Arm Of Galemar (Book 2)

by Damien Lake

  “Beld,” he replied congenially, sensing Dietrik stiffen by his tree. “It’s been so long since you stopped by to say hello I was beginning to worry about you. Thought you might have met a nasty end out on a contract.”

  The giant standing to Beld’s left stepped forward. Beld restrained him with an outstretched arm. “What do you take me for? A green boy fresh off the farm? No limp-wristed pissant who thinks his sword means he’s a man will be the end of me!” He wrenched his face into a horrible attempt at a smile.

  Marik returned the hard gazes idly. “What do you want? Still sore over what’s-his-name?” The hothead behind Beld’s arm twitched satisfactorily. “It’s unbecoming to hold grudges over trivial matters.”

  Fire flashed through Beld’s eyes before the big man choked it down. Instead, he broadened the grimace in a pose of good cheer. “Nah. Dellen’s…kept busy. Just bad luck, eh?”

  “That’s what I said before.” Marik jabbed his sword into the dirt so he could rest his hands atop the T-hilt. He narrowed his eyes and added, “But I find it hard to believe you tracked us down to express your change of opinion.”

  “What?” Beld asked. “You think we want to square off over that now?” He pushed back on his friend, then stepped closer to Marik, adopting a superior air. “We were walking past and saw what passes for skill in your squad.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Dietrik piped up, taking a place beside Marik. “Exactly what are you implying by that?”

  “You call that forest fighting?” Beld remarked with a wave at Dietrik’s tree. “I saw you dancing there. Jumping around like a frying tick. How’d you survive three years in the Kings if that’s your best?”

  “Yeah,” the hothead growled while the other swiveled his head between speakers, “Don’tcha even know how to use the woods?”

  Beld’s eyes flicked left briefly though he choked down his obvious displeasure at his sidekick’s speech. He spoke quickly to direct the conversation. “You two jesters don’t know how to bring your surroundings into play. It’s embarrassing to watch. You’re a disgrace to the Kings.”

  Dietrik started a hot retort. Marik answered first. “Are you challenging us? The old, ‘I’ll show you how it’s done,’ bit?” He cocked a grin and flexed his knuckles over the sword’s guard.

  “If that’s your best, then yeah. I can show you how a real fighter uses trees and bushes. You’re bringing down the band’s name like that. But not here,” he declared when Marik hoisted his sword. “Hardly any real woods in this corner. Let’s go to the real thing.” He raised a hand to massage his chin as he pretended to consider for a long moment. “Yeah, the trees up top the horses ought to be good for this. Let’s go on.”

  Beld walked away with his men, pausing only to ensure Marik followed. When he found them still rooted in place, he sneered, “What’s the matter? Can’t handle a real training?”

  Marik started after. This satisfied Beld. The huge man led them west toward the main gate since the stable hands were picky about letting others use their private entrance.

  Dietrik trotted beside Marik. “Why are you letting him bait you?” he whispered. “His acting skills are deplorable. I know you were not fooled for a moment.”

  “Of course not,” Marik returned the whisper. “But I’m curious. He must have mastered a new attack to be so confident of beating us. I want to see what it is.”

  “As bad a liar as he is, don’t forget he is not a big dummy. He was smart enough to know when to back off and let matters lie. Perhaps he is also smart enough to accurately judge the effectiveness of whatever dirty trick he has in mind.”

  Marik brushed that aside. “He made all that up about forest fighting. He’s no better, and knows it. I’d say he wanted to get us outside all along. We can handle whatever attacks they come up with. If this is a trap, then probably his friend Dellen is waiting to help them ambush us in the horse’s vale.”

  “That doesn’t worry you?”

  “Not especially. In the worst case, I can use my strength working to knock their swords out of their hand, and you’re no slouch either. I’d only be worried if there were eight or nine at once against us.”

  Dietrik remained concerned as they walked. Marik found it amusing. And useful. Training was nice but nothing honed his skills the way a true battle could.

  Beld’s smug attitude leaked through his control when they neared the gate. Yes, that ox certainly thought he had lured them off guard, Marik decided. This would be great. Honing his abilities in real combat and destroying Beld’s anticipated scheme in the same moment. His steps quickened in eagerness.

  “You!”

  The coarse, demanding shout broadsided Marik completely. They all whirled to face the apparition advancing on them. Marik did not recognize the gaunt figure, had no idea what this hollow, haunted creature might be.

  “Come with me, mage!” the man growled, and snatched roughly at his arm.

  Only then, with the other less than a foot away, did Marik finally recognize this stranger as Colbey.

  Chapter 27

  Difficulties plagued Adrian at the same speed with which reports were delivered to his aides. Or so it seemed to him. Never had any campaign he managed been so fraught with delays, mishaps and unforeseen obstacles. He barely finished issuing orders to deal with one dilemma when a harried subordinate rushed to his side to announce a new setback.

  He could not lay the blame on the size of the forces he commanded. Three times before Adrian had directed wars where fully a third of Arronath’s army gathered to participate. Twice he had conquered the kingdom of Tillsar on the command of his friend, the former king, Lutehor Soieel. Both times the lands were returned after the Oni, a thickheaded ruler his people were unfortunately stuck with until his death, seemingly learned his lesson.

  His experience commanding should have seen them through, even in a foreign land where many variables were unfamiliar. Though the pollen had struck unexpectedly, sudden problems of this nature were factored into his time schedules.

  So why were they nearly a full year behind where they ought to be?

  Adrian stared at his maps, alone since he had banished the aides until evening. Too many problems on top of each other. The wyverflies slowly died without proper caves to shelter them. Entire squadrons were still out of position. His mages suffered an affliction of unknown specifics, so for months they had barely managed to move his only Citadel a scarce mile a day. Simply maintaining it appeared to require the full effort of the few capable of performing their spells.

  By the time it arrived at the frontline, most of his fighters would be too old to lift their swords, he reflected. The map positioned it sixty miles inland from the coast. Where he now stood would require a year to reach at the present rate.

  If he didn’t know better, he would suspect the gods were interfering.

  He rubbed his forehead. A new headache had begun. Their initial storm across the hostile kingdom had progressed according to plan. Only after they had paused to secure their hold over the claimed lands did these endless upsets erupt.

  They needed to push further. His reports to the king’s mages were met with greater impatience on his liege’s part. King Lambert wanted Adrian to uncover answers. Adrian suspected they might lie in the next kingdom east, in the forested lands of Galemar. If the dark threat were rooted there, that could explain the hostilities springing up in both neighboring kingdoms from its spreading influence.

  Except he hesitated to move any of his forces until they stood ready to support each other. The remaining Tullainian elements might be thin enough to brush aside, but Galemar had watched the Arronath assault. They knew what to expect and would be prepared to meet them.

  The faint creek from the old door hinges made Adrian glance up in irritation. Whatever new crisis the aides might be bringing him had better be severe enough to warrant their violation of his orders.

  Instead he found the stony visages of Mendell and Harbon returning his gaze. For an instant
Adrian could scarcely credit their uncalled for intrusion into his private office. Harbon made use of the silence to close the door.

  It jerked Adrian fully from the ponderous inaction his mind entered when brooding over problems. “By what notion do you two presume to enter without first making a request through proper channels?”

  Mendell, his face usually composed, made no effort to conceal his poison at the moment. He replied for them both. “General, sir! It has been weeks since you had us pulled from our assigned duties. Duties which I might remind you were assigned by the king’s advisor.”

  “The king’s advisor, wise as he may be,” Adrian responded, “is not the head of this army! That position and every concern within the ranks is my responsibility.”

  This brought a darker glare to Mendell’s expression. A slight bow followed that contained naught but scorn. “We have been awaiting whatever new assignments you feel are worthy of our talents. Waiting for our new orders to be delivered, yet still they have not come.”

  “Your orders will arrive when a task I feel is suitable for you needs tending to. However, breach of proper protocol such as this severely hampers your chances of retaining your current rank, much less earning new assignments.” Adrian scowled mightily. Secretly he felt glad of their intrusion. At last he had a legitimate excuse to have done with them. “In fact, I don’t recall any of my officers ever having the temerity to barge unannounced into my office unless a crisis of equal proportion existed! Your personal feelings are hardly an army-wide emergency.”

  Rather than looking cowed, Mendell glanced back at Harbon. The look worried Adrian for reasons he could put no name to. Contained within that quick meeting of eyes had been an understanding he did not share.

  It only lasted a brief moment, then Harbon addressed the general. “Sir,” he said, sounding calmer than Mendell, if much oilier. “Our only question regards our future disposition. Are we to rot in our quarters as the war proceeds without us? Neither of us joined the proud army of our homeland so we could sit and wait like small children.”

  Harbon’s icy eyes locked on him in the fixated manner of a snow wolf spying a rabbit. Adrian had not become a general by backing down before others. “Your future prospects, colonel, are rapidly worsening. I suggest you return to your quarters while a court martial remains your only concern!”

  The two traded silent words with their gazes once again before Harbon fixed him fully with those cold eyes anew. “Very well, general, sir. If that is your final decision.”

  Adrian nodded once, meaning to finalize the session, when it struck him. Harbon’s eyes pulsed, then the entire room vanished. Those cold orbs swelled to fill Adrian’s vision. The black irises expanded rapidly until they wrapped around his body in an enveloping void. Under his feet the floor vanished. His office walls disappeared.

  He plunged down in an endless dive toward oblivion. Black space surrounded him. The sensation of falling was no mere illusion! Whatever had happened, he fell down, down, down as ice pierced his soul and terror numbed his mind. There in the infinite darkness, Adrian screamed.

  * * * * *

  Mendell peered into Adrian’s blank eyes from an inch away. “That’s it?” he grunted.

  Harbon nodded. “He is ready. I need to stay by his side to ensure he doesn’t slip.” He sighed deeply. “Cardinal Xenos told me not to do this unless we had no other choice.”

  “Don’t worry about that. He’s impatient to take the forest. Just make sure this acts natural,” he gestured at Adrian’s vacant shell. “I’ll leave for the Stoneseams at first light with the forces we need.”

  With a nod, Harbon added, “I’ll have him order to renew the offensive. We’ll push for the border and secure the lands between.”

  “Right.” Mendell squeezed his fist tightly, which cracked the knuckles. “This time we’ll take that wretched forest for good.”

  * * * * *

  Colbey tugged fiercely at Marik’s arm. His eyes blazed in a fashion unlike the usual cool, detached scorn he viewed the world through. “Do not tarry! I call your debt in!”

  “Hey! Colbey…” Marik began, conscious of the other four men watching this tableau. “What—”

  “Come!” the scout demanded. The snarl twisting Colbey’s face left Marik directionless, disassociated from the moment and wondering what in the world to do. Colbey yanked fiercely while growling, “You owe me a favor. From your own lips you promised me aid.”

  “Yes, I did,” Marik replied, his tone lowered to cut Beld’s crew out from the conversation. “So what do you want that’s so urgent? I’m in the middle of something right—”

  “That is not important!” Colbey interrupted, nostrils flaring. “We must leave immediately!”

  Marik pulled his arm free of Colbey’s grip. “Leave? What are you talking about?”

  Beld’s impulsive friend called from where they stood. “Hey! You’re not going nowhere! You got a match-up with us!”

  He obviously would have continued were it not for Beld’s sudden thump into his head’s backside. After a harsh stare at the voluble giant, Beld stepped closer to Marik. “You thinking about welshing on my instruction, you?”

  “Beld—” Marik began, annoyed, meaning to tell the giant to have a little patience. Colbey overran his words before he could deliver the admonition.

  “Instruction?” the scout barked. “Any common grade teachings the likes of you may have to pass along are of no value! Be off and cease bothering us!” Colbey reached for Marik’s arm with the obvious intention of dragging the larger mercenary away to wherever he meant them to go.

  “I don’t think you see the picture, little man,” Beld opined, features clouding in affronted anger. “He and I got business that doesn’t concern you. You take yourself away before you buy more trouble than you can handle.”

  Colbey ignored Beld completely and continued to grab for his target. Marik stepped away, adding, “Colbey, what’s the problem? You want to explain what’s on your mind?”

  “On the way,” the scout hissed through his teeth. His eyes darted continuously from Marik to the gate in nervous anxiety. Heavy breaths repeatedly expanded and contracted his torso. “But we must leave with haste to make our destination within the month!”

  “Month?” Marik asked in disbelief. Beld lashed a hand out to strike Colbey away.

  “I told you to scram!” he declared. Beld’s blow missed when Colbey danced aside in liquid agility. “You better piss off before you make me angry!”

  Marik, still spinning from this sudden confusion, stepped between the two. Colbey flowed around him, eyes locked on Beld for the first time. The narrowed orbs radiated a malice sharper than Marik had ever before witnessed.

  “Your life is balanced on the edge of a knife blade,” he muttered, yet clear enough for both men to hear. “You’d best take to whatever den shelters you along the straightest path leading there.”

  “I gave you a fair enough chance!” Beld bellowed. He reached for his blade with the speed that always surprised Marik.

  Oh, hells! Marik knew enough not to push Colbey when the scout acted normal. With him acting so oddly, Marik feared he knew what response Colbey would deliver.

  He leapt at Colbey while the scout’s lightning hand shot for his own sword hilt hanging at his side. Marik knew he would never be fast enough to stop him. Colbey’s reflexes surpassed every other fighter’s in the band. After so many practice sessions against him, Marik was well aware of the raw speed the scout could summon, but throwing his body forward had been an instinctual movement. Already in motion, he could not stop, so he only offered a wordless prayer that his mail would protect against Colbey’s blade.

  Except Marik’s outstretched hand knocked against Colbey’s arm as the sword cleared the sheath. Colbey’s blade, slower than usual, still faster than most, sailed wide of Beld’s chest to bite deeply into his arm. Beld shouted in surprise. His blade fell from his spasming fingers and he reached for the cut below his elbow.


  Marik vaguely took note of the others dashing forward while he struggled with Colbey. He pinned the scout’s arm between his own and his torso, back to the wildly hissing and spitting Colbey. The scout fought to pull free. Marik grabbed his wrist before it could slip through his armpit while shouting for Dietrik to help him.

  Dietrik ran to his side. Colbey cursed them and flailed at Marik’s back. The two of them shouted back, telling him to calm down. Seeing this warrior who Marik deeply respected acting so uncontrolled frightened him.

  Colbey suddenly stilled. The transformation from rabid wildcat to granite statue occurred with no elapsing time at all. Marik glanced over his shoulder to see what had happened.

  All his body’s movements had shifted to Colbey’s eyes. His eyes seethed in a turbulent cauldron. They narrowed slightly, only to widen in astonishing speed. An unidentifiable emotion roiled inside the scout with furious abandon.

  Marik stepped away, nervous and hesitant. “Colbey?”

  The sound of his name broke Colbey free from his strange reverie. His eyes focused, then darted to the men beyond Dietrik.

  Beld panted in pain and clutched his arm. One of his friends helped with the wound as the other retrieved Beld’s fallen sword. After a moment they hurried away without a word, heading, Marik noticed, in the direction of the chirurgeon’s wing.

  When he faced back to Colbey, he found the dark eyes drinking him in as water falling on parched earth. He refused to step any further away from the scout despite the unease it fanned in him.

  “What the blazing hells was that about?” he asked harshly. Colbey’s eyes never so much as flickered.

  Dietrik studied the wall tops. “You’re bloody lucky the Homeguard didn’t catch wind of that little stunt.”