Warriormage: Book Three of the 'Riothamus' trilogy

by Rosemary Fryth

  Swinging into their saddles, the guardsmen and mages urged their beasts and pack horses up away from that exposed place, and towards the slight protection of the foothills. Realising their closeness to the patrols and the road, they kept the horses to a walk, whilst picking their way south-west around the worst of the eroded gullies and boulders of the range edge. The wolves went back to their usual habit of scouting the way, and by an unspoken agreement, the guardsmen formed a tight knot around the non-fighters.

  *

  The attack, when it came, came not from the front, as everyone had expected, but from the rear of the column. A Thakurian patrol, riding far out on the plains from all the others on the road, had chanced across the group’s trail left in the crushed grass and dirty snowdrifts. Their Scout had immediately noticed the differences in the deep impressions of the horseshoes, and had guessed that a group of foolhardy merchants were trying to risk the journey to Riggeltz. With luxuries scarce, and basic supplies rationed, the captain decided not to pass the information back along his chain of command, and with greed flaring in his dark eyes, instead led a sortie to capture any booty for himself, and his own men. Leading the lightly armoured soldiers in a light canter, the Scout glanced again at the lightening sky, and wondered again why a group of merchants so obviously bound for Riggeltz, should decide instead to come to it in such a round-about way. Without Se-Taanata’s hold upon him, the Scout’s mind was free to puzzle over these matters, and with each step of his horse, he became more perturbed and less happy about the captain’s earlier decision not to let headquarters know. He glanced back at the soldiers, at their flat, heavy and unresponsive faces, and sighed. This method of fighting was not to his taste, and he preferred being with men with whom he could at least share a joke, or have rational conversation. As much as he understood that the power and drive of the armies came entirely from the Honoured Warleader, he greatly disliked the mindless unquestioning obedience of the soldiers under her command. However, it was greed alone which drove this particular Captain, and the Scout glancing yet again at the trail before him wondered briefly and unhappily if these merchants were escorted by an armed Guard.

  *

  They were nearing the others; the Scout knew that fact as surely as if the trail he followed was sign posted. Standing in his stirrups, he stared ahead at the lifting darkness, and for a moment he thought he saw a group of a dozen or more riders a league at most ahead. Glancing down at the trail, he noticed for the first time the lightly patterned wolf tracks that seemed to be interwoven with the larger and deeper marks made by the heavily laden horses. Puzzling at this new development, he frowned again as he saw that one of the ridden horses was not shod, an obvious indication of the horsetribes. Gnawing at his lower lip, he agonised over these aberrations from the trail of an ordinary merchant train, and pulling his horse up, turned to consult with the captain of the patrol.

  “Captain, I recommend that we turn back,” he urged, “I have a bad feeling about this engagement. I believe we ought to first report our observations to headquarters.”

  The soldier stared back, his heavy dark eyes momentarily uncomprehending.

  “What? Don’t be a fool!” the officer snarled. “Don’t you ever try to tell me what to do…”

  Immediately the captain’s hand lashed out, backhanding the Scout almost sideways out of the saddle. His head ringing from the shock of the blow, the Scout reined in, and watched as the patrol cantered on ahead, following the now distinct trail. Knowing his life would indeed be forfeit if he turned back, he rode on behind the armoured men, nursing a stinging jaw, a growing headache and a hatred of all things to do with the army.

  *

  As they neared their prey, the Thakurian soldiers increased the pace of their horses, driving to almost exhaustion the numbed beasts they rode. Several paces behind them, the Scout rode at a less furious pace, his quick and agile mind seeing the obvious and apparent dangers of the group ahead. He knew he ought to turn back to safety, but only the Scout’s healthy fear of the captain, and his too-quick blows, kept him from turning away, or offering more warnings to the officer. The sun was a sultry molten glow upon the horizon when they finally caught up with the other group. After the heavy darkness, and momentarily dazzled by the light, they were onto the other group almost before they realised it. With howls intended to confuse and disorientate, they suddenly found themselves fully within the group. To their anger and dismay they realised that the swords and armour identified the group as an armoured column, and not the easy and soft pickings of a merchant caravan.

  *

  With the wolves ahead, and everyone focusing upon the dangers of the forward route, Aran and his friends did not expect nor consider danger to come at them from behind. Suddenly there was amongst them twenty or more mounted black leather armoured figures, wielding a variety of weapons, and shrieking curses against the hated enemy. Instantly all was confusion, as terrified horses panicked and reared, unseating weary riders, and indeed throwing a couple to the ground with alarming thuds. Aran swung his horse around, whilst shouting for Darven to rally the Guard. Upon realising the situation, the guardsmen instinctively turned and swung into a mounted defence, and the Thakur, realising that they had happened upon a well-armed column, immediately intensified the strength of their attack.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Aran saw the mages trying to control their plunging animals, whilst attempting to gather their mage strength into some sort of concerted defence against the raiders. Alissa was at his right, her lightning fast reflexes snapping her short sword out of its sheath, and into the unprotected throat of a Thakurian, who with a final gurgling cry and a spray of arterial blood toppled from his horse, and onto the snow below. With his own sword resembling a banner of light in the early morning gloom, Aran angrily hewed his way through the men and beasts of the Thakurian patrol, his mind clear and sharp with the now focused rage fuelling the mage Ability. Finally, he and a blood splattered Alissa grimly fought their way through to where Darven, Bini and the Guard were fighting and defending the mages.

  Alerted by the tumult behind them, and the silent frantic calls of the Earthmages, the wolves had turned back from their scouting, and raced in to nip and tear at the legs and unprotected bellies of the Thakurian mounts, bringing both the horses and their riders down to the ground. The Weathermages could do little in the situation, except stay out of the way of the fighters, and look to their own safety.

  Aran spotted Mage Genn off to one side and attending a fallen guardsman who had received a dreadful chest wound. Aran quickly scanned the group of mages to see if Trevan too was aiding the fallen, but to Aran’s dismay the mage was nowhere to be seen. Throwing his reins to Alissa, Aran and the remaining uninjured fighters dismounted to carry the battle on foot. Thankful to be once again on solid earth, the Guard gladly swung into their well-drilled formations and progressions, meeting each charge upon their shields and returning blow for blow. Aran, deep in his magepower, was however not unaware that a few of the guardsmen were fighting harder and stronger than he had ever seen before. Even though their small group seemed to be completely surrounded and overwhelmed by the Thakur, one by one the guardsmen would fight their way clear. Glancing about him, he saw their hard, fierce and angry determination, and immediately recognised the visage of the Warriormage upon their faces, and for a moment he felt sorry for the fate of the Thakurian patrol who had ridden in so unsuspected upon them. Suddenly, and in a heartbeat it seemed, the battle was all over, and the Thakur and their animals were lying dead or injured on the ground before them.

  Pushing the rage down deep within him, Aran sheathed the still glowing sword, and straightened wearily, turning now to see how the others had fared.

  “My lord,” Aran heard a voice call to him out of the deepening gloom.

  Aran turned, and saw Healermage Genn, his face tight with weariness, trudging the short distance from where the mages were gathered, to where Aran and the other fighters were standing over the bod
ies of their fallen enemies.

  Aran turned to the mage, “We are done here. As soon as the injured can be moved we must get clear of this place.”

  Genn nodded, “That is true, but we have a grim situation indeed. We have lost two members of our party.”

  “Lost?” Aran turned in surprise.

  “I could not save Guardsman Sigund. I tried to the best of my Ability, but his injuries were horrific and mortal. His chest was entirely ripped apart by a Thakurian axe—indeed most of his lungs were crushed to a pulp. In the face of such injuries only a High Healermage could have had any chance at all in the saving of him.” He bowed his head, “The only thing that I could do was contain his agony so he could go into the final darkness without pain.”

  Aran’s face grew hard and still, “Yet you say we have lost two of our party. Who is the second?”

  Genn’s face went a shade greyer, and there were now obvious lines of pain to be seen on his countenance, “My lord, I am more than sorry to report that Mage Trevan is dead.”

  Aran staggered back, the ground suddenly spinning beneath him.

  “Trevan!” he cried out in horror. “In Andur’s name how? He was not involved in the fighting.”

  The other mage sighed heavily, and the sorrow immediately aged him beyond his years.

  “My lord, he was near the back of the column when the Thakur attacked. It seems certain his horse reared, unseating him…” his voice trailed off, trying desperately to find the words to explain.

  “After the initial confusion of the attack all the non-fighters managed to group together. We immediately realised that Trevan was missing from our ranks; because of the battle we could not look for him, but only hoped that he had the sense to either hide or lay low and stay out of the conflict. Only after the fighting seemed to go our way, were we able to go out and search.”

  He drew a deep shaking breath, “We did not have to look far. We found his body hard up against a small outcropping of rock. It was immediately apparent that he had broken his neck when he had been thrown from his horse.”

  He sighed again, “My lord, the fall killed him instantly. He suffered no pain.”

  Aran dropped to his knees, his hands cradling his face, his mind cold with disbelief. Finally he looked up into the other man’s eyes and Genn shuddered to see the naked rage and grief warring there.

  “Could nothing be done?” Aran grated, his teeth clenched against the heavy grief that was threatening to overcome him.

  The Master Healermage shook his head, “Most of the time we Healermages are able to save lives. Unfortunately we do not yet have the power to give life back to those who already walk the paths in the final darkness…”

  Aran bowed his head again, unwilling to accept that one of his closest friends was now dead.

  Shuddering, he looked up as he felt a gentle hand smooth back his hair. Alissa, her face solemn with sorrow, knelt down next to him on the bloody field, and took him in her arms.

  “My lord Aran we must quit this place,” she urged. “We must take our dead and seek shelter. The Weathermages are already summoning early snowfalls to cover the evidence of our work this morning.”

  Aran gazed at the blood splashed woman, and slowly nodded. “There is little we can do for our dead now,” He agreed his voice bleak with grief, “Save making certain they have honourable burial away from this place.”

  Alissa got her feet and held out a helping hand to him, “The others are already mounted. Come my lord, this is not a fit place to grieve.”

  Aran took her offered hand, and pulled himself to his feet, looking around he saw the darkening sky and the cold bodies of the Thakurian patrol.

  “My lord Aran…we have a problem.”

  Aran looked up as Darven sprinted across the field, his mail jingling with each step he took.

  “What now?” Aran asked tiredly.

  “One of the Thakur lives still lord; I thought I’d check first before dispatching him.”

  Aran’s mouth thinned impatiently, “Need you ask Wolf Leader, they are our avowed foe!”

  Darven’s face grew still as he battled his own inner torment, “This one seems to be no fighter, lord. His only weapon is but a simple hunting knife.”

  Aran let out a heavy sigh, “Then in good faith I cannot kill a civilian in cold blood, for in Andur’s name there has been enough death this morning. Disarm and bind him, and put him on one of the Thakur horses with Bini to watch. I would question this Thakurian later.”

  *

  Snow was already beginning to fall when Aran swung himself back into Spirit’s saddle, and joined the others following the wolves away from the dangers of the Riggeltz road. With a mind heavy with grief, he scanned the plains and lowering mountains, trying to fix this place and moment in his mind forever. He knew that its remembrance would add a keener edge to his sword when he finally faced the Thakurian Warleader in her stronghold of Erie. Looking down, he lightly touched the pommel of the weapon, and knew that the events of this day would give him stronger resolution to pay this woman back for every death she caused. Fighting back tears, Aran thought of Trevan’s constant and unwavering friendship and loyalty, a loyalty that he had never had cause to doubt, even through the dark and difficult times of the past few weeks. Bitterly he regretted that the mage had ever walked into Leigh on that day so long ago. He wished that events had transpired otherwise, wished only that Trevan still wandered the roads doing what he most desired¬—giving life and health to those in need.

  Shaking his head Aran thought too of Sigund, and mourned the loss of a fine Guardsman and a Warriormage only so new to his Ability. Although he mourned Sigund’s death, Aran knew well that each soldier accepted that a day might come when he might not be able to walk away alive from a battle. That one day, his life and blood would be given in honour of the Goddess. At least there would be no widow left to mourn her loss, or children to grow up orphaned. He had not known Sigund well—the man had been of the Bears and a loner too, not much given for company beyond his few comrades, but Aran knew that he would be deeply missed and his lost presence felt keenly in this small group.

  *

  Dawn was an hour or two old, when the diminished group finally located the stream flowing south from out of the depths of the Trident Range. Their journey after the attack had been thankfully uneventful, with the mage-created early snowfalls likely dissuading the Thakurian patrols from venturing beyond their warm barracks in Riggeltz. With the bodies of Trevan and Sigund draped over the withers of their mounts, the silent and morose Thakurian tied firmly to his horse, and with an even more silent Bini riding guard on him, the group rode quiet and depressed about the way the day had begun.

  Finally, Aran called a halt after they had ridden a league or two upstream. The spot he had chosen for their day camp was hidden from the main road by several hilly bends in the stream, and by a large copse of coniferous trees that had favoured the deep alluvial soil around the waterway. Partially protected now from the falling snow, he ordered the leather tents unpacked, and a winter camp set.

  “We will need to bury them immediately,” said Drayden as he helped Aran lift the stiffening bodies from the patient horses.

  “I know,” Aran replied, “This cold will keep their bodies, however I am more worried about animals getting at them.” He glanced back at the Thakurian sitting so cold and morosely, bound hand and foot against a convenient pine. “I’m of a mind to give that one a spade and let him dig their grave…”

  “Do it. It will be justice of a sort,” replied the mage bitterly.

  *

  It took the Thakurian three hours to dig the large double grave in the very heart of the copse of trees. With a rotating watch of Bini and the Guard over him, the Thakurian had no opportunity for escape, or even conversation with his captors. As he dug through the heavy soil, he wondered again into what sort of company he had fallen. Although this group seemed to be from the Free Province, some of the men and women seemed to be civilians,
with a small, but seemingly elite caste of warriors riding guard over them. The presence too of women in the group was highly surprising and intriguing. The regular army of Thakur tolerated no women in its ranks, and apart from the Honoured Warleader, all Thakurian women were by caste kept to home and hearth. However, these women of the Free Province seemed to all have high status, talking easily amongst their men folk, and taking an equal and active role in the ride and camp. It had been easy to determine the leader of this small group. The tall armoured one with the clear grey eyes, and blond braids showed the most natural authority, and all the others, even the aged civilian male deferred to his wishes and commands. Deep in the hole, and warmed by his forced exercise, the Thakurian thought again of the civilians, and wondered what they were doing so deep into his country’s borders. These people were obviously not traders, the only conclusion he could come to was that this was a spying mission. Frowning, the Thakurian paused only long enough to brush away dirt from his eyes, and then resumed his task. Yet, if this was a spying mission, why bring so many along, and women too. He thought too of the three golden haired members of the group, and shuddered briefly. He had been weaned on stories of the legendary ferocity of the plainsmen, and was supremely unhappy to be in such close contact with three of them. He shook his head baffled, this group made no sense at all to him, and he would have to watch and listen carefully to determine their intent.

  *

  Once the double grave was dug, Aran gathered the group together, and mournfully they carried the now decently clad bodies away from the camp, and into the depths of the pine forest. Reaching the grave site, Aran and Genn jumped down to receive the bodies, and lay them carefully in the bottom of the hole. Aran leant over, and softly kissed the ice cold brow of Mage Trevan. Straightening, the tears in his eyes were clearly obvious to anyone who cared to look, but none in the group cared to gaze upon their stricken king. In honour, they turned their eyes aside, and gazed instead at the grey-white faces of the two they had lost. The bodies had been arranged by the sole surviving Healermage in the foetal position, showing that they were received by Goddess in death, just as they were brought by the Goddess into life. Then Genn and Aran were quickly given a helping hand out of the grave hole by the waiting guardsmen. With tears in her eyes, and with the implicit support from the Sage and the other Earthmages, Alissa turned aside to lay her hand over a nearby bare patch of earth. Within minutes green spouts were forcing their way up through the semi-frozen soil, and after a moment or two more, a dozen or so snowdrops were blooming incongruously amongst the broken, and snow dotted ground. Carefully picking the flowers, Alissa handed each member of the group a single blossom which they then in turn cast down into the grave, covering the bodies of their fallen comrades with the softly scented white flowers.