Deceptions (Ascendant Book 3)

by Craig Alanson

  “The boy!” The chieftain shouted in the common tongue, his voice making that language harsh and chilling. The orc leader held up his hands, showing he had no weapons ready, though an axe and a sword hung from his belt. “We want only the boy,” he pointed a bony finger toward Koren. “Leave him to us, and you may go!”

  “Koren, no!” Raddick ordered, knowing how foolish young people could be. “Do not think to save us by sacrificing yourself, you know the truth!” The captain’s voice echoed off the ravine walls, the man’s lungs straining to make himself heard over the crashing water, the wails of the refugees and the gleeful jeers of the orcs.

  Koren forced himself to open his eyes. There were too many orcs, too many arrows aimed at Raddick and the captain’s brave soldiers and the defenseless dwarves, there would be no escape. Hemmed in by the ravine’s steep walls, the soldiers and dwarves had too far to go along the exposed far side before the ravine broadened beyond the useful range of arrows. Koren had no arrows left, his bow useless and discarded.

  This was the end. There was only one thing Koren could do; he would let go of the bridge and fall into the stream. Then the orcs would-

  No. That felt wrong. If he fell, the orcs would be enraged at being denied their prize and they would kill Raddick and everyone else on the other side of the ravine.

  Falling into the gorge not only would not do any good, it felt wrong. It felt wrong the way it felt right when Koren aimed an arrow and knew, simply knew, he would hit his target.

  He knew what he had to do. It was wrong, but it felt right. He had to trust the spirits, though he knew little of them. “Captain! I must surrender. You will die if I don’t!”

  “Koren, I warn you!” Raddick shifted his aim to the boy, and his soldiers followed their captain’s lead. “You know my orders, I cannot allow you to be taken.”

  “I know your orders, and why,” Koren replied. “Bjorn,” he said just loudly enough to be heard over the jeering orcs. “I know what I need to do.” As he spoke, one eye on Bjorn and one on Raddick, he slipped his sword under the rope railing to his right, pulling upward slightly and feeling strands of the tough fibers part under the razor-sharp blade.

  “Don’t,” Bjorn knew instantly what the boy intended to do, or he thought he knew. “If you fall, they will kill us all anyway.”

  “I’m not going to fall.” Looking far down to the stream raging white foam over the rocks below, he added “Not far. Bjorn, I have to do this. I know it. It’s the only way.”

  “Koren,” Bjorn pleaded, stricken. “You don’t-”

  “This is the only way to win the war.” Koren’s voice was barely audible over the harsh cries of the orcs and the shouted orders from Raddick and his soldiers. “Bjorn, I know it. I have to do this, or we are all doomed.”

  “Is this like how you know just when to release an arrow?” Bjorn’s words carried resignation in them.

  “Yes. I am just as certain.”

  Bjorn did not reply with words, he merely nodded and wrapped a rope around one leg, holding onto a railing with one hand and poised his sword under the other railing.

  “Ready?” Koren asked.

  Too late, Raddick realized the young wizard’s plan. “You fool! NO!” Heedless of the orcs, the captain tossed aside his bow and gathered himself to jump out onto the bridge, when the already-damaged structure sagged wildly. Wizard and former King’s Guard struggled to hang on while sawing at the ropes, and with a ripping sound, the bridge snapped in two.

  Raddick nearly fell, being snatched back onto firm ground at the last second by Lem’s hand and he fell heavily to the ground, reaching for his bow even as he gasped with pain.

  Koren and Bjorn swung downward to smash into the ravine’s steep side, their lives saved only because they had been close to one side of the bridge and so did not have far to fall. Of the two dwarves entangled in the bridge ropes, one was bashed hard against the ravine wall and hung there unmoving while the other was blessed to thump into a pile of sand accumulated just above a ledge. That dwarf waved an arm weakly and struggled to cut herself free from the ropes biting into her legs.

  Raddick accepted help from Lem to regain his feet, picking up his bow and refitting the arrow. He pointed it at Koren, knowing the orc chieftain would hold his own arrows as long as Raddick threatened to take away the prize. “Koren, you leave me with no choice,” he called out in a voice less steady than that befitting a captain of the Royal Army.

  “Captain!” Koren shouted, his voice steady despite the sharp pain from his ribs. “Trust me. Please! I ask you to trust me. I must do this.”

  Raddick shook his head, holding his bow firmly, the arrow aimed directly at Koren’s heart. He blinked to clear his vision. “I have my orders. You know that.”

  “Yes, Captain. I am asking you now to trust me. I can end this war.”

  “I have my orders!” Raddick repeated, but with less conviction, and the arrowhead drooped slightly. Regaining his composure, he steadied the arrow on target. “I am sorry, but I must obey my orders.”

  “I know your orders, and I know why they were given to you,” Koren reasoned with pleading eyes. “Lord Salva did not know what I now know. Captain, please, trust me. I will throw myself down if you wish,” he glanced at the white foam of the stream below, and the jagged rocks waiting there. “But I am asking you to trust me.”

  Raddick’s tension on the bowstring eased ever so slightly, and he blinked again to clear not only his vision, but his mind. “What would I tell Paedris, if I allowed you to be captured, in spite of his most urgent orders to me?”

  “Tell Paedris,” Koren considered. “Tell Paedris that I understand now, and he was right to conceal the truth from me, that he could not trust me not to use my power. But also tell him he should trust me now, that trusting me now is our only hope. I know it, Captain. Please.”

  Of all the hard decisions Raddick had in his life, in his Royal Army career, none compared to the choice before him. He had been entrusted with the fate of Tarador, of the entire world, and now he was about to throw it all away because an untrained young wizard, a mere boy, asked to be trusted. Raddick dropped the arrow, lowered the bow and jabbed toward Koren with a finger. Tears streaming freely down his cheeks, Raddick spoke to his soldiers. “Lower your weapons. Lower them! Koren Bladewell. You!” He jabbed the finger toward the boy with wild emotion. “You had better be right about this!”

  “I am, Captain,” Koren’s own tears blurred his vision. “Farewell.”

  Raddick impulsively snapped a salute to Koren and Bjorn, then addressed the former King’s Guard. “Bjorn, you take care of him, you hear?”

  Bjorn painfully returned the salute, his shoulder grinding as he moved. “I will, Captain. If we don’t meet again, it has been an honor. Now, you get out of here before these orcs change their minds, or this young fool surprises us again.” He swung around on the rope, turning to Koren. “What now?”

  “We let these orcs pull us up, I guess,” Koren really had not thought past persuading Raddick not to kill him.

  “Ah,” Bjorn grunted as the orcs above began roughly yanking the rope bridge upward, bouncing him against rocks and making his sore shoulder protest with hot stabbing pain. “You do have a plan, right?” he looked up at the hate-filled, jeering faces of orcs. “Please tell me you have a plan.”

  “I do,” Koren’s insides shivered as he spoke. His plan seemed a lot better before he was faced with being held captive by orcs.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Regin turned in the saddle to watch the last group of boats depart the eastern shore of the River Fasse, taking particular note which boats flew the silver falcon of Burwyck on their flag poles. With pride, he sat tall in the saddle, pleased that the seven boats belonging to his ducal army were evenly spaced and making their way straight across the river in one neat, well-disciplined line. “See that, Kyre, Talen,” he spoke to his sons, “our boats proceed as one unit, while the Royal Army boats look like a gaggle of ducklings
who have lost their mother.”

  “Indeed, Sire,” Talen agreed, “but then many officers of the Royal Army come from more common stock than do lieutenants and captains of Burwyck.” Talen had learned simply to say whatever he thought his father wanted to hear. “What say you, brother?” Talen took the opportunity to put his hated brother on the spot, knowing that despite his conspicuous bravery at the Gates of the Mountains, Kyre was not in their father’s good graces. Talen was not sure what Kyre had done to displease their father, but he wanted to give his free-thinking brother an opportunity to further anger the duke.

  Kyre could have pointed out that the boats of Burwyck had delayed launching until all seven were ready, an action that put on a pretty show for observers but wasted precious time. If the river crossing had been opposed by the enemy, a massed flotilla of boats would be a sound strategy to overwhelm enemy defenses. As only a few very surprised enemy troops had been on the opposite shore, the raiding force had the luxury of making an orderly crossing. Also, the Royal Army had many more boats that the seven owned by the Falcos, so they could not cross all at once or they would jam up the sandy beach that was the landing zone on the western shore.

  But Kyre knew pointing out facts to his father would be the wrong thing to do that day, it would gain him nothing and further split their already tense relationship. “If our army fights with as much coordination and discipline as they display in a mere river crossing, we will acquit ourselves well when it comes to battle. Father, our people fought well in Demarche province and at the Gates of the Mountains, I credit that to your training,” he added. That was easy to say, for it was the truth, including the part about his father’s long insistence that the army of Burwyck be prepared both in training and equipment. It was also easy to say, for the remark both flattered his father and reminded his father and Talen that Kyre had been in actual combat, while Talen had only sparred in the practice ring. Before he went into battle for the first time, Kyre had thought his extensive training had prepared him well for combat. Now that he had seen the bloody chaos of real fighting, he knew no amount of training could determine how a person would react when a they were faced with death for the first time.

  “Yes, you fought at the Gates,” Talen spat. “Thank you, brother, for reminding us, we had almost forgotten, as the last time you mentioned it was this morning.”

  “I said our army fought well,” Kyre did not bother to raise his voice, Talen had long known how to bait him into an argument, but Kyre felt he was above and beyond that now. He saw Talen as a frustrated and sad boy, a bully who would always be in Kyre’s shadow. “They fought alongside the troops of Demarche, halfway back through that province as the enemy poured across the river. Not once did our troops flinch or shy away from battle, not once did they complain about being tired or hungry, not once did I hear any of them despair as we were pushed until our backs were up against the mountains.”

  “Oh yes, you are so-” Talen began a retort.

  “Talen!” Their father barked. “Be silent. Kyre is correct, the army of Burwyck performed bravely, they were a credit to our family. I received letters of thanks from General Magrane and Duchess Rochambeau, even Lord Salva expressed admiration for how our army delayed the enemy’s advance. You would do well to study that campaign rather than seeking to snipe at your brother. Really, you boys should be past that now,” he added, annoyed. “Now, the two of you, listen to me. Are you listening?”

  “Yes, father,” the boys chanted in unison, though Kyre saw his brother’ attention was focused on glaring at him rather that listening to the duke.

  “You may think this is all a grand adventure,” Regin looked more at Talen than Kyre, “but this raid is deadly serious. We must advance many leageus into Acedor to reach the road the enemy uses as their main supply line from the west,” he repeated the orders issued by General Magrane in the name of the Regent, and Regin still did not believe he knew the true purpose of the raid. Cutting a road, even if the Royal Army engineers could destroy bridges along that road, would only create a temporary impediment to the enemy’s ability to provision the host of troops on the west bank of the River Fasse. “You may think a force this size has nothing to fear,” he swept a hand to encompass a view of the Royal Army of Tarador and various ducal armies preparing to advance west of the river. “But we have taken only a fraction of our strength with us, we must keep the bulk of our forces east of the river to forestall an invasion. We must move quickly and we will be especially vulnerable during out retreat back to the river. If I fall in battle-”

  “No!” Talen cried out. “You will not fall, Sire, you are skilled and strong and-”

  “Yes, my son. Soon enough you will see that survival in battle is as much due to fortune as to skill,” he nodded to Kyre as he spoke, and his eldest son and heir nodded with a grim expression. “If I fall, you will need to lead our forces safely back across the river. Unlike the Royal Army, we do have the better part of our forces with us here. If the army of Burwyck is lost, or trapped west of the river, we may lose everything we hold dear.”

  “Yes, father,” Kyre agreed. “It does no good to win one battle, if it costs you the war.”

  “You have learned well, my son,” Regin tried to smile but could not manage the gesture. If the duke’s plan came to fruition, his heir may not survive, and almost certainly would rebel against his father. Regin considered that this might be the last time he and Kyre spoke in a somewhat friendly manner, and that brought tears to his eyes.

  Ignoring the tears welling up in his father’s eyes for he knew the proud man would be embarrassed, Kyre held out a hand to his brother. “We will not fail you, Sire.”

  Talen shook his brother’s hand, just long enough to show he agreed but not long enough to demonstrate any affection.

  “There is something else,” Regin wiped his face with a cloth, pretending to mop sweat off his brow but drying his tears. “This raid is, in my experienced opinion, a foolish endeavor. I know General Magrane has reservations about taking such a serious risk for so little gain, but he is bound to obey our Regent. He is bound to obey a young girl who has never been in battle,” he knew that was not quite correct, but Ariana definitely had no experience in large-scale army maneuvers. “If we are overrun, there may come a moment when you must abandon a lost cause and save what you can.”

  “Sire?” Kyre asked sharply.

  “Kyre, while you were in the hospital, you told me about how you rescued General Armistead and civilian stragglers in Demarche. I was proud of your actions, and I was even more proud that you later recognized your actions had been foolish. You risked your force for a few people who could make no difference in the war, while the troops you commanded were desperately needed. A commander must not only lead with courage, he must use good judgment, or lives could be lost for nothing. You must choose when to fight, and when to cut your losses so you can fight another day.”

  “I fear what you are saying, Sire,” Kyre said with jaw set in anger.

  “I am saying,” Regin let his frustration creep into his tone of voice, “that if the Royal Army is overrun, you must save what you can of our forces. I will not throw away our army for nothing, and neither should you.”

  Kyre sat stiffly in the saddle. He knew his father’s words were sound. He also feared he knew what Regin Falco was really saying behind the all-too-reasonable words. That if the battle were joined and the Royal Army hard pressed by the enemy, Regin intended to break away and leave the princess to her own guards. “We are pledged to follow-”

  “Damn you!” Regin snapped. “I know we are pledged to follow Her Highness! I will not waste the strength of our family because a foolish young girl will not listen to those who have actually shed blood in battle. No, Kyre,” the duke held up a hand before his heir could respond. “Think before you speak. I know you will agree, if only you think with your head and not your heart. This raid is dangerous, far more dangerous than you can know. If all is lost, you must save something to
continue the fight on the other side of the river, that is all I am saying.”

  “Yes, Sire,” Kyre’s cheeks burned hot from anger and embarrassment. The duke nodded curtly, wheeled his horse and galloped off to greet the last boats coming across the river.

  “My brother,” Talen’s voice dripped with hatred. “If you betray our father, I swear I will kill you myself.”

  Kyre was not fazed in the least by the threat, his younger brother had posed a threat to Kyre’s life for several years. “Dear brother, you may find killing me not so easy as you suppose. And you will not be killing anyone when you have an orc arrow sticking through your throat. Look to your own safety in battle, and try to stay out of everyone’s way, little boy.” Not waiting for an unimaginative reply, Kyre spurred his horse and rode away up the hill, looking toward the south where the Ariana’s guards were assembled around her. His father’s words troubled him.

  Paedris felt the pouch on his belt vibrate, and he held up a hand to warn Cecil. Inside the pouch was a stone, identical in every aspect to a stone he had given to Shomas Feany, before that wizard embarked on his doomed errand to find Koren Bladewell. With Shomas dead, Paedris had not expected to make use of the sending stone, but as he reached into the pouch for the stone, he considered Shomas must have told Captain Raddick about the stone and instructed the army man in its use, for of course Shomas would have thought ahead like that.

  “What is it?” Cecil whispered. A patrol of soldiers had passed by less than an hour before, and the two wizards dared not extend their senses to see where those enemy soldiers were at the moment.

  “Sending stone! It must be Raddick,” Paedris explained hopefully. He had a flash of hope that Koren might have used the stone, but dismissed just as quickly, for the boy had no idea how to use the magical device. The court wizard knelt on the dusty ground and smoothed out an area of sand with one hand, then held the stone over the flat sand and muttered an incantation. As he waved the stone back and forth, closer and closer to himself, an invisible finger traced words in the sand, to match the words Captain Raddick had written before using his identical stone to record the simple message.