by Joseph Lallo
He’d described walls of air, of light, of a mixture of the two. He’d told her about walls of fire that didn’t burn the mage inside its protection, but anything outside of it would be destroyed. There were mages that used wards made of magic itself, and others that absorbed magical attacks to become stronger. To his never ending surprise, it had worked! To his way of thinking, Julia had messed about for a short while with no logic behind her experiments, but suddenly a shield appeared around her little finger. He hadn’t tried to stop her from holding it over a candle flame. He could already tell it would work.
He shook his head in admiration. Castle Black had lost the perfect Mortain when Julia was born a woman. Thank the God she was! If a sorcerer with her strength ever became Mortain, no one would be able to resist his might. She was strong but ignorant; his former brothers were weak but knowledgeable. It equalled out... sort of.
He surveyed the countryside, as he guided his horse around yet another pothole. Deva’s roads had seen better days. Most of its stones were missing, and the verges were overgrown. The trees overhung the road in some places, so that the column continually moved from bright sunshine into gloomy twilight at random intervals. The kingdom must have quite a problem with bandits. Stretches of road like this were perfect for them to ambush the unwary. They wouldn’t be foolish enough to attack a party of this size, but merchant caravans would be in serious jeopardy here.
Just as he was thinking it would be nice to stop for a while, Purcell called a halt. He dismounted and took a drink of water, and gave some to his horse at the same time. Word filtered back to him through the grumbles of the men, that they were stopping for a half candlemark. Most of them were wandering around, chatting to their mates and trying to work the stiffness out of cramped legs. His legs were fine, so he decided to check on Elvissa. He rummaged through his pack looking for his mirror. Like the robe he currently wore, the mirror had belonged to Darius.
Keverin had gifted him with the items before they’d left Athione. He’d reluctantly accepted them, not sure how he felt about wearing mage robes again, but the moment he saw himself in a mirror, he knew he was right to accept. He appeared a new man. He was no longer a sorcerer, but he was a mage, and wearing the red robes of a wizard felt absolutely right. He was the master of his own destiny now.
Retrieving his mirror, he walked away from distractions, and sat on a half rotten log at the side of the road. He frowned at his reflection in the mirror. He needed to trim his beard again. Turning his head, he angled the mirror to see his profile better, and saw movement in the trees. He wasn’t sure he’d really seen it at first, but he wasn’t willing to take chances. He grasped his magic just as the rabbit scurried out of the brush. He sighed, wanting to laugh. His heart was pounding hard enough to leap out of his chest. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to cooking the poor thing.
“You’re getting too old for—” he began.
A man stepped into sight and loosed an arrow.
He ducked, and raised a wall of fire in its path. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. He should have used his shield. He’d been trained to do that, but it had been a while since he’d felt threatened. He’d learned to be wary of other mages, not bandits, and he was the only mage here! Not much of an excuse for his sloth, but it would have to do. The arrow burst into flame, and tumbled harmlessly to the ground. As it fell, a fireball leapt from his upraised hand, and struck his attacker.
“Don’t turn around,” Purcell said, ominously. “I don’t want to order your death without hearing your explanation.”
He spoke without turning. “If you send someone into the trees ahead of me, you’ll find my reason.”
“Very well, don’t move. Marcus, send someone to look.”
Marcus chose to do it himself. He walked warily by, and into the trees. “We have a dead Tanjuner here!” he called after a moment. “He had a bow.”
“All right, Lucius, you can relax. Let’s have a look at your Tanjuner,” Purcell said.
He followed Purcell and Gylaren into the trees. The fireball had hit the bowman in the belly, a painful way to die, and not always immediately fatal. This time however, the fire had done its work and the man was dead. He wasn’t wearing armour, which surprised the lords, but Marcus was more interested in the man’s weapons. Apart from his bow, he also carried a curved dagger sharpened on both sides.
“Assassin!” Marcus hissed in surprise, holding up the dagger.
Gylaren turned to him with eyebrows raised. “Why is an assassin hiding way out here trying to kill you?”
“I’m surprised they know I exist, my lord. He’s a Tanjuner. Might they be worried about what I’ll do when we reach Elvissa? I know what you’re thinking, but Mortain wouldn’t hire an assassin. He’d send a mage.”
The lords expressed their doubts, but they had nothing better to offer. Purcell detailed two men to bury the man, and then they mounted up to continue on their way. From that point on, he kept a wary eye, wondering how the Tanjuners had known he was coming. It didn’t matter, only his response to the assassin did in the end. He would have to arrange something fitting as a thank you gift. Perhaps he could try Julia’s lightning.
* * *
48 ~ Planning Ahead
“Make camp!” Purcell ordered reluctantly.
The sun had already set, and the horses were stumbling with fatigue. He wished he could continue on, but it was too risky this close to home. He knew the area well. It was a mere two days to reach the fortress at a normal pace, but if he pushed it, he could do it in one. There was water to be had here, and plenty of wood for fires. This time tomorrow, he could be home; if he still had a home.
They’d ridden through the last stretch of Ariston Forest in pitch darkness to reach this point. The rest of the journey was through open country, and they’d be seen if the enemy had scouts out. That was another reason to stop now. He couldn’t camp in the open. The next time he called a halt, they wouldn’t be setting camp, they’d be exterminating the rats that were even now trying to infest his home.
He dismounted, handing his horse off to one of the men to care for, and waved Lucius and Gy over to talk. Lucius was a puzzle he mused, as he watched the wizard retrieve his mirror, and tuck it away beneath his robe. Wearing the red robes of a wizard, he looked dangerous and was. The assassin at the roadside should have killed him, but the God had been with him that day. Lucius had struck first, and had survived the first of a string of assassination attempts. He’d put it down to dumb luck at the time, but Lucius had been attacked twice more on the journey since then, proving to him that luck had no part in it.
The second attack should’ve been the end of him. An assassin had tried to take him at night while asleep—except he hadn’t been. He’d been using the mirror to check up on Julia. He’d seen the assassin creeping into his tent, and had struck him down with lightning, as if he did it every day. The noise roused the camp of course, and when they examined the still smoking corpse, they found the distinctive dagger that all of the Dark Brothers carried in Tanjung. This time its edge had been treated with poison. One scratch would have been lethal. Lucius had laughed it off, but he’d obviously been puzzled by the latest attempt to kill him. He swore that next time, he’d try to capture the assassin alive. He’d been certain there would be a next time, and there had been.
The third and last time had been another ranged attack from hiding, and it had fared no better than the other attempts. Lucius had been frothing mad that time. When the crossbow bolt hit his shield, he’d taken exquisite care not to break his vow, but his attempt to capture the assassin alive had come to naught. Realising that he was caught, the Tanjuner had used his own poison to escape. The Dark Brothers had a fierce reputation and were feared everywhere, but to kill oneself rather than be questioned, seemed a little extreme even for them.
“Do you want to view the fortress again, m’lord?” Lucius said as he approached.
“Not right away. I’m thinking of
travelling cross-country at first light tomorrow. I was hoping you could tell me the way is clear. The last thing we need is to run into a patrol.”
Lucius nodded and pulled out his mirror. Gylaren watched over the wizard’s shoulder, as he scried the countryside.
“You’re pushing it if you think you can attack straight away,” Gylaren said. “The horses are close to exhaustion. I think we should rest tomorrow night, and attack early the next day.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “It depends on what we find when we get there. If those Tanjuner bastards are inside, I’m going in after them! If Don has held them out, we can rest and attack as soon as it’s light.”
“Sounds good.”
It did, but a lot depended upon what the enemy was doing. He could find himself engaged anywhere along their route tomorrow. He couldn’t charge headlong against unknown force. The terrain consisted of low rolling hills, and numerous valleys, ripe for ambush.
Lucius’ mirror revealed burned and abandoned farms, as he viewed the countryside around the fortress. It would take him years to rebuild what had been destroyed in days. He saw no sign of cavalry along the lanes, or in the fields, and he would have if patrols were out. That was peculiar to say the least. Tanjung wasn’t new to war. Their war leaders were a lot better soldiers than some lords he could name.
“Patrols?” Purcell said, frowning in disbelief. Surely he had missed the signs.
“None,” Lucius said. “They’re overconfident.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. Show us the pass would you, Lucius? They might have friends coming.”
“Nasty thought, that,” Gylaren murmured and frowned at the mirror as it revealed the pass into Tanjung. “There’s nothing there. A fool must lead them.”
“I doubt that very much. He killed my boy expertly enough.”
“Sorry. You know I didn’t mean it that way, but we’ve both seen captains with promise who fail in strategy.”
He nodded. It was worth thinking about, but he preferred to assume their war leader wasn’t a fool. It would be far safer to plan for a competent enemy rather than an incompetent one.
Lucius put his mirror away beneath his robe. “I would advise you, if I may Purcell, to wait until I eliminate the threat of magic before you launch your attack.”
E-lim-in-ate. That was a good word. He was going to eliminate every one of those Tanjuner bastards, and when he was done, their so-called emperor would never dare to send his men against Elvissa and Deva ever again!
The next day dawned with him already in the saddle, and riding hard for home. He’d broken his fast in the dark, and although his men hadn’t slept long, they were eager to be moving. The Elvissans knew how close to home they were, and they tried to push ahead faster than was wise. He had to slow the pace more than once, or else tire the horses.
At midday, they stopped and watered the horses from their water bags. What seemed like moments later, they were back in the saddle.
When the day moved into evening, he slowed the pace to a walk, and sent scouts far ahead. He gave specific orders—they were not to be seen under any circumstances, but if possible, they should check the situation at Elvissa before reporting back. He’d decided, lacking any sign to the contrary, that the Tanjuners had indeed concentrated upon the fortress. The day had darkened into night before the scouts returned with bleak news.
“You’re sure?” he said with a heavy heart. “Was there fighting?”
“No m’lord, it was right peaceful. Them bastids were inside and making themselves at home in the courtyard.”
“In the courtyard? Not the citadel?”
“I can’t say for sure, m’lord,” Rogan said. “They were in the courtyard. I could tell that much, and they ain’t fighting, but that’s all I could see without being caught.”
“You’ve done well. No need for you to go out again when we’re so close.”
Rogan saluted and rode away to join the others.
“We’ve done it!” he crowed. “By the God we’ve done it!” He pounded a fist on his thigh in delight.
“Calm down, you can’t sure,” Gylaren warned.
“Why else would they be out in the courtyard at night if not camped?”
“I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason.”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Gy, but it’s not necessary. I know things may not be as they seem, but I choose to believe that my family are still alive in there.”
Gylaren didn’t argue, which Purcell appreciated. Corlath was gone, but he still had family to care for. He would be with them soon. Donalt, and Lysara, and his beloved Isolde were alive. They were waiting for him to come home. They were, and he wouldn’t hear different.
A candlemark or so later, he crouched on one knee in the dark, studying the fortress. The Tanjuners had made no effort to barricade the gate, and were settling down to sleep in the courtyard just as Rogan said. There were men on the walls, keeping watch, but he knew from personal experience that they wouldn’t see anyone approach until the last hundred yards or so. With the gates shut, it didn’t matter too much—the alarm would be wrung in time for any attack, but for his purposes, the broken gate was a gift from the God.
He settled more comfortably to wait. He itched to give the order to attack, but Lucius had yet to take care of the mages. After admonishing him not to start until he got back, Lucius had cloaked himself in magic, and walked into the darkness as if he didn’t have a care in the world. That was about half a candlemark ago, and they’d heard no word from him, but he must be fine. If he’d been discovered, they would have heard the explosion easily from here. He had great confidence in the wizard’s ability to look after himself. Three dead assassins, and half of Athione in ruins, did have that effect.
Thinking of Lucius seemed to conjure him forth. He was staring intently at the shattered gate, when he saw a figure detach itself from the hulking shadow of Elvissa. With no sign of concern, the mage strolled away from the fortress and joined him. He knelt beside him, and handed the borrowed garrotte back to Rogan.
“All done,” Lucius said cheerfully. “Ready?”
He nodded eagerly, and began crawling home. The ground seemed to writhe in the darkness, as his men moved with him, but none saw them. The Tanjuners had no idea what was coming… yet.
Corlath my son, my brave beautiful boy, hear me! They will pay!
* * *
49 ~ Fortress Elvissa
“M’lord, please wake up. Can you hear me?” Trine said.
Donalt heard the captain’s voice from far away. How long had he lain here? He had to get up and fight, but someone was holding his shoulders. Holding him down? He thrashed trying to throw the enemy off, but was confused when he heard Lysy’s voice.
“He can’t help you, he nearly died! Please leave him alone!” Lysara wailed.
“I’m sorry, lady, but there’s fighting outside. We can hear it. We need him.”
He remembered the blade entering his side. He clapped a hand to the wound to stop the bleeding, and agony flared under his hand. He gasped and groaned. By the God it hurt so much! Was he dying? He almost hoped for it, the pain was so bad. He held the scream back, and it turned into a groan that wouldn’t be denied. The agony faded to be replaced by a dull throbbing, and he realised he’d felt bandages and bare skin, not armour under his hand.
“Now see what you’ve done! He’s bleeding again!”
“There’s fighting in the courtyard, m’lord!”
Fighting? Of course there’s fighting! Why does he think I’m lying here bleeding?
“Report,” he tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. He tried again, “Report!” That was a little better. A croak was better than a whisper, wasn’t it?
“Thank the God!” Trine cried. “I carried on as best I could without you, m’lord, but I lost the courtyard and the main doors to the citadel this morning. I have men barricaded in the great hall, the woman’s
quarter, and the armoury. There’s fighting in the courtyard.”
He tried to think but the pain… God make it stop!
The fighting, he had to think dammit. The men needed him to think. Why would the Tanjuners be fighting? Think. Think… he began to drift away. Was this it? Would the pain stop now? Please? No, he couldn’t let go yet. The men needed him to think what to do. The Tanjuners had killed Corlath, he had to make them pay, didn’t he? Wasn’t that what he’d sworn to do? If he didn’t, they would take his mother and sister as slaves. He couldn’t let that happen, but what could he do to prevent it?
Nothing.
But if they were killing each other, there might be an opportunity later. It would be just like the idiot Tanjuners to fight each other over the spoils before the war was won. Their noble houses were always feuding. If they weakened themselves sufficiently, he could order a counter attack.
“Hold the barricades...” he ordered faintly.
“I didn’t hear, m’lord. Did you catch what he said, lady?”
“Leave him alone!” Lysy wailed. “We’ll all be dead soon any way,” she said and began to sob.
He took a deep breath and tried again. “Hold the barricades. Don’t sally, hold... the... bari... cades…”
“He said sally! I understand, m’lord. We’ll take as many of them with us as we can!”
“No don’t. Hold the barricades...” he said, desperately trying to rise, but he felt so heavy and the darkness was rushing in to suck him into oblivion. “Please not now…”
“Shush Don, he’s gone. We’ll all be with Cor soon. Hush now.”
* * *
It was a total slaughter, Purcell thought gleefully. Emperor Vexin had paid for Corlath’s death with the lives of nine hundred of his soldiers this night. He wished it could have been thousands, but the outcome might then have been in doubt. Corlath was worth more to him than any number of Tanjuners, but nine hundred was a good start. Now that it was over, he spotted people he knew wandering around checking for wounded. Many of them weren’t guardsmen at all, but townsfolk wearing bits of armour. For them to be fighting, Don must have been desperate. He couldn’t see him anywhere, but it was dark.