Those which ran into the woods found men waiting with steel axes and scythes, pruning hooks and swords. The weapons gleamed from just having had layers of rust scraped from them. Vlad immediately recognized the axmen as his foresters. But how?
A horse reined up beside him and Count von Metternin cheered. “Yes, Highness, this is going exactly as you explained it would.”
Prince Vlad gaped up at his friend. “What are you talking about?”
“The thaumagraph messages you sent. They were in your hand, I know how you send. You told me to gather all the people who had come to Fort Plentiful and bring them forward. You told me how to deploy them on the wings, and you said they were to strike when Mugwump did.”
“I still don’t understand.” Vlad pointed east as people emerged from the forest, shooting trolls and hacking them to pieces. “Where did they come from?”
The Kessian smiled. “That’s all Major Woods’ fault. When he did his choosing outside Prince Haven, he made it clear what a man had to have to join this fight. And as men went home, they traded for supplies and spread the word. They were a week back of us, and came streaming into Fort Plentiful after you left. I was going to have them ready to oppose the Norghaest as we had discussed, but then your message came through and we came up, advancing this last bit when we heard the cannons go off.”
The Prince, his mind reeling, felt power surge through his connection with Octagon. He looked up and caught just the hint of a green-gold glow fading from within the valley. He wasn’t certain what it was, but it left him sad. “Nathaniel, find Kamiskwa. He’ll need you.”
Nathaniel lowered his smoking rifle. “Rangers are peeking on out of the woods both sides, and boys are back at the cannons.”
And Mugwump is gorging.
The Count laughed triumphantly. “The enemy is in full retreat, Highness. Some may escape, but we can hunt them down later.”
“Yes, very good.” Vlad advanced a dozen feet and dropped to a knee beside Rufus’ corpse. He pulled the locket and chain from the dead man’s hand, then kissed the locket and closed his own fist about it. He visualized his wife and found the connection Rufus had hinted at. He closed his eyes and used magick to convey a sense of relief. He knew she’d get it in a day or two, or perhaps already had it. When didn’t matter, just that she knew, did.
Then he opened his eyes again, trailed in his dragon’s wake, and began assessing exactly what kind of victory they’d actually won.
Chapter Sixty
4 June 1768 Octagon Richlan, Mystria
“Well, I ain’t of a mind to disagree with you.” Nathaniel, as bidden by Prince Vlad, had found Kamiskwa in the Octagon. They both crouched beside a pair of tracks through the snow that worked from the wooly rhinoceros corral on over to where a muddy mixture of snow, ice, and dirt formed a nearly perfect circle. The mud had frozen over, solidifying little ripples and a couple of bubbles that had not yet burst. Dirty snow formed a berm around it and reminded Nathaniel of the tunnel Rufus had dug to escape Happy Valley.
The tracks told one simple story. After dealing with the rhinoceros riders and reversing the magick they used to enslave their mounts, Ezekiel Fire and Msitazi had strolled across the valley floor and into the troll hole. The mud had erased half of Fire’s last footstep, and almost all of Msitazi’s. Given the length of their strides and the crisp outline of their footprints, Nathaniel could easily visualize them walking arm in arm like old friends, leaning on each other for support, passing serenely through the chaos which, in a few places, overlaid troll tracks on theirs. They had strolled straight through the battle, unconcerned and uncaring.
Kamiskwa looked up from where he traced a finger around the heel mark of his father’s last step. “Look again, Magehawk.”
Nathaniel scooped up snow, and used magick to fashion the mask Kamiskwa had used on him before. The scene came alive in magick. Whereas the mud lay frozen, glowing blue energy around it still quivered. The hole fairly well seethed with magick, as if it were a pot on the boil. Yet even as he watched, he could tell it was trending toward a simmer. Whatever had opened the hole, and however it had been closed, great magick had been brought to bear, and two men had vanished as a result.
“Your father do that?”
“He did, or they did together.” Kamiskwa twisted and sighted back up the hill. “A few of the warriors said my father ordered them to help me. They thought he would come, too.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “He knew what he was doing, weren’t of a mind to have any of them in the way. Question is, what in tarnation did he do?”
The Shedashee warrior stood. “It feels akin to the portal magick. He used it to send the trolls and demons away from here. What concerns me is this: he has always had to lead the way. Knowing how savage the Noragah creatures are, I have to wonder where he would take them.”
“And can he get back again?”
“Yes, that, too.” Kamiskwa started around the circle’s perimeter. “Come take a look at this.”
Nathaniel followed, and crouched at the circle’s northern edge, almost directly across from where Msitazi’s and Fire’s tracks vanished. There, preserved in the mud, were two delicate footprints of bare feet, obviously female. No steps led up to that point, or away from it. “You reckon that’s the one you seen?”
“Would you recognize Rachel’s footprints?”
“I would, but I done seen them a-fore.”
“And I’ve seen hers, in my dreams.” Kamiskwa sighed. “Every night, she is there. Not teasing me, but she is a mystery. I can hear her voice, but I cannot understand her words. She’s afraid, Magehawk, but feels safe in my company.”
Nathaniel ran a hand over his unshaven jaw. “And these just ain’t no regular dreams.”
“In them she is more real to me than you are right now.” Kamiskwa looked at his hands and brushed his thumbs over his fingertips. “She was here, Nathaniel, not the vision she was before, but here. I think she helped my father and Fire deal with this hole.”
“So she would know where they are.”
“Or she is with them.” Kamiskwa glanced down. “I must find them and bring them back.”
Nathaniel stood. “Are we leaving right quick now, or will morning be soon enough?”
“Magehawk, I cannot…”
The Mystrian raised a hand. “Now you listen here, Kamiskwa. I seem to recall there was a time when I headed out on a fool expedition while I weren’t much better than half-dead, full of hate and stupid. You was the onliest one what stood beside me. Before then and since you done saved my life a passel of times, and I done the same for you. Your pa done took me into your family, and I took a liking to Fire. And if this woman who’s gonna be your wife is involved, there’s one more reason for me to go. And the reason you want me with you is that aside from being wise, and a better shot than you, it was me made sure the last thing going through Rufus’ mind was a hunk of lead. He was the biggest mage I ever done hawked. Where we’re going, I reckon there might be a mage or three even bigger what needs some lead poisoning. I’ll oblige ’em.”
The Shedashee smiled. “Nathaniel, what about the men you led here? You have your responsibility to them.”
“Well, I reckon I do, but I reckon there’s more of a way to handle that than walking back to Temperance with ’em all. Caleb Frost, good Lord willing he made it through alive, and Makepeace, they done led them in this battle. I reckon they can get them home again. Having me head off with you, providing I go round and visit folks when we’s back, will do more for them men than a couple weeks of campfires and tall tales.”
“How does that make sense?”
Nathaniel folded his arms across his chest. “For the longest time I didn’t want nothing to do with civilization-Norillian civilization, mind. Shedashee civilization makes sense to me. But you was right after Anvil Lake: men was feeling all full of piss and vinegar, like they could whip the world. They’d be expanding Mystria, as Fire did, by pushing on out, and they’d be puttin
g pressure on the Shedashee. But that was when they figured there weren’t nothing out here that would push them back, them not reckoning on how hard the Shedashee could push if they was of a mind to.
“See, most of these men love the idea of the wilderness. It makes it safe for them. Iffen a farm fails, they pack up, move west, make a new farm. And me, I is a reminder that the west is always there. Now Caleb has ties to Temperance, and Makepeace is from a Virtuan family, soes they gots more in common with these men than I do. So when I tell the men, and let it be told, that there’s some unfinished business out here, and that you and me is going out to handle it, but they should be ready to help. We make them safe again, and important. They’ll know we’ll be a-calling them, and if you and I is heroes, and we need them, they’re heroes, too.”
Kamiskwa’s amber eyes narrowed. “It is probably best that you remain out here, Magehawk, away from civilization. That kind of animal cunning would make you dangerous in the cities. I think we should depart after we reach Fort Plentiful. We will go to Saint Luke. The Altashee will need to elect a new chief. Then we begin our hunt.”
Nathaniel nodded and jerked a thumb toward the southwest. “Start at the Antediluvian ruins?”
“In a practical sense, yes. First, however, we must visit the other tribes. We know what the Altashee know of the Noragah. We need to know more.” Kamiskwa’s lips pressed into a grim smile. “We learn everything we can, then we hunt, Magehawk, killing anything that would stop us along the way.”
Owen found Bethany wandering through the encampments on the southern edge of the battlefield. The combatants, exhilarated but exhausted, had grouped together in small meadows and hollows. Pickets had been set out in case any demons or trolls that had escaped decided to come back and raid. Most people believed they’d not stop running or flapping until they reached the far coast, and many were hoping they’d starve to death before they ever got there.
He looped around to approach her from the front. She was completely lost in thought and did not notice him. “Bethany, are you well?”
She looked up, momentarily startled, then smiled as she pressed a hand to her throat. “Oh, Owen, please forgive me.”
“What’s the matter?” Owen glanced back toward where the Prince had set up his pavilion. “I just saw Caleb. Aside from a couple of cuts, he was fine and happy.”
“Yes, I saw him.”
He looked around. “Clara wasn’t…?”
Bethany shook her head. “She’s fine as well. She killed five demons, but won’t stop talking about the fact that I shot two with a pistol.”
Owen started to comment, but thought better of it. Shooting a demon with a handgun meant Bethany was far closer to combat than she ever should have been. Her having been able to reload to shoot a second time meant she was in danger longer than he liked. Still, the expression on her face-a mix of embarrassment and anger-suggested Caleb had already given her a lecture and she didn’t want to hear any more.
“Something is bothering you.”
She nodded, her brows arrowing together. “When the Prince sent me back to the Stone House, Clara and I headed off as ordered. But not far back we found Count von Metternin and people, lots of people. We found everyone we’d left at Fort Plentiful, and many of those who had left after the battle. There were even more of those that Nathaniel had dismissed at Prince Haven and other volunteers who had joined along the way. They were just all there, waiting. When the cannons went off, they surged forward, just two wings of an army that I didn’t know was there and I’d swear Prince Vlad didn’t know was there either.”
“How did they come to be there?”
“Count von Metternin said it was on the Prince’s orders, but I never sent any messages.” Bethany looked up at him. “I thought, then, that the Prince had sent orders independent of me, because the Count said they were in the Prince’s hand. But Prince Vlad didn’t have a thaumagraph. Or I thought he didn’t, but maybe he did, and maybe he sent messages in secret.”
Owen reached out, resting his hands on her shoulders, stroking her upper arms. “He couldn’t have thought you were a spy.”
“No, I know. I didn’t think that.” She glanced back toward the east. “Before he met with Caleb and the other captains, he pulled me aside. He asked if I’d sent orders independent of him to bring the reinforcements up. I denied it, of course, because I didn’t. But he kept questioning me, asking me if I had gotten any messages or had seen anyone near the thaumagraph. I told him I hadn’t, and that I’d taken the precaution of removing the identification disk. The thaumagraph wouldn’t work without it.”
“That was a wise precaution.”
“Prince Vlad thought so, too. He thanked me for answering his questions, but I don’t think he felt good about my answers.” She shook her head, then raised her hands and held his. “But, here I am running off at the mouth about something which doesn’t matter. How are you, Owen?”
He smiled. “I can use some mending, but otherwise I’m fine.”
“What do you mean?” She stepped back, her expression sharpening. “Are you wounded, Captain Strake?”
“Only the little, tiniest bit.” He held his left arm out and cold air poured through the rent deerskin over his ribs. “Troll horn got me there and the one on my thigh was a tenacious demon.”
“Is that it?”
“Mostly.”
“Owen!”
He laughed, the exasperation in her voice a bit over done. “I’m banged up a bit. Got bashed into a tree or two, but these are the only spots where I’m bleeding.”
Bethany grabbed his right hand and immediately marched him toward a small circle of tents with a bright fire in the middle. A half-dozen men wore the green jackets of Northern Rangers. The rest looked to be some of the reinforcements who had joined up, including one family group with the grandmother and her beleaguered daughter-in-law doing some mending by firelight. She had Owen remove his tunic and hissed when she saw the three-inch long gash on his left side.
The old woman called to a boy of ten. She handed him a needle, thread, a cloth, and a crusty green bottle sealed with a cork. “You’ll be wanting those, Miss. The liniment, that’s mogiqua and grain alcohol, with just a bit of honey. Goes on the outside of him. Got the recipe from At Anvil Lake by Captain Owen Strake.”
Bethany laughed. “This is Captain Strake.”
“Cain’t be. Captain Strake is taller.” The old woman pointed a bony finger. “Now get on without foolishness, Miss. Sew him up good.”
Behind the old woman, her son shrugged, and the Rangers did their best to hide grins. For his part, Owen moaned a bit and groaned a bit-in a way Captain Strake of the book never would have done. The old woman snorted with satisfaction and went back to her mending.
Bethany wiped away blood and dirt, then scrubbed the wounds with mogiqua. It stung, but Owen said nothing. She threaded the needle, then sewed the cut over his ribs closed with neat, even stitching.
What Owen didn’t expect was his reaction when Bethany made that final knot, then leaned in to bite the thread off. Her lips brushed his flesh. Despite being in the middle of a crowd, in firelight, his flesh all goosebumps from the cold, a thrill ran through him at the intimacy of the contact. His mind fled back to the days when he lay in the Frost household, days when he had been in a deep slumber. She had tended his wounds then and though he imagined she’d cut thread with scissors, he could not help imagining her lips touching each of his wounds.
He became hyper-aware of her every move as she stitched up his leg. He borrowed a blanket and wrapped it around himself before stripping off his trousers. Bethany dropped to bended-knee to sew the cut closed. Again she cut the thread with her teeth and he could feel her warm breath against his leg. Her lips seemed to linger, not long enough for anyone to notice, but longer than was needed.
He dressed himself and returned the blanket to its owner. He thanked them all, then wandered into the darkened woods with Bethany. In the darkness he offered her his
arm and she slid her hand through it.
“What are we going to do, Bethany?”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “We will do nothing, Owen, just as we have been doing. Do not ask me to be your mistress. I haven’t the strength to resist. I see what it does to Rachel, to love someone you cannot have. I do not know how she does it, but I know I could not.”
“I would not dishonor you, Bethany. And I would not cause you pain.” He kissed the top of her head. “I came to Mystria to find a way to create a life for my wife, for the two of us to share. And here I fell in love: with the land, the people, and with you.”
“Owen.”
He stopped and turned to her, taking her shoulders in his hands. “No, I have to say this, Bethany. In Norisle, I was always the outcast. I think I came to love Catherine because she was part of Norillian life. If I married her, they would have to accept me. They would have no choice, or so I thought. I’m not the first person ever to pretend that others must play by the rules he lays down, and not the first to be deceived by that arrogance. I wanted a life that would give her all the things her friends had, and all the things she desired, because I believed that would mean I was equal with everyone else. But I was wrong.
“I came here, to a land of outcasts-the land of my father, of my birth. Here I found a home among the outcasts. Mystria embraced me not for who I was, but for what I had become, and for what I did. In Norisle I did things to prove I was worthy of being an equal. Here the things I did earned me the respect of others.”
Owen shook his head. “You want to know how I got cut with a troll’s horn? I was out there, in the midst of battle. I’d fired my rifle, I had thrown my tomahawk. I was down to my knife. I saw a troll knock a man to the ground and prepare to kill him. I leaped and grabbed a hank of hair. Riding his back, I started sawing his head off. He cut me as he was struggling, dying, and as he fell I realized the man I’d saved was Ian. But here’s the thing of it: I wasn’t fighting to save Ian. I was fighting because I was outraged that these creatures were attacking my home. I’d have killed that troll if it was standing over Johnny Rivendell, or Guy du Malphias or even my uncle.”
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