Hero Cast Trilogy Omnibus

by Adam Carter

  CHAPTER THREE

  From a very young age, Arno Canlin had always wanted to be a soldier. Being raised in a hamlet close to the castle, he often saw soldiers marching through the land. They drank and gambled until early morning, violently taking their pleasures with whatever women took their fancy, while beating to bloody pulp the heads of whatever brothers or husbands might try to stop them. To young Canlin’s mind this was what life was all about, for if someone was so weak as to allow another human being to trample upon him, that person deserved whatever came his or her way.

  Being assigned to Captain Wren should not have been a pleasant experience for Canlin, for she did not share in his beliefs. Indeed, she seemed to think the job of a soldier was to protect the citizens of the land, which was a ludicrous notion to Canlin. However, life in Wren’s regiment was structured, ordered and never dull. Wren took him to interesting places and it was down to Canlin to make the most of them.

  She was, so far as Canlin saw things, the perfect captain; and he would have eagerly followed her to Hell without even needing her to ask.

  “Daydreaming about Captain Wren again?”

  Canlin snapped back to the present. The soldiers were marching through a light woodland, aiming for a settlement they knew waited on the other side. Wren had taken the lead, while Canlin had offered to bring up the rear in case the heroes had been watching what happened at the lake and were following. He had not noticed Valok hanging back with him and scowled at the sorcerer.

  “Don’t start that again,” he said.

  Valok held up both hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it. It’s just pleasant to see a man in love.”

  “I’m not in love with the captain.”

  “Of course not. There’s clearly another reason you let her tame you.”

  It was an argument they had held before and Canlin did not like to think about it. It was true that Canlin should have hated Wren for not being as vicious as she could have been, but he had always found her to be well-balanced. Some commanders could not make the tough decisions, while others always went for the violent option: that was why Canlin knew he would never rise to much above a sergeant. Wren, though, was able to reach decisions based upon the individual situations, and he respected her for that.

  He told himself again that Valok just liked stirring things; but every time he repeated that to himself he wondered why he felt the need to do so. He did not care what Valok thought, and if the accusations were not true he should have been able to laugh them off.

  Accusations.

  He wished he would stop choosing odd words for simple things.

  “Once this is over,” he told Valok, “we’re all going to see just how good Captain Wren is. She’s been unlucky all these years, and distracted by other assignments. But it’s going to end soon, Valok. We’re closing in on these criminals and soon we’ll … you’re not listening to me, are you?”

  Indeed Valok was frowning, his eyes tracking something through the trees. Canlin looked up, tried to see whatever it was he thought he was seeing, but there was nothing there. Not even the leaves were swaying with the passing of something, which told Canlin the sorcerer was imagining things.

  “We shouldn’t let the others get too far ahead of us,” Valok said at last. He still looked agitated, but thankfully he was no longer star-gazing in the woods. Canlin had little time for magic users at the best of times, but Valok was usually quite dependable. Even so, he did have his weird moments.

  The regiment had not got far ahead of them and Wren did not even seem to have noticed they had fallen behind. The soldiers marched tiredly, but Canlin wanted them out of the woods before calling a halt. If there was a trap laid somewhere, it would likely be amongst the cover of trees, where the soldiers would not be able to mount an easy defence.

  Something struck Canlin on the shoulder and he looked down to see an acorn fall upon the dead leaves. He looked up, a grin upon his face at the thought of being able to point out a squirrel to Valok as the author of all the sorcerer’s misgivings.

  His joviality disappeared as his eyes landed upon the squirrel. It was as black as shadow, as green as the leaves and as varied in brown as the bark of the trees. Canlin could only see the thing was there at all because of its glowing red eyes and the swishing tail which did not quite match the woodland around it as it swayed.

  “Chameleon squirrels!” he shouted. “Take up arms!”

  The soldiers moved as one, drawing their swords as the beasts descended upon them. Various names had been put forth for chameleon squirrels – squirreleons and chamelerrels being the fondest – but anyone being attacked by such a creature had learned quickly to call it what it was. Canlin watched helpless as the first of the vicious beasts landed upon a soldier not five paces from him. Its claws tore through the poor woman’s face, while its teeth silenced her cries by expertly tearing out her throat. She fell in a gurgling heap, blood pouring from her throat, pleading eyes staring out with incomprehension.

  The squirrel did not stop to suck the blood from her jugular, for it ate nothing but that which grew on the trees. The squirrels attacked not through hunger but from a deeply engrained need to protect their home from intruders. Such death would also attract scavengers, which were natural to the woods so were left unmolested. The bones would decay and the scavengers would deposit faecal matter, both of which would nourish the soil and aid in the production of more fruit and nuts.

  Sergeant Canlin could have respected the squirrels’ tactical genius; instead he just wanted to see them exterminated.

  “Defensive shield!” he shouted and watched as his soldiers dropped to a huddled crouch, holding their swords above their heads at such angles that it would be difficult for the squirrels to get a claw through without having their hands sliced clean off. Even so, Canlin saw several of his people fall: one was screaming as blood poured through sightless eyes. Canlin’s anger rose as he watched his people die and knew this was no coincidence. Just as with the makoman, these squirrels had been part of a trap laid by the so-called heroes.

  A shriek sounded above him and Canlin swung his axe as a set of blazing eyes came down. The blade sliced through the body of the squirrel, which fell in a jerking mess, even its blood quickly altering colour to match its surroundings.

  A streak of fire roared through the air, burning close to Canlin’s face, and the sergeant was unnerved by the harrowed look in his colleague’s eyes.

  “I hate magical creatures,” Valok said nervously.

  “Not ironic at all.”

  “About as ironic as a soldier hating murderers. Have you seen the captain?”

  Canlin cursed himself for not having thought about her, but he was relieved to see her already coming his way. She kept her head low, her sword raised, and did not look happy.

  “We’re not staying here to fight these things,” she said. “The longer we stay here the more people we’re losing. Valok, burn the trees.”

  “Burn the trees?”

  “Yes, the trees. Burn them.”

  Valok looked uncertain and Canlin wished the man would remember he was first and foremost a soldier. Sorcerers had an affinity with nature, it was apparently where they drew their magic from, and burning trees was not something they much approved of. Using their magic to do so was akin to a beggar stabbing to death a charity worker. Valok may not have liked the order, but Canlin could see he was at least intending to obey it.

  “Give me some room,” Valok said, and spread his hands wide.

  Knowing what was about to happen, Canlin did just that. Up until that point the squirrels had been concentrating on the mass of soldiers rather than Canlin and Valok, standing at the edges, but that was changing as the creatures found it difficult to breach the soldiers’ defences. One of the squirrels stood upon the dead leaves, its body appearing hazy as it camouflaged, reminding Canlin of desert heat shimmering in the air. Only the eyes of the squirrels ever truly remained the same, and Canlin could see them burning with
malice.

  The beast gave a squawk and several others turned their heads, their attentions focused on the new prey.

  “If you’re going to do something, Valok,” Canlin said, readying his weapon, “now would be a good time.”

  The first of the squirrels scuttled forward and hissed. Canlin refused to take a step back from a squirrel, but his determination only seemed to fuel the creature. Displaying fangs which should never have been found in a rodent, the creature pounced.

  And screamed.

  Canlin jumped as the woods lit up in a blaze of red and orange flame. The squirrel’s body changed as it attempted to display the colours of the flames, but as its charred body fell blackened to the ground it was as though all its magic had been burned from it.

  Valok worked in silence, holding his body rigid, ten streams of fire erupting from his hands. With a roar, Wren threw herself into the fight, striking down two of the beasts in moments. A few seconds behind, Canlin shouted orders to his troops to get them back into the fight, even as he began hacking away with his own weapon.

  The sorcerer’s attack had not caused the end to the fight, but had certainly ended the ambush. Soldiers were still falling, but so too were squirrels, now more visible in the light of Valok’s flames.

  “We need to get out of here,” Wren said. “Sergeant, clear a path and get the soldiers out. Valok, bring up the rear and burn whatever you need to burn.”

  Valok looked tired and pained, but did as he was ordered. Canlin left him to his work and got his soldiers moving. They were afraid, wounded and still in shock, but they recognised commands when they heard them and knew to be far more afraid of their sergeant than any freakish monsters the woods might throw at them.

  A soldier stumbled and Canlin grabbed him by the belt, hoisting him to his feet and literally throwing him after his fellows. Any stumble at this point would spell an agonising death.

  “Canlin,” Valok was shouting. Over the roar of the flames and the screaming of the squirrels it was difficult to hear, and Canlin reasoned the sorcerer may well have been calling his name for some time. “Canlin, there’s a presence.”

  “A what? Stop using mystic terms.”

  “There’s someone here. Someone powerful in magic.”

  Canlin looked at the burning trees and the pained expression on Valok’s face as he listened to their death wails. “That would be you, Valok.”

  “Someone else.”

  “Moya?”

  “I don’t know. But if this was a trap, I think it wasn’t just to kill us.”

  Canlin could not understand what he was saying. First the makoman, and now the squirrels. Whoever was setting these traps meant to kill them, otherwise they would not have been so deadly. After all, if they had not managed to pull Wren out of the stream she would have gone straight down that plughole.

  “Oh no,” he said as he realised something. “They’re after the captain.”

  “Go, man, go!”

  Canlin ran as fast as he had ever run. He barrelled through soldiers he had only moments earlier fought to save, paying none of them any heed. His one thought was for the captain, his one fear was that he was already too late.

  “Captain! Captain Wren!”

  He ran straight into her, impacting so hard they both fell awkwardly.

  “Arno,” she said, holding her pained head. “What the hell are you …?”

  “They’re after you, ma’am. Come on.”

  Reaching down, he grabbed her by the hand and yanked her to her feet. Looking around, he could see his soldiers heading out of the woods. He wondered why they were moving away from where he and the captain were, then saw the figure at their head. Canlin could see himself leading the soldiers to safety.

  Whatever was going on, he knew that had to be bad.

  “Arno Canlin.”

  Canlin span about, axe before him. There was a woman standing not ten paces away. She wore deep blue attire splayed with starlight, a rich cape flowing from her shoulders. Her hair was a mass of fiery red curls, which danced about her rounded, almost cherubic face. Her eyes were deep and intense, twin pools of a poison so sweet it was nectar worth dying to taste.

  “Karina Moya,” Canlin said. “At last.”

  Beside him, Wren tensed and Canlin knew well her feelings. They had spent so many years seeking out this moment, and now it was here they feared they would both be dead in seconds.

  “Poor Arno Canlin,” Moya said. “In love with that which he can never have. A monster whose actions cause misery and death, but who believes he has a right to happiness.”

  “Stop looking into my head.”

  “And dear Serita Wren,” Moya continued, her attention now upon the captain. “You whose only love is order and duty, who will debase herself for that which she foolishly believes is right.”

  “Sergeant,” Wren said without taking her eyes off their foe, “when I give the word, we rush her together.”

  “Poor deluded children.”

  “Now.”

  The soldiers ran, and Moya did not so much as raise a hand in her defence. She did not have to, for her two attackers suddenly stopped. Canlin tried to move, but his limbs would not respond. His arms were halfway up, but he could do nothing to continue the sweep of his axe. All he could move were his eyes, and as he looked aside to Wren he could see she was hovering over the floor, neither foot touching the ground.

  This was magic at its very worst, for it made a soldier impotent.

  Moya strolled towards them, her face impassive. She traced the back of two fingers down Wren’s cheek and Canlin could see the anger burning in his captain. Turning her attention to Canlin, Moya looked him up and down slowly before saying, “You are nothing, Arno Canlin. It’s time to stop breathing.”

  Canlin choked. His body had been released, for he had collapsed, his throat constricting as he fought to draw air into his lungs. Moya stood above him, gazing down without emotion, waiting for him to die. Forcing down his panic, Canlin tried to crawl forward and grasped at Moya’s leg, but his grip was feeble as his brain, starved of oxygen, began to shut down. He opened his mouth, tried to gasp, but like a fish floundering on dry land could find nothing to save his life.

  Lightning struck the ground before him, jolting Moya back in surprise, and Canlin drew in a lungful of harsh, life-saving breath.

  Valok stood behind him, his palm raised, his gaze intent upon his magical foe.

  “Ah,” Moya said, “Serita Wren’s pet wizard.”

  “You know as well as I do that sorcerers are the true power in any company,” Valok said. “But only together can a force succeed. We are two sorcerers facing one another, but I have two allies beside me, while yours are strangely absent. Could it be they are distracting the soldiers, or that they’ve simply found something better to be doing with their time?”

  “If you think soldiers have any possibility of hurting me, Valok, you do not understand true magic.”

  “Magic is what you make of it,” Valok said.

  Moya considered that for all of two moments; then she exploded with such intense light that Canlin was forced to shield his eyes. When the light faded, Canlin blinked furiously, struggling to get his axe before him as he sought out his foe. He could make out the vague form of Valok, which was confusing since he assumed the sorcerer would have been incinerated. Instead, Valok seemed to be having the same problem as he.

  It was a few further moments before either man could see again, and even then it was like peering through bulrushes at a naked bather. But Canlin did not need to be able to see clearly to understand what had happened.

  “She’s gone,” Valok said.

  Up until that moment Canlin had hoped he had been wrong. Moya was gone, and with her so too was Captain Wren.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Her body ached but she was in no pain. As Serita Wren gradually returned to consciousness she was aware of being uncomfortable and far too hot. Her arm was wet where she was lying on it and she shifted
her weight, although it did not seem to help any. There was a strange odour to the warm air and she wrinkled her nose as slowly her eyes fluttered open. The floor, she could see, was made of large flagstones, the walls of strong brick, and all was hung with local darkness. A steady stream of liquid suddenly struck the floor only two feet from her face and as the stench hit her she became fully awake.

  There was a man standing next to where she was lying, paying her no attention at all as he urinated on the ground.

  Wren rolled onto her side and scrabbled backwards. The man still did not react. Her heart pounding in panic, Wren looked about herself, frantically attempting to make sense of where she was. There were people all about her, so many people loitering in the large area. There were walls blocking at least two directions, so she was in a room of some sort; then she noticed the floor-to-ceiling iron bars and realised with a sinking feeling she was in a great cell, packed with scores of prisoners.

  She looked at them then. They were a mixture of males and females of various species, although in the main they were human. They were all dressed in ragged attire and appeared to have been in the cell for some time. She looked down to her own clothes to find she was similarly garbed. Her armour was gone, her finery along with it. Even her beautiful cloak was nowhere to be seen, and she hastily looked about in case she could see any lowlife huddled within it.

  “First night’s always the worst, Serita.”

  Wren started at the voice. There was a man sitting against the wall. He was aged somewhere in his fifties and dressed in the same clothes as the other prisoners, although his were a little less ragged. His right arm was shrivelled, mangled in an old fight. He was looking directly at her, with intense eyes shielded by a great grey beard. She could almost imagine he was laughing at her.

  “Where am I?” she demanded. “Who are you? What is this place?”

  “In a dungeon, a fellow prisoner, in a dungeon.” He paused. “You asked the same question twice, just phrased it a little differently.”

  “I will not put up with this. I am Captain …”