Deceptions (Ascendant Book 3)

by Craig Alanson

  With that highly-polished disk of metal, he caught the light of the morning sun and flashed it toward the hunters, but the stupid creatures ignored him, their eyes on the ground looking for broken twigs and footprints. Several orcs were on their knees, noses snuffling the ground, when one of them saw light glinting off Lem’s mirror and gave a warning cry. Almost at the same time, another orc spotted the bodies of the scouts, and immediately, the hunters began racing up the mountain toward the Royal Army party, leaping from rock to rock with alarming speed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The wizard of Acedor shifted from his concealment under a thorny briar bush, a location chosen because even diligent patrols of the Taradoran Royal Army would be reluctant to go amongst the dense patch of briars. To have any chance of detecting the presence of the enemy wizard would require soldiers to go deep into the thicket, even crawling on hands and knees where the bushes grew so closely together even a small animal would have trouble wriggling its way into the maze. Or so it seemed. There truly was a thicket of briars in the low ground sloping down toward a muddy, overgrown creek, but the shrubs thinned out farther in as the briars grew under the shade of tall trees. To patrolling soldiers, the thicket appeared impenetrable because that is what the enemy wizard wished them to see. He had crawled along the creek bottom into the heart of the briars, and slowly and carefully woven a spell to discourage inquisitive soldiers. That particular spell was rather sophisticated and subtle for a wizard of Acedor, who as a group typically relied on raw destructive power and fear to do their dark master’s bidding. To enhance the effect of the seldom-used spell, the wizard had cut briars from the heart of the thicket and placed them packed tightly together a few feet from the outer edge of the thorns, so hands reaching into the bushes to push aside branches would encounter thorns everywhere. Using cut briars was a trick that could work only for a few days, more than that and soldiers passing by would wonder why some of the briars had drooping, dead leaves. A few days was more than the wizard would need; he knew from listening to passing patrols that the Royal Army was scheduled to encamp in the area no more than two nights before packing up their tents and moving on to the west. Simple tricks like using cut branches as camouflage were necessary, for the wizard’s skill in concealment was untested, and his ability to weave spells could fool only the eye, not a soldier’s hands. A person seeing thickly tangled briars in front of his eyes, but whose hand passed through empty air, would know something was very wrong.

  The wizard had endured four days of waiting in the briar patch, remaining still, not making any sound, ignoring biting insects and a chilly night of rain followed by blazing hot sun the following afternoon. He sipped water from a flask during the day, crawling on his belly down to the stream at night to refill the flask. For food, all he had were small, leathery and bitter-tasting loaves of bread that he moistened with water to chew, but he did not need much food and had little appetite. Food and water were requirements of the body because of the mortal body’s weakness; his dark master had almost no use for such things and the wizard aspired to emulate the supremely powerful demon. Zeal to serve his master gave the wizard strength, that and hatred of the weak and pitiful enemies of Acedor.

  Sensing his body’s weakness, ashamed and disgusted by such mortal concerns, the wizard opened the flask and drank deeply of water. Looking at the sun, he judged it was still an hour before Noon and the day would be warm and sunny. With the prospect of the sun beating down on him all afternoon, he reluctantly took a small loaf of bread from his pack and set to eating it between sips of water, his jaw growing sore after only a few bites. After the sun set, he would need all his energy, for that very night he would strike.

  “Good evening, Your Highness, Your Ladyship,” a guard said as the crown princess and her wizard bodyguard passed through the temporary fence around the large tent reserved for the princess. The fence itself, consisting of ropes strung between posts set into the ground, was more for a show of royal dignity than for security. The fence had been set up to keep away annoying courtiers, who somehow managed to accompany the princess any time she left Linden. The real security for the princess was the troop of guards who patrolled the fence day and night, alert for intruders or anyone or any thing that should not be allowed in the presence of the girl who was both crown princess and Regent of Tarador. For that purpose, the fence was useful in providing a physical barrier inside which only a few people were authorized to be, and the guards knew all the people privileged to be on the list of visitors allowed to approach the tent.

  “Good evening,” Ariana replied, holding up a hand to stifle a yawn, her jaw stretching regardless of her effort. It had been a long day of meetings both consequential and mundane, vital meetings for planning the next move of the Royal Army, and tedious meetings to deal with internal politics of the realm. Even marching with the army, going west toward a battle that might very well be the final battle in the long war against Tarador’s ancient enemy, Ariana still had to deal with petty jealousies and intrigues of the royal court.

  Ertau instinctively hissed out of pure hatred before he could control his emotions, knowing his dark master would punish him for making a sound guards might overhear. The source of his rage was the witch coming out of the royal tent, the young witch’s fair blonde hair glowing gold in the torchlight where the night breeze blew her hair out from under the hood of her cloak.

  That witch needed to die, soon, and Ertau burned inside with a terrible fire to see her take her last breath. Olivia Dupres was not Ertau’s target that night, but once he had performed the task assigned to him by the all-powerful demon, he would be free to expend his own considerable power and hatred in killing anyone he wished, anyone within his sight. All the adult wizards were away to the west in a vain attempt to match power with the overwhelming force of wizards Acedor had gathered to block the Royal Army’s path. Those fourteen wizards, all masters of dark magic but none of them able to weave the more subtle forms of spells such as concealment, had not crossed the border and assembled merely to challenge the pitiful strength of Tarador in an outright physical contest. The fourteen wizards were together so they could combine their power and send it through the spirit world to Ertau. Alone, he could not hope to create and hold a spell of concealment strong enough, cunning enough, to slip him past the magical wards around the tent where the crown princess lay sleeping.

  Ertau held his breath as the arrogant, impertinent young witch passed out through the ring of guards, on whatever errand took her away from the princess at that late hour. It may be expected the witch was too young to know she had no business challenging the dark master of Acedor, that the true and proper place of her and all her fellow wizards was to offer themselves and their service to the demon. It may be that her arrogance and ignorance was not her fault, that she was young and her mind had been poisoned by evil wizards of Tarador. Ertau had no patience with such soft thinking; the witch was an enemy of his dark master and she had to die, he would show no weakness of his own by showing her mercy.

  The wizard of Acedor had planned to wait for the sky to cloud over and block the light of the quarter moon, but seeing the crown princess of his hated enemy nation was unprotected by magical means, he poised himself to move. Closing his eyes, he reached into the spirit world, feeling the connection to his fellow wizards, feeling the power they lent to him through the world unseen. Through that connection, he also clearly felt his fellow wizard’s hatred and jealousy of himself, their desire for him to succeed was matched by their desire for him to die soon after. Ertau thought it very likely he would die that night, indeed he planned for it, hoped for it. There would be no skulking away for Ertau after the crown princess of Tarador lay dead and the house of Trehayme with her. He would fling aside the flaps of the tent with the blood of the princess darkening his hands, and he would send wizardly fire to destroy any and all who opposed him. Even a master wizard of Acedor could not stand alone against a host of Tarador, yet his hope was by standing his grou
nd to fight, the young witch would bring herself to him where he could watch her die in terrible pain. Ertau’s own death would follow within moments or minutes, and he would be released from the suffocating bonds of mortal life to join his demon master and claim his reward.

  Ertau held his breath until the blonde-haired witch passed out of sight behind tents down the hill. The witch was skilled for one so young, he had not sensed even faint traces of magic emanating from her as he expected from a wizard not yet in full control of her powers, but he knew wizards of the enemy were trained first to control their power before they developed their full strength. That might explain, he thought as one corner of his lips curled up in a nasty smirk, why Acedor had a greater number of wizards, and more of those wizards were capable of pulling magical fire from the spirit world and casting it as a weapon.

  Such speculation was idleness and useless, Ertau cursed himself as his lips pulled tight and he renewed his concentration. The spell of concealment was woven tightly around him, he could sense no flaws in the magical fabric. Slowly, he rose to his feet and carefully made his way up the hill, around tents and through the outer ring of guards. No one saw him, no one shouted an alarm. Patrolling guards walked right past him, guards holding stationary posts shifted from one foot to another as their feet ached in their boots. Ertau’s heart was pounding in his chest, his eyes darting side to side and up and down. With the power of concealment protecting him from searching eyes, he only had to fear stepping on a twig to give himself away. The snapping of a twig. Or footprints in the straw strewn along the path leading to the front flap of the tent. Straw placed there to protect from mud and dust the hem of the fancy dresses worn by the princess as she walked along the well-trodden path from the camp to her great tent atop the hill. Ertau walked carefully, almost daring to smile to himself that the enemy had been very helpful to him that night. The hill where they set up the tent for their princess was in a meadow, with few twigs or branches dropped by the distant trees, and those few had been picked up to tidy up the camp, or to use for starting campfires. Any twigs left behind were easily seen even in the night, for the fenceposts surrounding the royal tent were all topped with burning torches, flooding the crest of the hill with yellow, flickering light. In that false daylight, the dark wizard placed his feet with care, avoiding the path to the front flap of the tent and instead coming from the east side. He paused to inspect again the strength and perfection of his concealment, feeling the security of the connection to his fellow wizards.

  Now came the moment of greatest danger, for the royal tent was not protected only by a symbolic fence and guards armed with swords. Connecting the fenceposts in an invisible ring were wards placed by skilled wizards. These wards could not only sound an alarm if a person with harmful intent breached the fence, they could also paralyze an intruder with a powerful shock. Ertau gathered his strength and concentration, leaping over the fence so his feet cleared the top rope comfortably, and landed lightly inside the sanctum housing the princess.

  He was in! No one had seen him, he had not made any sound, and the magical wards had not reacted at all. After he killed the princess, he could openly use his power to tear the wards asunder and strode boldly out into the camp, but for the moment he must put such thoughts aside.

  He had a brief moment of alarm as two soldiers walked past him close enough to touch. Would they see the bent blades of dried grass where he had landed after vaulting over the fence? No, they were not looking down, they looked outward. The wards would warn them of anyone breaching the fence, the guards knew, for they had been told so by master wizards. The danger they watched for was outside the fence, a danger of an enemy coming in force to attack the princess. Knowing an assassin sneaking past the magical wards was impossible, they watched against the possibility of a small group of the enemy rushing the tent to overwhelm the guard force.

  After the guards passed by, Ertau resumed his approach, crouching down next to a side flap of the tent. When he was certain none of the guards were looking in his direction, he quickly untied the flap and slithered inside, smoothing the fabric of the flap behind him.

  Ertau stood, allowing himself to indulge in the weakness of a brief shudder. The princess was alone, he was certain of that. He had watched the royal tent for hours, counted people coming and going, and after the blonde witch left, only the princess remained within.

  The interior of the tent was divided into rooms by thick curtains, and heavy rugs protected the delicate feet of the princess from the bare ground below. Ertau crept forward, sensing the weight of the poisoned dagger on his belt and disdaining the weapon, he had no need us such crude devices. Blades and poisons were for those without the ability to summon and control magic. Ertau planned to demonstrate to the princess the power of a wizard of Acedor, make her tremble with terror, before he killed her without soiling even his fingertips by touching her unworthy flesh.

  The plush carpets would have muffled any sound, but Ertau’s footsteps were unnaturally silent as he crept forward.

  Madame Chu trembled from exhaustion, knowing she could not stop yet. Not now. On her own, she had wrapped herself in a cloak of concealment, pulling the spell around her like a soft blanket. With her fellow wizards still miles away, she had walked through forests, across fields and right through the picket lines of the enemy soldiers who guarded the wizards of Acedor. In their arrogance, they had not thought to search the area around them via magical means, although Wing thought their lack of vigilance was entirely understandable. More than understandable, she was counting on their lack of vigilance, and had gone to great troubles to convince her opponents that they had nothing immediately to fear from those who served Tarador.

  The fourteen enemy wizards knew about the approach of five wizards who served Acedor, they even knew her name. The sheer number of five wizards against fourteen was not the only element in favor of the dark wizards, for those fourteen had been chosen not for skill or knowledge, but for pure, raw power. For the ability to conjure power from the spirit world and use to it for destruction. Of the five wizards who faced them that day, only Chu Wing could challenge their power one on one, and any fight would never be one against one. In a battle, Wing knew she would die, and she was prepared to sacrifice herself to save Ariana Trehayme and gain an advantage for Tarador.

  Those wizards were standing in a circle, fourteen pairs of hands joined, lips moving silently as they murmured incantations of dark magic. They were standing in a shallow depression in the ground. Once, the area had been a farmer’s field, but now the former healthy crops were dead, scorched, blackened. The soil was dead, poisoned by dark magic that hated living things. It would take years of gentle rainfall to leach poison out of the soil before even sickly weeds could grow there, and water in the wells would be unsafe to drink for many years after the field had become a meadow and sapling trees reached upward for the sun. To the south were the still-smoldering remnants of a house and barn, Wing hoped the family had fled as the enemy approached.

  The wizards were accompanied by less than a hundred soldiers, according to the Royal Army scout force that had tracked the group of wizards after they crossed the River Fasse. The scouts had braved wizard fire and worse dark magic to keep General Magrane and Madame Chu informed of the enemy’s whereabouts and intentions, but after it was clear the wizards were headed straight for the crown princess, Wing had requested Magrane to pull back the scouts. She and her fellow wizards could watch the enemy force well enough through magical means, it was not necessary for scouts to risk their lives. As she glided silently through the enemy camp, she could see with her own eyes there were far less than a hundred soldiers with the wizards, and many of the soldiers appeared to there as servants rather than for protection. Quite rightly, the powerful wizards of Acedor felt they had no need for clumsy mortals to protect them, and a larger force would only slow them down.

  There was a last ring of soldiers who held torches, backs to the wizards, facing out to counter threats, but Wi
ng slipped between a pair of soldiers with no more sign of her presence than a faint zephyr of a breeze on a soldier’s dirty cheeks. The man did not react, and Wing continued until she was standing on the lip of the shallow vale, with the enemy wizards no more than a dozen yards away. Even through her skillful concealment, the enemy should have noticed her, but their full attention was elsewhere that night, and they paid no attention to their surroundings for they feared nothing in the mortal world.

  Closing her eyes and opening her inner senses, Wing could feel the invisible cords of power that joined the fourteen wizards together, and a single strand reaching out through the spirit world to the east. Toward Ariana and Olivia. To Wing’s senses, the night air fairly crackled and pulsed with awesome power, and she rocked back on her heels when she felt how much power the enemy was manipulating. It was more power than she had ever handled, more than she thought even Lord Salva could control, and his power was immensely impressive. Swaying on her feet, she regained her balance and stepped forward toward the ring of wizards, who were as yet unaware of her presence. Before Wing had cast a spell of concealment around herself, her fellow wizards had woven an illusion that at that very moment, was providing proof to the enemy that their powerful opponent Madame Chu was still miles away.

  Slowly taking a deep breath, Wing lifted a foot and took a step forward, knowing she was committed, and that night could be her last.