Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3)

by Gregory Mattix

  But Kulnor was a practical fellow. He didn’t care what Ferret was as long as she was on his side. And she certainly was a potent ally. He followed her lead as she bulled through the resistance, leading the way out of the camp. Creel and the others had been lost in the melee when the winged fiend had appeared and chaos reigned. Creel grabbed the queen and hustled her off in the opposite direction, but they were too far away, and Kulnor and the others had gotten cut off by the mob of combatants. The mage had yelled for Ferret to get away, so she was, with the others in tow.

  “’Ware!” Jahn called out.

  Kulnor raised his warhammer just in time to block a spear thrust from a soldier darting out from behind a tent. He parried the blow high with the hammer’s thick haft then thumped the butt end into the man’s stomach. The soldier’s breath whooshed from his lungs, and the spear dipped down. Kulnor snapped the shaft clean in half with a hammer blow, then a second caved in his opponent’s chest. His foe sprawled against the side of a tent, causing it to collapse. He nodded thanks to Jahn for the warning.

  “We need to find Sianna and the others,” Edwin whined from the rear of their group.

  Leaving the bellyacher behind wouldn’t have bothered Kulnor much, but the knight managed to keep up with them, and he was competent with a sword when he had stones enough to put it to use.

  Ferret abruptly tripped and fell down. A soldier had thrust a halberd into the lane they were running down, catching between her legs and tripping her up. Four men jumped her, swords and spears jabbing at her.

  “Reiktir smite ye!” Kulnor roared, plowing into the men attacking Ferret.

  His hammer shattered a man’s forearm as he tried to fend off the dwarf’s charge. He continued on, leaping past Ferret, hammer raised high. Another soldier instinctively raised his sword to parry, but the heavy warhammer smashed through his defense and pulverized the lower part of his face, crushing jaw and cheekbone. Shattered teeth flashed white in the torchlight before flying away in the darkness.

  Sensing an attack coming at his back, Kulnor whirled, but the attack never came. Jahn was withdrawing his sword from a Nebaran’s ribs, and the fourth soldier had Edwin’s sword in his belly. The man with the broken arm turned and fled.

  Kulnor helped Ferret back to her feet. “Ye all right, lass?” Up close to her, he could hear a series of clicks and whirs issuing from her body.

  “Aye, I’m fine.”

  Kulnor was surprised to find no foes immediately upon them for the first time since they had fled the clearing.

  “Duck down,” Jahn hissed.

  Sounds of pursuit neared, torchlight appearing from the darkness. The four of them crouched between a couple of tents, momentarily catching their breaths as Nebarans raced past their hiding spot. Kulnor and the two men bled from numerous cuts and scrapes although Reiktir must have favored them, for none of their wounds were serious.

  Ferret poked her head into a tent then waved them inside. It looked to be a four-man tent from the arrangement of bedrolls.

  “We need to blend in better.” She rooted around in some packs and pulled out a cloak and a black-and-gold surcoat with the imperial lion on it.

  Kulnor could stand in the low tent, but the others couldn’t, so they went to hands and knees as they joined Ferret in rummaging through the gear. Their haul came out to two cloaks, a mail shirt in poor repair, a helm, and two surcoats.

  “Ah, just what I need.” Jahn fished a wineskin out from where it was tucked under the edge of a bedroll. He sniffed at the contents before taking a long drink then offered it to Kulnor, who gladly accepted.

  Kulnor favored ale and dwarven spirits, but the wine served to wet his dry throat just fine. He offered it to the others, but Ferret shook her head, and Edwin scowled at him. Jahn shrugged and finished it off.

  “We need to find the queen at all costs, and you lot are sitting there drinking and poking through people’s belongings.” Edwin glared at each of them.

  “We won’t survive, running around camp like this much longer, you fool,” Ferret snapped. She tossed one of the surcoats to him. “Put that on.”

  Edwin’s face turned red, and he spluttered in outrage at the affront.

  “Just put it on. Sir.” Jahn reached for the other surcoat. He looked as though he’d lost his patience with the knight also. “This might fool them at a casual glance.”

  “Better than runnin’ around with our pricks hangin’ out, I reckon,” Kulnor said. He studied the mail shirt, saw it was too long for him, and handed it to Jahn. He pulled one of the cloaks on, though it was long enough to drag the ground, then he drew the cowl up. Ferret still wore her own cloak but also raised her cowl, leaving only her amethyst eyes glowing from within and the shiny glint of her mask of a face.

  Jahn donned the mail shirt and the surcoat over it. He held out the helm to Edwin. “You probably look less Nebaran than I.” He might have had fair hair and a beard, both graying, but Edwin’s golden locks and pale face especially stuck out in present company.

  The knight accepted it without complaint, thankfully.

  “Now what?” Jahn asked.

  “Wait here. I’m going to scout around.” Ferret slipped through the tent flap and was gone.

  The trio sat there in uncomfortable silence as the minutes dragged by. Kulnor wiped some gore from his warhammer on a blanket while they waited.

  After several minutes, the tent flap suddenly rustled, causing each of them to raise his weapon, but it was only Ferret.

  “Did you find the queen?” Edwin asked.

  Ferret shook her head. “Nay. Taren was still up there a moment ago. There were a bunch of blasts of fire and magic, then he and Mira flew away.” She sounded relieved.

  “Say what?” Kulnor asked. “They broke free just like that?” The last he had seen, the mage and his companion had been in dire trouble, surrounded by scores of enemy troops, not to mention the fiend.

  “Sirath came to their aid. She bought them time and distracted Nesnys so they could get away. We should go while most of the attention is focused on the battle. If luck holds, we might be able to march right out of here. You two have the uniforms—just act like you belong here,” she advised Edwin and Jahn. “Me and Kulnor will follow you.”

  They left the tent, and Kulnor saw what she was talking about. Nesnys and Sirath were fighting in midair, diving and twisting, the latter shooting flaming arrows, the former trying to snare her foe with her crackling whip.

  The four gawked at the spectacular battle a moment, then Ferret tugged on Kulnor’s arm. The two of them fell in behind Edwin and Jahn, the knight leading the way with a haughty stride that Kulnor suspected was second nature to him.

  The camp was as chaotic as a stirred-up hornet’s nest. Many soldiers stood slack-jawed, pointing and staring at the aerial battle. Officers and sergeants barked orders, trying to organize a pursuit while underlings ran to and fro. Within a few minutes, Kulnor and the others approached the outer perimeter of the camp, unchallenged since donning their thin disguises. Torches were moving down the rows of tents behind them, while ahead they could hear the drumming of hooves as riders were dispatched to search the surrounding area.

  “Oi! Where are you lot going?” A scowling sergeant had just finished bawling out a pair of laggard soldiers and was stomping over toward them.

  “Colonel Mazun just ordered everyone down here to sweep the surroundings,” Edwin said, using the name of the officer who’d been in charge of their imprisonment. “The prisoners escaped—he wants them found.”

  The sergeant squinted at Edwin and the others. With the nearest torch behind them, their features were shadowed. “Colonel Mazun, eh? And who the shite are you?”

  Just then, an explosion of magic lit up the sky, a loud concussion rumbling overhead. Everyone stared.

  Kulnor heard a thump and looked back to see Ferret holding the sergeant up, his eyes rolling back in his head. She dragged him back between a couple tents.

  “Come on. This way
.” Ferret started off into the darkness. None of the search activity was in the immediate area, and no one appeared to be watching them.

  “Is that where the queen has gone?” Edwin asked.

  “Aye,” Ferret said.

  The encampment fell away behind them as they ran off into the night.

  ***

  At first, Creel feared he would have to physically drag Sianna away. Taren had provided them with a clear path—they needed to seize the moment and flee.

  “Taren!” Sianna cried, torn between running to the mage and escaping.

  “Sianna, we must flee!” He gripped her arm, getting her attention. “Don’t make this all be for naught, Your Majesty.”

  Rafe and Iris crowded close, also seeming torn about the decision to abandon the others.

  Sianna collected herself then nodded. “Yes, you are correct. We’ll try to escape then do what we can for the others.”

  Creel breathed a sigh of relief then led the way through the empty passage Taren had cleared, Final Strike in hand. His thoughts turned to Ferret—he’d last seen the girl near Kulnor and the other men before Nesnys and her ilk teleported into their midst and chaos erupted. He felt a tinge of guilt at leaving her, but his hands were tied at the moment. His first duty was to save Sianna.

  He soon realized Taren had somehow formed an invisible corridor they could move through unmolested. Soldiers charged at them and were thrown back after colliding with the invisible walls of force.

  Neat trick, that is.

  They ran down the hillside and alongside the paddock, soldiers pacing them, having ascertained the nature of the magical barrier. Barked orders, the jingling of mail, and thudding footsteps sounded behind them, but they had a little distance on their pursuers. He just didn’t know how long the tunnel would hold up, or for how far. The dewy grass was cold and slick under Creel’s bare feet, but it was better than stumbling around clumsily with only one boot on. Spasms of pain wracked him, emanating from deep in his bones, leaving his extremities tingling when the pain subsided. The spasms were getting more insistent after days spent captive without his potion, but they were not yet crippling. When his condition degraded too far, he wouldn’t be able to wield a sword. He hoped they would’ve put many miles behind them by the time that occurred.

  What in the Abyss was with those automatons? Where did they come from? Is Nesnys creating them for her army within the chamber that metamorphosed Ferret?

  Creel’s rumination was cut off when a pair of soldiers abruptly charged at him, and he realized the magical corridor had ended. He’d grown complacent with Taren’s magic, but fortunately his reflexes were as keen as his blade. He instinctively deflected the first man’s sword stroke aside, slashing his thigh open to the bone. He dodged the next man’s strike and stabbed him through the neck.

  Rafe finished off the man with the thigh wound. A dozen more fighters were closing on them, with half a hundred or so swarming toward them from all directions now. The paddock at their back was the only place momentarily free of foes.

  “The horses!” Iris shouted. “We need horses.”

  “Go!” Creel pushed her toward the paddock. “You too, Sianna.” He and Rafe backed up to put the fence at their backs, standing side by side to hold off their pursuers. He grimaced at the numbers rushing them.

  Best make this lot pay such a heavy price that the next ones approach with more caution.

  “Get some horses for us, Iris.” Sianna spoke with admirable calm, her voice barely quavering. She stood on Creel’s left with the short sword she’d picked up in hand.

  Creel didn’t have time to argue with her, as the first dozen men were upon them. He leaped forward to meet them, trying to draw the majority away from Sianna while hoping she didn’t get cut down. Then everything became a blur. Swords and spears were slashing and stabbing at him. Lines of pain burned across his back and arms, chest and thighs. Final Strike hewed about, inflicting grievous damage. The sword quickly sated its thirst and grew to its most devastating potential.

  He hacked off a Nebaran’s sword arm then spun and nearly cleaved another foe in half at the waist. Entrails exploded outward, and yet a third attacker slipped and fell in the slick mess. A blade bit into Creel’s shoulder—his reflexive backswing took a head. He exchanged blows with two more men then felled them both.

  Glancing over, he saw Sianna exchanging thrusts and parries with an opponent, her bladework neat and economical. She dodged a sloppy strike and stabbed the man in the chest. Another foe already lay twitching at her feet.

  Rafe had slain a pair of soldiers, but a third was forcing him back. He was bleeding from a cut above his brow and looked to be temporarily blinded in one eye. Sianna took a couple of quick steps then lunged and skewered Rafe’s attacker through a kidney.

  Creel blinked sweat from his eyes and realized they had no more immediate attackers. Butchered bodies lay all around his feet. The approaching enemies were clearly wary of engaging him. Even Rafe was staring, mouth open at the sight of corpses strewn all about him.

  “Over here!” Iris was waving, trying to herd a group of horses toward them.

  “Move it!” Creel shouted. “Next attack, we’re dead.”

  A thrown spear streaked out of the darkness, but Creel knocked it aside with a quick swipe of Final Strike.

  Sianna slipped through the fence rails first, then Rafe clambered over. Creel eyed the soldiers, still maintaining their distance.

  “Get some crossbows up here,” a veteran barked.

  Soldiers shuffled, and crossbowmen stepped forward.

  Time to go. Creel sheathed Final Strike and ran, vaulting over the wooden fence and sprinting toward Iris. She hadn’t had time to try to find any tack—they would be forced to ride bareback.

  Crossbow bolts filled the air, a hissing swarm passing Creel. A line of pain blazed along his calf, and another grazed his arm while the feathers of a third quarrel tickled his ear, but none struck him more than a glancing blow.

  Ahead, Sianna had paused to eye the unbridled horse before her. She gave a surprised squeak when Creel grabbed her by the waist and nearly threw her onto the steed’s back. Rafe boosted Iris onto another horse.

  Another crossbow bolt cut a bloody gash across Creel’s cheek, and he cursed. Nebarans were swarming into the paddock, twenty paces away and closing fast. He smacked the rump of Sianna’s horse, and it bolted forward, Iris’s following close behind. Rafe nearly lost his balance when his own horse took off in pursuit of the women’s mounts. Two other horses bolted along with them. Creel cursed again, angling to catch a riderless horse. He put on a burst of speed and ran alongside it for a couple of brief strides. He gripped the horse’s mane and launched himself into the air. A moment of weightlessness ensued as the horse pulled him, then his left leg was over its back, and he was holding on tightly, leaning low over its neck as it raced after the others.

  The four of them galloped lengthwise across the paddock, putting their immediate pursuit swiftly behind as they headed toward the far end of the pasture. Creel caught up to Sianna and pointed off to their right, where the supply train was set up. Numerous wagons were parked in lines among the camp followers’ tents. They slowed their mounts then steered their horses in that direction, where he hoped they would encounter fewer soldiers.

  Creel took the lead and urged his horse toward the fence. It leaped the wooden rail, then he and the others were cantering down the lane past smithies and wainwrights and into a wide clearing where benches were set up around fire pits. Lantern light illuminated the faces of a number of camp followers and a few soldiers milling around in the clearing, obviously awakened by the sounds of combat and pyrotechnics from the parade ground at the center of camp. Creel and his companions seemed to have outrun any organized pursuit for the moment, but that wouldn’t last long.

  A shouted challenge rang out. Several of the idle soldiers moved to cut them off, drawing steel. Creel scattered them by angling his horse into their midst and laying ab
out himself with Final Strike, cleaving two men’s heads open and not slowing. Nebarans nearly fell over themselves to get out of the way. He rounded a firepit and charged through another group of soldiers, slashing and hacking to clear space. With a final burst of speed, they made it past the clearing. The haphazard tents in this part of camp left broad lanes open for maneuvering supply wagons, so they galloped four abreast. A pair of sentries thought better of trying to stop them, then they were racing across the cleared perimeter of the camp and the grassy plain ahead.

  A spasm nearly tore Creel from his horse. Damn it—I need my elixir.

  He studied the tall grass surrounding them and realized that finding the place he’d stowed his pack in the darkness would take him a while, if it hadn’t already been confiscated.

  Creel dropped back to ride alongside Iris. “Did they take our gear we left behind?”

  “I don’t think so. I concealed the packs in the grass while I waited for you all to return. When the Nebarans found me, they brought me and seized the horses but didn’t search for more than a few minutes to ensure nobody else was hiding.”

  “We’ll need our gear. Without it, we’ll freeze to death.” And I’ll become useless without my reagents to make my elixir.

  He looked at the sky, noting the position of the constellations and determined they were moving east. Need to head north—that’s the direction whence we approached. And hopefully, we can reach Lord Lanthas’s men before we are overtaken.

  They angled their path to the north and put some distance between themselves and the camp for several minutes before reining in. The perimeter of the camp was lit up with torchlight, and many horsemen with torches were heading out into the darkness in pursuit. Fortunately, the darkness worked in the companions’ favor, making them difficult to spot.