmed Jelindel.
‘We shouldn’t be stopping until tomorrow night. Something is wrong.’ She suddenly jumped up. ‘Come on, we must get off now. It’s some kind of trap.’
Daretor didn’t argue. He had learnt to trust Jelindel’s instincts.
‘I fear,’ Jelindel told him, ‘that we must abandon the horses here. They’ll give us away.’
Daretor was more upset at this than at the sudden move. He had developed a deep respect, and even a love, for his horse. Some time ago he had named it Emisaar, a word which came from an ancient dialect meaning ‘fleet’. He stroked it now and whispered gentle goodbyes into its ear, promising that if he lived through the next few days he would come back and find the mare no matter what. Emisaar’s head bent towards him and she seemed to understand his words.
Daretor turned and left her tethered beside Jelindel’s mount.
Daretor and Jelindel moved cautiously to one of the aft cargo bays and prised open a hatch that opened below the level of the wharf. They climbed out, latched it shut again, and made their way through stinking mud and reeds, moving all the time beneath the wharf. When it was safe to do so, they broke cover and darted into nearby woods.
Larachel was waiting for them.
He stepped out from behind a tree and said, ‘That’s quite far enough.’ He held a squat, ugly device in his hands. Jelindel recognised it as a thundercast – a dragonlord weapon she had recovered in her quest for the mailshirt. It was aimed squarely at them. A noise from behind whipped them around to find Hargrellien standing there. She held a more traditional weapon, but one just as deadly: a lindrak crossbow.
Jelindel sighed. ‘So there were two of you following us.’
‘One can never be sufficiently paranoid,’ said Larachel.
‘Two of you,’ Jelindel repeated. ‘That night on board the Dark Empress.’ She glanced wonderingly at Hargrellien. ‘You freed Larachel and with the aid of the thundercast, you killed the mutineers. Then Larachel pretended to be a mutineer, returned you to the cabin, waited an hour or so, before allowing the passenger, Mistress Sheaghan, to escape. Tying himself up afterwards, of course. And it was you, Hargrellien, who found and untied him.’ She turned back to Larachel.
‘How very clever. Now, if you please –’ Larachel suddenly gulped and clutched his throat as a feathered bolt appeared there. He shot one agonising look of surprise at Hargrellien and collapsed.
Jelindel and Daretor spun round, expecting to feel one of the lethal metal shafts in their backs. But Hargrellien just stood there. After a moment, she lowered the crossbow.
Jelindel eyed the weapon: ‘Don’t tell me you’re letting us go.’
Hargrellien shrugged. ‘The lindrak ranks have been rebuilt in secret by the Preceptor, but they are nowhere nearly as good as the original lindraks. He plans to use them against Fa’red’s deadmoons, should the mage forget his place one day. But I belong to a covert group within the lindrak ranks that believe the pentacle gems will spell disaster for us. With a ringstone gate, mercenaries far deadlier than we can be brought to this world. We will become obsolete overnight. We do not intend to allow this. We even have an alliance with Fa’red.’
‘The complexity of these plots is making my head spin,’ said Daretor. ‘The attack on your home – were they the Preceptor’s lindraks or Fa’red’s deadmoons?’
Hargrellien’s expression remained blank. ‘Lindraks. Our group has been discovered.’ She glanced down at Larachel’s body. ‘Only he knew my history; where to find us. Now, the pentacle gems, Jelindel.’
‘They cannot be easily destroyed,’ Jelindel pointed out, steeling herself against attack.
‘Our ancient lore tells us this. That is why I will assist you to get to Sezel.’
‘What makes you think that I am going there?’
‘You told me. Sezel and Hazaria are the only places where I lost track of you during the voyage. My lindrak faction made some investigations which led to Lady Forturian. You are right, the gems must go to her. Even Fa’red does not have powers like hers.’
‘You speak of history, Hargrellien,’ said Daretor, gesturing at Larachel. ‘What is his?’
‘His name was R’mel. He was the sole survivor of the deadmoons’ attack on Blacklight Castle,’ said Hargrellien.
‘R’mel,’ Jelindel whispered.
Hargrellien nodded. ‘He was among those who killed your family. He rebuilt the lindraks under the Preceptor’s protection. Although he didn’t see the danger in the pentacle gems.’
He didn’t see a lot of things, thought Jelindel. ‘You’re a ruthless lot,’ she said. ‘And I must be slowing down if I didn’t recognise you as something more than a confused girl.’
Hargrellien shrugged. ‘We are taught that things are never as they seem. As for R’mel, he was of the old school, and shall be remembered for rekindling the brotherhood. But have no pity for him. He sought to kill us all rather than lose the pentacle gems. We need to hurry. The Preceptor knows you are here. Even now he is closing the trap.’
The world was filling with shadows as evening came on. Jelindel, Daretor and Hargrellien crouched amongst cloven boulders atop a small hill. Below them, in all directions, the campfires of the Preceptor’s combined armies burned brightly into the distance.
The three fugitives had fled on foot all day, narrowly avoiding the scouts and patrols of the enemy, but in the end there were simply too many of them. Weary, they were no match for the Preceptor’s well-trained legion
s and his fleet-footed cavalry.
Neatly and effortlessly, they had been herded to this lonely, rocky hilltop from which they could see for miles in every direction.
Daretor paced impatiently back and forth. ‘Why don’t they just attack and get it over with?’ he asked.
Hargrellien shook her head. ‘That is not the Preceptor’s way. He wishes to taunt you with the sight of your failure, and your doom.’
‘He will strike in the morning,’ Jelindel said, tonelessly.
Hargrellien looked thoughtful. ‘I think so, too.’
‘Then I for one will get a good night’s sleep, so that tomorrow I may take as many of them with me as I can.’ Daretor threw himself down upon the ground and fell into an exhausted sleep within moments.
Jelindel envied him in some ways. His simple code of living left little room for doubt: fight for what is right, do not yield to the dark side, and when it is time to die, do so with honour and without regret.
For her, life was more complex. Sometimes she believed she had been too well educated, that a childhood spent illicitly reading had ill-prepared her for the more important things of life: remorse, responsibility, death, love. What can books tell you of these things? she wondered. They must be lived, yet in the very living of them, they change forever, because you are changed.
‘I don’t want to die,’ she said simply, not realising Hargrellien was nearby.
Hargrellien shrugged philosophically. ‘Who does? For all things there is a time of ending. Fa’red has plans that could be of use to us, but I fear that the Preceptor moved too fast this time.’
‘So Fa’red is in league with a lindrak faction?’ asked Jelindel, rubbing her forehead with her good hand.
‘Yes, in fact I am one of his most prized quadruple agents,’ laughed Hargrellien. ‘I may not be a very experienced or well-trained lindrak, but I am fairly small and light. Fa’red gave me some very special training, because … well, he had a plan to snatch the pentacle gems away much earlier. I was more interested in rescuing my father, however. Besides, you had the gems, and so in a sense I was within reach of them. Such a pity, if this is really the end after all we endured.’