by Guy Antibes
He crept ahead of the scouts, who had motioned him forward. The column continued to walk, so Trak had to move fast. He didn’t have time to pull his sword free, so he stood up and pointed his finger at the men.
“Paranon,” he said again and again pointing to each of his victims. He didn’t distinguish between friend or foe since there were soldiers up ahead.
He heard a shout that he didn’t understand and heard the scouts drawing their swords. There must have been enemy scouts as outriders of the column. Trak didn’t have time to assume a pose, so he ran ahead. Two soldiers had not yet fallen under his sleeping spell, so he moved back, finding a better place to fight rather than over the sleeping bodies of his friends. He still had the presence of mind to see that all had been trussed up like Rasia.
His opponents weren’t scouts and didn’t look at all like Toryans. Trak would have to fight experienced soldiers. One wore a more ornate uniform, so he must have been an officer and would likely be the better swordsman of the two, but that didn’t make the other man any less dangerous.
He shuffled a bit back and quickly looked behind him to see what the ground looked like. One of the soldiers rushed him, and Trak tripped on a tree root, stumbling backwards, so that he landed on his rear end. He held his blade up as the regular soldier charged.
Trak struggled to his knees, so he had at least a minimum base in which to deflect the flurry of thrusts. As the soldier withdrew his blade, he twisted it, running the edge across Trak’s knuckles, opening them up. The man smiled and paused for a tiny moment looking at his handiwork as Trak flicked his wrist and drew his sword across man’s thighs. His sword was sharp, and his opponent leaned over giving him the merest opportunity to slap the man’s blade away and thrust his sword up through the man’s chin. He fell backward.
Trak felt the blood seep down his fingers while he sized up his next opponent. The officer’s eyes didn’t carry a great deal of confidence, but that might be a diversion, Trak thought. He did have time to rise to his feet and threw his sword into his left hand. It gripped the now-bloody hilt. Trak pushed his knuckles back against the small of his back. He had learned to fold his arm back as a dueling style from his days with Gio’s swordsmen.
He had to ignore the pain. He lunged with his sword and forced the officer up. The man deftly leapt to the side with good footwork. Trak felt his back soaking in the blood from his hand and knew he needed to finish this quickly. He slashed at the officer, driving him back towards the narrow path. The man backed up a bit too far and stumbled on a body.
Trak waited for that and didn’t waste time slicing through the man’s unprotected groin. He withdrew his sword and killed the man with a thrust to the neck.
The fighting had finished behind him, and he looked back, waiting for another attack. The two scouts grinned and said something that Trak didn’t understand. One of them went to the forward part of the column, and the other stayed where he was. Trak found Honor’s body and untied her as best he could with blood dripping down the fingers of his right hand.
“Worry,” he said and began rubbing her arms. Trak tried to stay awake himself as he continued to massage her limbs. The fight had physically exhausted him, and putting his friends and enemies to sleep had nearly drained him of his ability to do magic. He had fought off fatigue as long as he could, and it began to deaden his limbs and his mind.
Honor began to stir.
“Heal my hand,” Trak said as he finally closed his eyes and vaguely felt the side of his face hit the dirt path.
~
Trak woke in a tent, hearing Toryan voices pass. Honor had sealed the wound using the pose that closed up wounds. He flexed his hand, and it still felt a little tight, but the wound looked clean. He blinked away the sleep in his eyes. It appeared to be twilight or early morning.
Sitting up, he noticed that there were still a few prone figures asleep, so it must have been early morning. Someone had taken his clothes off. That would be a good thing, since he had bled all over them.
Ben entered the tent. “I see you are up. I brought you a Toryan uniform. Since you are taller than the average Toryan, it might be a tight fit,” he said quietly and tossed the clothing over to Trak, who quickly put them on. He thought he would have to take a bath first, but it looked like someone had done a good job cleaning his body while he slept.
He shook his head at the fatigue that had brought on his great swoon on the trail. At least he had been able to finish off the two Kandannans first.
“Let’s get something to eat. Breakfast is about done. I was too early to fetch some for you.”
Trak took in a shuddering breath of the forest air and exhaled. He grinned at Ben. “I’m glad we are both alive this morning…I wasn’t so sure we would be, yesterday.”
“Two days ago,” Ben said. “You just about burned yourself out, lad. I can’t say you didn’t do the right thing. We didn’t know where they were taking all of us, but I don’t think it would have been a nice place.” He shook his head and blew out his breath. He pushed Trak gently forward. Trak had no shoes on, so he picked his way towards where the smells of a mess line began to tickle his nose.
“I’m just glad they didn’t have any arrows pointed at me when I ran for the flyer.”
Ben chuckled. “So am I. It seems that only Kandannan scouts use them in the forest, and the Toryan scouts took those out. None of the men spoke any language that we knew, or so we thought. Perhaps the Toryans know now. They were busy making the enemy talk yesterday. Tembul says they won’t share what they know with us yet.”
“I don’t know anything about that stuff,” Trak said.
“You need to learn Trak. You’ve learned enough about strategy and battle tactics.”
Trak nodded. “I learned about large battles and where to choose a proper field of conflict, but nothing about the little things. I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to talk to a prisoner.”
“Use your common sense. I’d talk to Neel and Tembul. Like you, I have little knowledge about war, and less field experience than you do, boy. Take the opportunity to learn. The wars of this world are going to get worse before they get better, so Neel thinks, and you need to prepare yourself for any role that is thrown at you. Magic, you know. Your sleep spell was more effective and safer than a hundred more soldiers. That includes both times you used it, although Rasia fractured her arm when she fell awkwardly.” Ben shrugged. “A minor misfortune of war. She’s happy enough with the overall result.” Ben pulled a package out of his bag.
“What is that?” Trak said.
“Your portfolio. You left it in Mozira. I didn’t think you’d be returning any time soon, so here it is. Take this with you. I’ve looked through it.” He put his finger on the cover. “You’ve done impressive work there.”
“Thank you.” Trak didn’t have anything else to say about his portfolio and slipped it in his own pack.
Ben helped Trak rise to his feet and led him out into the early morning. Trak asked questions about their captivity as they walked to the mess line. Ben didn’t tell him anything that Trak hadn’t already guessed.
With their exciting entrance, Trak wondered what they would do now that they had arrived at the northern Toryan army camp. While he ate the bland Toryan breakfast, he remembered the smell of bacon at the Kandannan camp and wished the Toryans had fixed the same, but he’d have to be satisfied with porridge that only contained a few plump raisins.
Tembul joined Ben and Trak just as the two were about to leave.
“Thank you for saving us, Trak. You could have just taken off and no one would have known the difference.”
Trak had to process Tembul’s words. He would have never thought to desert his friends. “Something I had to do. I couldn’t live with myself knowing I did nothing to save you two or my fathers or my aunt. If it was only Lenis…” Trak grinned and the other two laughed. “I’m just glad they didn’t execute you.”
“Maybe Lenis and I,” Tembul said. “We are ob
viously Toryan and maybe your father, but the other foreigners?” He shook his head. “They wanted more information.”
“And now we have more than they do,” Trak said.
“Nothing good,” Tembul said. “Riotro has visited the army that sits just on the other side of the mountains. Dianza is a much wider pass. There are no narrow parts like Lazanti Pass, so you can’t just fill a canyon up with rock. They can walk around whatever you deposit up there.”
“I thought we could repeat our success.”
Ben said, “I like the success part, but I’ve been over that pass once in my life and the repeat part is a definite ’no’. We’ll have to see what the current strategy is on the part of the commander.”
Trak shivered. “He scares me. I’m glad he believed me, but he’s not a warm person.”
Tembul laughed. “No, he’s not, but he is the best Torya has and that is no excuse. We’re scheduled to meet with him at the beginning of the next hour.”
“At least I don’t have to wash. Who end up cleaning me up?” Trak said, not really wanting to know the answer.
“Your aunt and Rasia helped, even with her broken arm,” Ben said, trying to suppress a smile. “She had to undress you to bind your wounds, and one thing led to another. I hope you’re not embarrassed.”
Trak couldn’t help the flush on his face. “Of course not,” he said, not believing his own words, and he didn’t think the two men in front of him believed him either.
“Rasia said you are a fine specimen, if a bit scarred up.” Ben said.
Trak could believe the part about the scars. Everyday at Gio’s school brought another nick or cut on Trak’s body despite his ability to beat everyone else.
“Well, I have another one,” he showed the other two his knuckles, making his hand into a fist. “It’s a bit tight still.”
“I’m sure you can work it out,” Ben said.
The others showed up, and Trak had a bit of a difficult time making eye contact with the women.
~~~
Chapter Eighteen
~
Valanna rode in a cart for a few days, letting her body do a bit of healing. The fall had shaken her up, but she was very glad she had survived. Without a shield, she would be in pieces, just like her flyer.
Evidently, Colonel Mirona had forgiven Sandy, who, after they had seen to Valanna, had entered the battle on the Loyalist side and now commanded a large company from an officer who had been killed with an arrow. By the time he had entered the fray, the battle was largely won, but fighting still persisted until nightfall, so Valanna had been told.
Nullia had taken the Colonel aloft a few more times to make sure the enemy hadn’t gathered for a counterattack. Valanna hadn’t really opened her eyes until the next morning.
The army camped about twenty leagues further ahead in a city not quite the size of Teraviza. The rebels had retreated to the northwest, more towards Espozia.
Nullia and Sandy went into the city and returned with a new flyer for Valanna. This one had a railing, and between the railings, a foot-high board was installed to keep things from flying off the platform.
“A new version!” Valanna said as she climbed aboard. The builder, a carpenter, had hinged one of the rails, so it could be lifted up for entry and then locked down, so it didn’t move during flight. She couldn’t help but beam when Nullia and she took it up into the sky. Valanna moved it quickly over the town in the surrounding countryside. The effects of her fall seemed to be history.
“The raised edges mean we can tie things to the railing posts and don’t have to worry about the contents rolling over the side.”
Nullia laughed. She was more relaxed than ever. “I agree. Flyers will get better and better. Unfortunately, not many magicians have the strength and power to move them. You have to be an adept with wind. Sandy is quite taken by the railing. He says it makes him feel safer.”
In one sense, the limitations of flyers would prove to be a disadvantage, but then it made the ability to fly into a scarce commodity, Valanna thought. Time would prove out how important flyers would be to the world.
Trak could fly. The thought had just popped into her head. She wondered how he fared, wherever he was. He might have reached his destination, the secret city of the Toryans. She fantasized about meeting up with him in the sky and chasing each other around, far above the trees and meadows of, maybe, Torya. Nullia had said how beautiful the vast forest looked to her.
Valanna frowned at the thought of someone forcing down a flyer like the Toryans had done with Trak and Nullia.
“Why the dour look?” Nullia said, the wind blowing her hair into her face.
“I thought of the Toryans bringing down Trak’s flyer. That must have been a helpless feeling.”
Nullia grunted. “My whole Toryan experience was one helpless feeling after another. I’m just glad they let me go. I like it better doing what we’ve done, despite the danger.”
Danger, thought Valanna. She wasn’t immune to fear, but her adventures on this trip had made her tougher somehow, especially after she had survived the fall. Her walking among the rebel troops, neutralizing their magicians had been something she could have never done when Asem and Kulara had begun to teach her on the voyage from Balbaam to Tachium, the Colcan port.
She smiled a bit grimly, she felt, at her thoughts of needing to be even tougher. She had a long way to go, but she felt more seasoned, more experienced. Within her, she could feel a spine of confidence that had grown. What would Kulara think? Valanna realized that now she didn’t care. Was that an indicator of her change? She nodded her head.
“You are having quite a conversation with yourself, Valanna,” Nullia said as she relaxed from her wind pose, letting the flyer drift in the light breeze ten stories in the air.
“I’ve changed,” Valanna said. “I’ve seen death and done things I could have never done before we started out. I survived being struck by lightning and potentially falling to my death. I’m certainly not as trusting. Sandy cured me of that.”
Nullia laughed. “Sandy has cured me of more than that,” she said, smiling. She looked years younger. Nullia had found love amidst the war and where Valanna had hardened, her friend had softened. Valanna wondered if others might have noticed the change.
~
Asem looked out over the battlefield from which he had just escaped. He noted how small the counter-attack really was when he saw it from high in the air. About twenty men gaped up at them, stopping in their tracks, now that their target had risen out of their reach.
The Loyalists had just about reached his position when the men turned and ran to the north. All along the wide front, the rebels were retreating. Asem could see where they met with officers, who turned the scurrying men into soldiers once again, forming up columns and withdrawing in an orderly retreat.
The rebel lines moved slowly, since General Niamo had decided to let them go. He didn’t want to slaughter his own countrymen and Asem had to agree.
“Let’s sweep across the battlefield,” he said to Bonigo, who presently flew the flyer with his wind pose. Kulara looked drained, sitting and holding onto a foot strap.
Victory had come at a cost, since the only advance now consisted of men carrying stretchers, waterskins, and bandages. He could see the strips of cloth over the shoulders of men kneeling to bind the wounds of damaged men and women.
The medical efforts started on the Loyalist side, and the flow of helpers edged over towards the rebel concentrations as well. At least the breeze up above the battlefield was cleaner than the stench that permeated the ground below.
Asem remembered the smell of human misery well enough. Niamo, or Senior Dalistro, had made the right decision. He would counsel the same mercy if a fighting war broke out in the final stages of taking Pestledown.
He knew he hadn’t finished the task of helping Misson win back his country, but he expected that efforts from here on would pay dividends in the future. He hoped Valanna and that Colcan
an magician had successfully moved their tiny column north without much trouble. At least they had the support coming from the Santasian colonel and his modest army should they run into any resistance before they reached the Glazia River.
Kulara elbowed his side. “How did you get yourself into an impossible situation?”
Asem, shaken from his thoughts, gave his wife a half-smile. “Don’t you know that I thrive on impossible situations?”
“Dream on, husband. You wanted that magician, didn’t you?”
“I’m of an opinion that the black-robed magican was Riotro. It takes a certain ego to make a target of yourself like that.”
“Like you did?”
Asem nodded. “You were there to save me. I knew.” He understood his second wife well enough to know she would see through the bluff. He looked at her sideways, as he turned away from looking at the scene below. “Well, at least you were there to save me.”
Kulara snorted and put her arms around her husband. “It was my pleasure to pull your handsome hide out of harm’s way. It’s the only one I really love.”
Asem straightened up. “You put me to shame, woman.”
She pushed him away, but quickly grabbed him before he fell off the platform and hugged him fiercely. “I’ll expect you to properly apologize to me tonight. You have wounds to salve, and I have just the thing to make you forget your troubles.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“And I’ll make sure that you do.”
~~~
Chapter Nineteen
~
A smallish tent housed the meeting with the Toryan commander. Some of the attendees had to stand outside, but Trak and Tembul were escorted to stand next the commander looking down at a map.
The commander said something in Toryan. Trak looked at Tembul for a translation. “He’s pointing where the Kandannans captured our party and where you ended up saving us.”