Nature's Master (The Nature Mage Series Book 4)

by Duncan Pile

  Talmo stiffened, his gaze fierce, but then he nodded; a terse jerk of the neck. “I cannot deny the truth of your words, but it doesn’t change how I feel. What happens to Voltan is on my conscience.”

  “Deal with it however you want but Voltan paid a heavy price for this information, perhaps even with his life, and we need to act on it.”

  “Thank you Tobias,” Hephistole said. “You’ve seen more clearly than any of us, except in one respect. Voltan is not dead.”

  “How do you know?” Trask asked.

  “Because Ferast will want to torture him,” Gaspi murmured.

  “He will,” Hephistole said grimly. “Ferast will not pass up on the chance to inflict pain on anyone associated with this college. Especially when that person was once his teacher.”

  Everyone fell silent, looking at each other in despair. “Friends,” Hephistole said at last. “This news has us all reeling. Let’s take a break and meet again at second watch.”

  “Good idea,” Trask said. “Gaspi, help me and Talmo with the transporter?”

  “Sure,” he said, rising to his feet and walking to the plinth.

  “Gaspi,” Hephistole said. “Bring Taurnil with you when you return. I want to talk with you both about something. Tobias will release him from his duties.”

  “Okay,” Gaspi said taking his place between Trask and Talmo. “Atrium.”

  …

  When Gaspi returned, five chairs had been arranged around one of the chancellor’s low, oval tables. Hephistole’s silver teapot was steaming away in pride of place, encircled by five delicate cups and saucers. Once they were seated, Hephistole poured each of them a cup of hot, amber liquid, instantly recognisable by its fragrance as Hephistole’s ‘thinking tea’. Gaspi lifted his cup, blew on it to cool it down, and took a sip. Within moments his mind grew calm and clear under its influence.

  Hephistole looked around at each of them. “In the hours since we last met I’ve come to realise that we must hold to hope. We cannot save Voltan right now, but we may yet have our chance to set him free.”

  “I thought you said we couldn’t mount a rescue mission,” Trask said.

  “We won’t need to; Ferast is bringing him to our door. If you think about it, Voltan’s chances are precisely the same as ours. If we win the battle, Voltan will be free, but if we lose then we will all share his fate. The best way to help Voltan is to throw everything we have into preparing for battle.”

  “Too right,” Taurnil said.

  Gaspi felt like a weight had lifted from his shoulders. There was something they could do for Voltan – they could fight, and they could win. Heartened, he looked around the group and saw a new determination in everyone’s eyes, including Talmo, whose haunted gaze was suddenly intent.

  “So let’s get on with it then,” Trask said.

  “Right you are,” Hephistole said. “Let’s start with what we’ve learned since Talmo’s return. What do we know that we didn’t know before?”

  “That Ferast is leading Sestin’s army,” Gaspi said.

  “And that it’s thousands strong,” Talmo added.

  “Can you give us a closer estimate, Talmo?”

  The tribesman frowned. “Six or seven thousand.”

  “Best to prepare for the worst, just in case,” Trask growled. “Call it seven.”

  “Seven it is,” Hephistole said. “What else do we know?”

  “Nothing for certain, but we can guess,” Trask said. “If Sestin isn’t with the army, he’s up to no good somewhere else. We’ve got to figure out what he’s doing.”

  “Maybe he’ll leave the battle to Ferast,” Taurnil suggested. “Why would he get his hands dirty if he doesn’t have to?”

  Hephistole shook his head. “Sestin will take part in the battle. His hatred of the college is unmatched, and he will not be able to resist gorging himself on slaughter.”

  “What about last time?” Taurnil said. “He sent vaergs and Bale-beasts to attack the city, but there was no sign of Sestin himself.”

  “Secrecy was his ally at the time, but he is no longer operating in the shadows. This is the final battle – his great, decisive conquest – and he will not miss it.”

  Gaspi could feel the truth of Hephistole’s words in his bones. “He will bring demons.”

  “And vaergs,” Taurnil said.

  “We must work on that assumption,” Hephistole agreed. “But he will not command a great host of demons. Summoning is exhausting and dangerous, even for one such as Shirukai Sestin, and requires careful preparation.”

  “What about the vaergs?” Trask asked. “He could have thousands of them at his command.”

  Hephistole frowned. “You’re right, of course. I wish we knew more.”

  “Can’t we send scouts?” Taurnil said.

  “It’s too dangerous. If they actually found the vaergs they’d be torn to pieces.”

  Taurnil grunted, conceding the point.

  Gaspi had an idea. “Why not use Rimulth? He could scout with the air spirit, scouring the land from the safety of the skies.”

  “I cannot spare him,” Hephistole said. “He’s the only person who can spy on Ferast’s army as it approaches and provide me with updates on its position. Come to think of it, I have a second task for him too, of crucial importance.”

  “So what can we do?” Gaspi asked.

  “We carry on preparing for battle. If nothing else, this confirms the wisdom of the quest to Pell.”

  “Right,” Gaspi said. “We’re going to need those fragments.”

  Hephistole nodded. “We’ve made all the right decisions so far. Our preparations are the perfect defence against a demonic force.”

  “Does Sestin know why we set out for Pell in the first place?” Gaspi asked.

  “I don’t see how he could,” Hephistole said. “The Darkman only followed you because it was on your trail. There’s no reason to believe Sestin knows of the artifacts we obtained there, but even if he does, his demons will still die on our blades.”

  “You got that right,” Taurnil said.

  Hephistole looked at him. “Taurnil, Gaspi, I have something to ask of you. How would you feel about training some raw recruits?”

  Taurnil looked confused. “I’m already helping Trask with the training.”

  “Actually I had something else in mind. We need to battle-train our magicians, and who better to do that than an experienced sword and sorcery dyad?”

  “You want us to train new dyads?” Gaspi said.

  “Exactly. When Sestin arrives, he will not be expecting to face dozens of battle-mages, fighting alongside skilled warriors. You acquitted yourself well in the Measure, and Trask assures me, Taurnil, that you are capable of giving instruction.”

  “Taurn?” Gaspi said.

  The gleam in his best friend’s eyes revealed he’d already made his mind up. “Let’s do it.”

  Gaspi wasn’t so sure. “What about the enchanting?”

  “The demon-bane weapons will only be of use against a portion of Sestin’s army, but a skilled dyad can take on any foe, demonic or otherwise. I believe the training of new dyads to be of greater import.”

  Gaspi gave a slow nod. “Makes sense. We’ll do it.”

  “Good,” Hephistole said. “Trask will provide you with a list of warriors, and I’ll choose some candidates from among the magicians. Tomorrow morning at first watch they will gather in the arena, where you will divide them into pairs and begin their training. I want both of you to give this your full attention.”

  “We will,” Gaspi said.

  Hephistole looked at Trask. “Have you heard from the council at all?”

  Trask snorted. “They’ve gone to ground. Several of them have left the city and the others are ensconced in their fancy homes, as if four walls and a roof will keep Sestin’s demons out! All the better, I say! We don’t need them sticking their noses in.”

  Hephistole smiled. “Quite.” He looked around the group. “As I said, it see
ms that we’re doing all the right things.”

  “But we’re still facing two armies instead of one,” Talmo said.

  “How do we fight a war on two fronts Tobias?” Hephistole said.

  Trask shrugged. “The same way we fight a war on one front. This is a siege, so the forces will merge and become a single army. Their objective hasn’t changed so we fight them just as we planned.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Hephistole said. “Thanks to Voltan’s sacrifice, we now understand the scale of the battle and the true strength of our foe. We can take courage, knowing that our preparations will cost the enemy dearly.”

  “Don’t forget Baard,” Trask said. “An army of ogres would be a big help.”

  “Yes, there’s always Baard, but there’s every chance he won’t get here in time,” Hephistole said. “We must prepare to face Sestin alone.”

  …

  Rimulth waited patiently for Hephistole to finish making the tea. The chancellor had summoned him to the Observatory, and was busy brewing a pot for them to drink. In some ways, he reminded Rimulth of his own people, whose lives were girded about with tradition and ritual. Serving tea wasn’t a formal rite for Hephistole, but the chancellor tended to it with equal care.

  “You must have heard the news by now,” Hephistole said, once the tea was poured. “An army has been sighted, heading for Helioport.”

  Rimulth nodded. “Talmo told me. He also said that Voltan has been captured.”

  “By Ferast,” Hephistole nodded, his expression grave. “Dreadful though that is, there’s something else I want to discuss with you today.”

  Rimulth nodded, waiting patiently for him to continue.

  “I have a task for you of the highest urgency. Dozens of settlements lie between the approaching army and this city; villages mostly, along with a couple of small towns. I will send riders to the nearest of those, but it will be hard to reach those furthest from our walls.”

  “Okay,” Rimulth said, unsure how this concerned him.

  “I want you to be my ambassador to those settlements. The air spirit can fly faster and farther than our emissaries can ride. I know you did something similar on the quest to Pell, when fleeing from the Darkman. As I understand it, the spirit carried one of a pair of transporter amulets and Gaspi retained the other. The moment it landed he invoked the magic and you escaped the Darkman’s clutches.

  Rimulth felt a thrill of excitement. “That could work! If the spirit wears an amulet round his neck and I wear the other, I can cast my mind from the spirit and then transport directly to its side.”

  “And you’re happy to do that?”

  “Of course,” Rimulth said, glad of the chance to make a difference.

  Hephistole reached within a drawer and produced a pair of the enchanted devices. “You’ll need these,” he said, handing them to Rimulth, who dropped them into his pocket.

  “I’ll start right away.”

  “Good man. I want you to report to me every evening after you’ve returned, or any other time you see fit. If you think it’s important, don’t hesitate to disturb me. Got it?”

  “Got it!”

  …

  Following the line of the enemy army’s likely approach, Rimulth flew out across the plain. The air spirit was swift, making good time as it sped towards the most out-flung settlements.

  In the last couple of days, he’d visited several of the furthest villages and spoken to each of their mayors – Rimulth had expected them to act with the authority of a tribal chieftain, but to his surprise, most of them wore the honorific lightly. After listening to his earnest pleas, each of them had heeded his warning and begun preparing to evacuate their villages, and Rimulth had reported the good news to Hephistole each night with a feeling of pride.

  Having cleared the more distant villages, he was working his way back towards Helioport, stopping at every settlement along the way. Looking down, he saw to his surprise that the village below him showed obvious signs of life; people were taking their ease outside the inn, and children were playing without a care on the village green. Most of the settlements he’d flown over that day had already been evacuated, heeding the warnings of those who’d left their homes and passed through on their way to the city.

  Directing the spirit to land, he waited while it circled towards the green, casting his senses back into his body the moment it alighted on the grass. It was a risky business, leaving the air spirit exposed in bodily form; there was always a chance some enthusiastic archer might see it as a opportunity for target practice. Swiftly, Rimulth retrieved his half of the amulet from within his robes and threaded power into it. “Convoke!”

  His senses were swept away by the magic of transportation until his vision cleared and he found himself standing in the midst of several wide-eyed children, one of whom burst into tears and ran into a nearby cottage.

  Rimulth extended an arm. The air spirit flapped into the air and came to rest on his forearm. It side-stepped to his shoulder, even as a portly man in a green cloak came bustling out of the inn and waddled across the green. Rimulth suppressed a smile. It seemed that to be mayor of one of these villages, you had to be short, round, and spend your days in the inn.

  “Greetings,” Rimulth said, extending a hand, which the mayor shook with obvious reluctance, and set about delivering the bad news.

  Twenty-two

  Sestin presided over the battling vaergs as they fought to become chief of the fifth den. They’d formed two packs, each following a particularly vicious beast. Lesser rivals had been savaged, rent and slaughtered by the strongest males, and after an especially brutal battle, two potential Den-chiefs had arisen from the blood-drenched, frothy chaos. Neither creature had the mental acuity of a Den-chief – that would come later – but both had the base intelligence that all vaergs were imbued with, and knew the final battle was upon them.

  Sestin looked on approvingly as the hulking beasts clashed, snarling and tearing at each other with heavy claws and jagged teeth. He had worked hard to perfect the vaerg’s maw – the product of years of experimentation on ordinary highland wolves, until he’d finally got it right. Every part of their bodies had been similarly enhanced; haunches, shoulders and claws, until he’d finally found the right balance of size and strength. None of Sestin’s failed experiments had been permitted to live, their corpses littering the surrounding hills, until at long last the first viable creature had come forth. It was strong and fast, created for killing alone; the first vaerg. Sestin had enhanced its mind, lending it a brute intelligence beyond that of ordinary creatures and binding it to his will. A second enchantment was needed to turn a vaerg into a Den-chief, greatly augmenting its size, strength and intelligence, but until the fight was over, and one of the vaergs lay dead at the other’s feet, Sestin wouldn’t know which beast to cast it on.

  Blood was already flowing from a dozen wounds, none of which were serious, but each would weaken the creature over the course of a long fight. Sestin cast his eyes over the baying swarm of lesser vaergs. Once the fight was over, he’d have to prevent the winning pack from slaughtering the other. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t intervene with the den purge – it rid him of the weaker creatures, allowing the pack to breed superior replacements – but right now he needed all the forces he could muster.

  He watched dispassionately as one of the embattled vaergs slowly took control of the fight, its superior strength beginning to show. Agile despite its size, it was a deadly foe indeed. Seizing the advantage, it thrust out its jaws and clamped its teeth around the other vaerg’s neck. Its opponent yelped and struggled, tearing great, bloody strips from its attacker’s flesh with its claws, but the larger vaerg didn’t let go. The thick muscles in its neck bunched as it wrenched its rival’s body from side to side until, with a wet, tearing sound, its throat ripped apart in the larger vaerg’s teeth. Black blood fountained across the ground, splashing the victor in a warm cascade.

  The remaining vaerg spat out a mouthful o
f ruined flesh and let out a grating howl of triumph. Its heavy head swung towards the cringing beasts that stood behind the torn body of their leader. It crouched, ready to pounce, a deep growl issuing from its throat.

  Sestin transported to a spot directly between the winning vaerg and its intended victims. “No.”

  The victor dropped its head and cowered before him. Every vaerg in the cavern did the same, filling the air with a pitiful, mewling chorus. Their dread of him was bound to their flesh – a fundamental part of the enchantment that had created the first vaerg.

  “You will not kill the losing pack. I have need of you all,” he said, his voice ringing around the chamber. The winning pack was bewildered, turning left and right and whining in discomfort. Sestin wasn’t surprised. Vaergs were simple creatures, driven by powerful, primal urges they were ill-equipped to resist. Still, he needed every beast in that cavern, come what may.

  He stepped up to the victorious vaerg and placed his hand on its head. “Receive your reward.” Magic flooded the creature before him. It began to grow, the bones of its skull shifting and thickening beneath his hand, even as its shoulders broadened to take the extra weight. Its haunches strengthened, hard muscles bulging and swelling to monstrous proportions. It’s natural weaponry – brutal claws and long, curving fangs – lengthened even as he watched. Most importantly, a spark of intelligence glimmered into being in its dull brain, greatly enhancing its understanding and giving it the ability to speak. When the enchantment was complete, Sestin withdrew his hand, and the den chief lifted its massive head.

  “Thank you, Master,” it growled.

  “No thanks are needed, other than to obey my commands,” Sestin said. “Your pack is not permitted to destroy their remaining den-mates. I need you all in the upcoming battle. No slaughter will take place once I am gone, and by the time we go to war, I want this den acting with a single mind.”

  “Yes master,” the vaerg growled, dipping its head, and by the time it looked up again, Sestin was gone.