“Did your father tell you what the council decided?” Jhonate asked. “I know only that we are still attacking today.”
The whole assault had nearly been derailed the night before when an emergency meeting was called. Valtrek’s source had told the wizards that Ewzad Vriil had, in essence, declared war on the Mage School after his wedding and coronation. In addition, the source told Valtrek that Mellinda knew about their planned foray from the Mage School. The witch didn’t seem to know any details, but she was alerting Ewzad’s men to expect something.
“The meeting didn’t end until late. Mother said that the arguing was split fairly down the middle. But yeah, it’s happening. They decided not to reveal the details of the plan until after we leave in case her spies might overhear them. They don’t want to allow Mellinda time to plan for what’s coming.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then we are supposed to plan the assault as we go?”
“Sir Lance left with Hugh the Shadow and Oz the Dagger right after the meeting. They’re going to find out what kind of last minute preparations Ewzad’s men are making. They’re supposed to meet us on the road with a plan,” Justan said.
“Well, it is less than ideal, but . . . I am glad that we are making some kind of move,” she said.
Justan nodded in agreement. The constant waiting had been hard on everyone.
It had taken a month to convince the wizards to move in the first place. Sir Lance’s plan for a sortie had met with a lot of resistance. The War Council was worried that the remaining spies within the school would leak word of it and their troops would be heading into a trap. Ewzad and Mellinda could simply be waiting for them to send out half their forces and then attack the school while they were gone.
Sir Lance was adamant that they take control of the war and he was able to convince the leadership of the academy to join his side. If they could break through the barricade crossing the road to Sampo and scatter Ewzad’s men, they could gather up additional forces in Sampo and march on to Dremald. Captain Demetrius agreed, assuring them that the Dremald Garrison would switch sides as soon as they showed up.
It was the announced wedding of Ewzad Vriil to Queen Elise that finally convinced the wizards. They couldn’t continue to wait while Ewzad did as he wished with the rest of the kingdom. A series of scouting parties had been sent to Sampo to assess the situation. The news was mixed. Ewzad’s troops around Sampo now numbered close to ten thousand. The good news so far was that they were still only lightly armored and no monsters had been seen with them. The council set the day of the sortie. They would attack the day after Ewzad’s wedding, while his men were still celebrating.
Gwyrtha waited outside the dining hall while Justan and Jhonate went in. Fist was at a table waiting for them, several plates of food piled around him. He was sitting next to Zambon and Willum, both of whom were almost finished eating.
“How did it go, Fist?” Justan asked as they took a seat. He passed Jhonate her plate and grabbed a plate of eggs and porridge for himself. “Did the kitchen workers give you any problems?”
“They were suspicious,” Fist said with a frown. He glared over at one of the workers who was eyeing the ogre with a slight scowl. “Especially Chef Richard. He didn’t want to give me the extra eggs. He says I eat too many!”
“I don’t see how he can say that,” Zambon said, glancing at the eight hard boiled eggs on the ogre’s plate.
“I know,” Fist said with a wide-eyed nod. “But I told him that the extra eggs were for Jhonate and he didn’t dare say no.”
Jhonate glanced at the chef and gave him a nod of dismissal. The man hurriedly turned his attention back to the food line. She looked at Fist’s plate with disapproval. “You must eat more than meat, Fist. Protein alone is not enough. Your body needs grains of some kind for proper fuel.”
“Oh,” the ogre said. He looked at her plate and his face fell. “I don’t like porridge.”
“Have some bread then,” Justan said and tossed him a roll from a platter on the center of the table. He turned his attention to Zambon. “Hey, I didn’t get the chance to talk to you last night. I’m sorry about Elise.”
Zambon smiled and shook his head. “I knew there was no chance for us the day I left her at Castle Vriil and went with my father. I realized then that she wasn’t anything like the girl I had thought her to be.”
“You had a thing for the princess?” Willum asked in surprise.
“She’s queen now, I guess,” Zambon said, then shrugged. “I was stationed at the palace for awhile and . . . anyway it’s a long story.”
“He kissed her,” Fist said, elbowing Zambon.
“A few times, but like I said, nothing came of it, okay?” Zambon said.
Willum grimaced. “You kissed the woman Ewzad Vriil got pregnant?”
“I didn’t know that would happen at the time!” Zambon retorted.
“Consorting with a client? Such behavior rarely comes to anything good,” Jhonate remarked absently as she ate.
“Such behavior?” Zambon said. He and Willum looked at each other, then stared back at her. They knew how she and Justan had met each other.
Before either one could say anything, Justan changed the subject, “Are you two joining us today?”
“Yeah. I’m in Lyramoor’s company,” Willum said. “Sabre Vlad had to stay behind so Lyramoor asked me to come along.”
“I’ll be joining him,” Zambon said, shoving a piece of bacon in his mouth. “I’d be in Riveren’s company, but they have to stay and man the walls. You know, since he’s Captain of the Guard and all.”
Justan nodded in understanding. “What about your father? Is he coming?”
“No,” Zambon said. He chewed slowly. “Father isn’t . . . ready to return to battle yet.”
“Are his wounds not healed?” Jhonate asked in surprise.
“Physically he’s fine,” Zambon said. He shrugged. “It’s Alfred’s suggestion.”
“Alfred is concerned that a pitched battle might cause Tolivar to fall back into his rage,” Willum explained. He glanced at Zambon. “Tolivar doesn’t disagree.”
The guard shrugged again.
“What do you think?” Justan asked Willum.
“He still feels . . . unstable sometimes. I think it’s a smart move,” Willum replied.
“The Howlers don’t like it though,” Zambon pointed out. “Old Calvin the Red was talking to him about it the other day. Their argument got pretty heated. I think the Howlers feel abandoned by him.”
“Why does Calvin the Red not lead them then?” Jhonate asked between bites of porridge. “Was he not the guildmaster before Tolivar?”
“That’s what father told him to do,” Zambon said, wiping up the last bit of egg yolk from his plate with a crust of bread. “The old man spat on his shoes and stormed out.” The guard shoved the bread in his mouth, then pushed back his plate and stood. “I need to go get ready.”
“Will you be wearing your father’s sword into battle?” Jhonate asked, eyeing the pommel of Meredith sticking up from Zambon’s back.
“She’s my sword now,” the guard replied. He reached up and touched the pommel. “I’ve renamed her.”
“What do you call her?” Justan asked. He hadn’t gotten around to naming his own swords yet, something that Lenny liked to give him grief for.
“Efflina,” Zambon said.
Fist grasped the guard’s shoulder. “That’s a good name.”
“I’ll see you later,” Zambon said and headed around the tables to the door.
“I should go too,” Willum said.
“We should all go,” Jhonate agreed and stood. She carried her plate and the one that Zambon had left behind to the sinks.
“You ready, Fist?” Justan asked.
The ogre stood, popping the last egg in his mouth. “It will be good to fight again.” He had enjoyed his classes so far, but even Fist was getting stir crazy.
“Let’s go, then,” Justan replied.
Ride now? Gwyrtha asked hopefully from just outside the building.
Yes. Justan said. We ride.
Chapter Seventeen
“Yes, sirs?” Justan asked, sliding from Gwyrtha’s saddle to stand next to his father. He nodded to his mother and the other leaders. “You needed me?”
They had made it half way down the road to Sampo without any resistance before their scouts had stopped them. Now their entire force, six thousand strong including the wizards accompanying them, was at a standstill.
They were measured out into twelve divisions, each commanded by an academy graduate and each one accompanied by a team of five wizards or mages. As they marched, the leaders had clustered together at the front with the cavalry discussing plans.
Now that they were stopped, the men rested while the wizards maintained a series of wards in a wide area around their forces in case the enemy had placed watchers along the road. So far there hadn’t been any surprises. Evidently Mellinda hadn’t bothered to bring any forces this close to the school. Still they stayed diligent, watching the area just to make sure.
“Edge, we have a problem,” said Hugh the Shadow, his ever-confident grin unwavering. “Vriil’s troops have erected barricades reaching from the ravine to the west, across the road, and all the way to the river’s edge. They are clustered in companies of thirty, nothing we can’t handle really, except that we have no way of knowing how many of them can turn into monsters.”
“We understand that you can,” said Oz the Dagger.
“Yes, sir,” Justan said. “I can make out which ones have been changed by Ewzad. It looks like a bright concentration of spirit magic focused in their stomachs. Anyone with spirit sight can pick them out, sir.”
“Who else do we have that can do that?” Darlan asked.
“Anyone that is bonded. Fist, Gwyrtha, and Willum can,” Justan said. “Jhonate too, and as far as I know, that’s it. The others who have the ability remained behind.”
“Only five of us,” Captain Demetrius said with a frown. “And four of them in the same division. That will make it hard to avoid surprises.”
“Then split us up,” Justan said. “As long as one of us accompanies each division that’s leading the charge, we could direct you to the problem areas in the enemy ranks. You could put Gwyrtha with the Cavalry and Fist with the Howlers.”
Faldon nodded, “That is a sound strategy. Jhonate could stay with my group and Edge could direct the archers-,”
“Sir,” Justan said. “If I may make a request, can I be part of an infantry group?” He had been giving it a lot of thought lately. He didn’t want to be remembered only as a bowman. He had always wanted to earn his name as a swordsman. He was always relying on his bow in battle. It was his most powerful weapon, after all. But he needed to get to know his swords better and there was only so much he could learn while training. “My swords need some exercise.”
Faldon gave him a questioning look at first, but finally nodded in understanding. “I suppose.”
“But-,” Darlan began, her brow creased in concern.
“Willum, son of Coal could direct the archers,” Mad Jon said.
“Edge can fight with my group,” said Sir Lance, his gruff voice sounding amused. “His swords will get plenty of exercise with us.”
Faldon nodded, avoiding his wife’s glare. “We have a consensus then. Let’s go.”
They split off to their different groups, Justan dispersing instructions to Fist and Gwyrtha through the bond. Jhonate gave him a disappointed glance. She had hoped to fight at his side. But Justan was sure this was the right tactical choice.
“Glad you’re with me, Edge,” said Sir Lance as they joined his troops. They were two hundred men strong, half of them academy retirees and the other half recent graduates. “We have the best job in the sortie.”
“And what is that, Sir Lance?”
“We’re leading the charge,” the grizzled warrior said with a yellowed smile. “See, usually the cavalry’d do it, but Vriil’s men have been busy puttin’ up spiked barricades. Our job’s to charge in and clear a space for the cavalry.”
Justan nodded. “So when you say ‘the best job’, what you mean is ‘the most dangerous’.”
“You got it,” Lance said, slapping Justan on the back.
“We’ll have archers and wizards providing cover fire then?” Justan said.
“Exactly! They’ll be tryin’ to steal our fun!” Lance laughed and Justan realized he had never seen the man this jovial. It was kind of unnerving. The warrior turned to his men and raised his arms. “Right, boys?”
The men shouted in agreement, raising their weapons. Justan wondered if they knew what they were cheering about.
The signal was given and they started their march. Sir Lance jogged around within the group as they went, talking to the men, sometimes laughing loudly. The men grinned when he was around.
Justan was impressed. He hadn’t known Sir Lance was such a natural leader. He listened close to what Lance was saying to the men and realized it wasn’t much different from the things he had said to Justan. Lance bragged how dangerous their job was and, it seemed crazy, but the men lapped it up. Perhaps they did know what they were cheering about after all.
Justan waited for Lance to make his way back to him and asked the man, “Why are you so happy? When you were leading the Sampo refugees, you were always in a foul mood?”
“Was I?” Lance asked. He chuckled. “I suppose I was. The thing is, Edge, there’s a difference between leading a group of warriors into battle and trying to protect thousands of families that can’t fight. It’s a whole different level of responsibility.” He sighed. “I never wanted that. But this!” He waved his arm at the marching men. “This is what I’m made to do. Put me with a group of fightin’ men and together we can raze mountains. As for today? In my time, I’ve led men against giants, trolls, basilisks. Hell, even a merfolk invasion. Ewzad Vriil’s men? Pissants!”
“Pissants, sir?” Justan said, unfamiliar with the term.
“Pissants! Right boys?” The men shouted in agreement and Lance laughed. “Tell me, Edge, what’s the easiest way to get an ant off your boot?”
“You could flick it off, I suppose,” Justan replied.
“Sure, if you want to bother bending over,” Lance said with a smile and ran on down the line, sharing Justan’s ignorance with the other men.
They marched on for another hour before a halt was called. Then Captain Demetrius rode over to them. “The blockade is just ahead. They’ve picked a good site, too. The enemy will see you coming a hundred yards before you can hit them,” the captain said.
Lance laughed. “Good. We’ve got ‘em where we want ‘em!”
“We’ll be right behind you. As soon as you get the barricades clear, we’ll charge on through,” Demetrius said. He glanced at Justan, nodded, and rode back to his men.
Ready to fight? Gwyrtha asked excitedly from her place at the front of the cavalry.
We are, Justan replied and included Fist in his next thought. You two don’t worry about me. In this battle you help the people you’re with. They’ll need you to guide them to the men with Ewzad’s power in them.
I can smell it already, Gwyrtha said in disgust. Justan breathed, focusing on the smells around him, but all he could smell was the cavalry’s horses and the sweat of the men around him. He coughed and grimaced. His enhanced senses weren’t always a blessing.
We know what to do, Justan, Fist said, then added in irritation. These men, the Howlers? Fighting with them reminds me of fighting with ogres.
Justan smiled. That’s why I recommended you.
Thanks, Fist replied.
Lance unsheathed his enormous sword, raised it into the air, and the men began to jog to the front of the line. The men were eager. Sir Lance’s enthusiasm had spread. Justan found his heart pumping with excitement as well.
He smiled. Finally he was doing more than walking around the Mage School. The entire month
he’d been searching for moonrat eyes and he was the only one that had been unsuccessful. Vannya and Locksher found two spies, both of them young students. Willum had found two among the food workers by himself. Even Fist and Gwyrtha had found someone, the most crucial catch actually; a wizardess named Sprauna, who taught Fist’s earth magic class.
Justan had looked into suspects, of course. He had been sure Pympol was a spy, considering how close the ex-mage had been to Arcon and his part in the creation of the plant golem. But he’d followed the mage, had Gwyrtha smell him out, and he’d come up clean. No, looking for spies had not been the kind of action Justan needed. This was what he needed; the chance to make a direct impact on Ewzad’s forces.
The infantry jogged up an incline and, as they crested the top, their goal came into view. The road had been clogged by barricades, heavy logs supporting sharpened stakes angled upwards to pierce the chests of charging horses. Behind the barricades stood ranks of scruffy men, looking much like those Justan had faced when helping Lenny free his people. The difference was these men were alert and ready for battle. Their archers already had arrows notched.
Sir Lance signaled for a charge and the men began to run. Justan switched to spirit sight. His excitement turned to concern. He had expected a few of Ewzad’s changed men scattered through the ranks, but the entire line glowed with the wispy white of spirit magic.
“Sir Lance!” Justan called. “It’s all of them! All of them have Ewzad’s power inside!”
“That’s good to know,” Lance said but he didn’t slow. He swung his sword above his head and a cloud of arrows arched over their heads from the troop of archers somewhere behind them. “Run at ‘em, men!”
The academy archers were far superior to the scruffy men in both training and skill. Their arrows struck before Ewzad’s forces even fired. Many of Ewzad’s men fell. Others started to change, their forms swelling and distending.
Then the wizards got involved. Lightning struck among the enemy ranks, knocking dozens down at a time, followed by fireballs that exploded in their midst, sending bodies flying. Smoke rose from the barricades, partially obscuring large bulking shapes that rose from among the fallen men.
The Bowl of Souls: Book 05 - Mother of the Moonrat Page 22