by J. P. Wagner
“You look as though you’d swallowed a toad.”
“I’ve had to swallow worse than that. He’s put me in charge of the party. Did you actually turn your back on him without asking his leave to go?”
Carrtog sighed. “I’m afraid so. He was starting to get into a bother about the way I had arranged things and I was starting to worry about my ability to hold my temper through another Royal Fulmination. And of course I knew I’d done the wrong thing before I’d gone more than a few steps, but it was already too late.”
“Gods and all their minions, boy! You’re going to kill us both someday! I can understand the temptation, but you’re going to have to learn to hold on to your temper with iron gloves!” He paused. “Well, as it stands, he will no longer speak to you nor be spoken to by you. He’s retained enough sense to allow me to consult with you and for me to give orders for such spells as are necessary. That’s just the kind of mish-mosh of a command structure as to make the whole party little more than a moving disaster looking for a place to happen. I’m hoping, Lord Carrtog, to leave you in charge of such magic and spells as you think appropriate, without the necessity of the two of us consulting together as the enemy thunder down on us. Is that feasible?”
“I’ll manage. One thing I’ve been thinking is that we’re going to have to come up with some fresh mounts before long. I’d be surprised if you hadn’t come to that conclusion already.”
Yakor grinned. “This time the student wasn’t ahead of the teacher. Yes, but I don’t think we should hang around this locality for too much longer.”
“Agreed.”
Yakor turned and called out orders, and very shortly the party was mounted and riding on in a generally southward direction.
#
The house was darkened, the farmer and his family likely in bed for the night. There was sufficient light from the stars, though, for Yakor and Carrtog to survey the five horses in the corral. Carrtog had already dismissed two of them as too old for the kind of journey they would have to make.
The other three were somewhat slender, but hardy-looking. He pointed. “Those three, you think?”
Yakor nodded.
“Those three. You’re sure we’re invisible? I can see you just fine.”
“Strange, isn’t it? But we’d be a danger to everybody running around out here and bumping into each other at every step. I assure you, it wasn’t easy to tailor the spell so that we could see each other while nobody else could.”
Actually it had required two different spells — both of them exhausting to cast; one to make them invisible and one to allow each of them to see through the spell, but if he went on to tell Yakor all that, the older man would know how nervous he was.
They led their own invisible horses over to the corral entrance and threw down the bars, then went inside. The horses stamped and whinnied; they could hear and smell strange men and horses but not see them.
As a result, it proved impossible to drive the three chosen horses out the gate, and they had to settle for dropping a halter around the necks of two of them and leading them out. The one Yakor chose went along, though unwillingly. The one Carrtog chose, however, stood stiff-legged and refused to move, until Yakor came up behind it and slapped it on the backside with his gloved hand.
At about this time, Carrtog heard the door of the farmhouse slam open and a dog rushed forth, barking. The dog halted part way across the yard, unwilling to go any further but barking itself ragged. Like the horses, it could smell and hear strange animals but not see them.
A moment later a man’s voice bellowed across the yard. “Who’s there? Show yourself, or I’ll fire!”
Carrtog recognized that as an idle threat. The man couldn’t see them, and wasn’t likely to take the chance of injuring one of his own horses by firing blind.
Shortly they were back in the brush where they had begun; the stolen horses following more obediently the farther they got from their home corral. Carrtog muttered another incantation and suddenly the tracks they had left through the trees on route to the farm were glowing in the dimness.
They followed the sets of tracks for some time until they came to the point where the rest of the party was camped. The sun was just beginning to lighten the eastern sky.
“I expect we’d best wake up the rest and have them start moving,” Yakor said.
“Yes, you better be getting at it; the king isn’t likely to have changed his mind and decided he wants to hear it from me.”
Yakor glanced at Carrtog. “Don’t allow His Majesty’s snit to spoil your day. He’ll probably feel much nicer toward us when he’s gotten back to his comfortable castle.”
Carrtog grinned. “If his castle is comfortable, then it’s different from any castle I’ve known. Cold, drafty piles of stone all of them, built for defense and not for comfort.”
“Ah, but the most uncomfortable castle is preferable to sleeping out in the wilds with nasty men hoping to stick a sword in you.”
With that, Yakor went off to wake the party.
#
On the afternoon of that same day, Carrtog felt the ring on his finger giving him notice of danger coming near. He called out a warning to Yakor, who passed it on to the rest of the party. Worse yet, Carrtog felt the presence of magic searching for their trail.
The pursuers hadn’t had any notable magic with them, but now they did; those two facts pointed toward a dangerous conclusion. Most likely the magician had communicated with the pursuers from a distance and, discovering their need, had used his magic to join them. That was the kind of magic that was beyond Carrtog’s ability.
Well, he wasn’t about to give up until he’d tried everything he could. Rather than worry the whole party, he reported quietly to Yakor. “The fellows behind us have got a magician with them, one who’s more powerful than I am. I’m not ready to quit just yet, but we may have trouble the last bit of the way. Let’s just pick up the pace.”
“’Pick up the pace?’ Do I have to remind you that these horses we’re riding are no longer as fresh as they were?”
“I know that; we’ll just have to do the best we can. I’ll leave a couple of snares in our trail to slow them down.”
The others noted the increased speed, and when they paused that afternoon to rest the horses, the king inquired, “Why the sudden rush, Lord Yakor?”
“Your Majesty, Lord Carrtog has detected a very capable magician on our track. While he still hopes to delay the pursuit, we must move as quickly as possible.”
“I see.” The king paused. Trying to work out a way this is my fault, too, Carrtog thought. He had also noted the king’s promotion of Yakor to ‘Lord’, and wondered what Yakor thought of the matter.
But the king merely nodded, albeit with his near-habitual scowl, and dismissed Yakor.
While they rested, Carrtog considered what sorts and kinds of spells would be best to use to slow the pursuers. The first notion that came to him was a snare, of sorts. When a number of people passed a certain old moss-covered rock along their way, the spell would be released. Nothing terribly complex, just an intense smell of skunk, which would cause them to scatter a bit.
The magician with the pursuers would probably be able to dispel the stench, but it would delay them a bit, especially if they grew wary of further traps.
The terrain through which they fled had changed from wooded slopes to lightly-wooded slopes and Yakor led them to the rough road.
“I thought we were avoiding roads,” complained the king.
“Not any more, Your Majesty. We’re coming to the place where both they and we know pretty much exactly where we’re headed. That being so, they can send a part of their force to move down the road fast and cut us off. We’re best off to head for the road ourselves, and make as good a time as we can.”
There was a sudden howling of hunting wolves behind them. Carrtog
called out a phrase, and the howling ceased. “I was wondering when that fellow back there would join in on the magical harassing.” He grinned.
One of the traps Carrtog had laid was a sudden series of lightning flashes, and he had felt the trap spring, and suddenly felt his opponent totally quash it. He did not let this disappoint him, for he knew he was dealing with a competent foe.
He didn’t hold out too much hope for his next trap, a brilliant flash of light that ordinarily would have blinded men and horses, for he assumed that his opponent would simply quash it as easily as Carrtog had cast it. He was surprised, therefore, when he felt the extreme consternation among the pursuers.
His best guess was that the magician back there had overstretched himself in dealing with the lightning, and so was not able to detect or deal with the bright light quickly. Carrtog knew he daren’t depend on that in future, though.
The next three days were a series of long-distance skirmishes between the two magicians, much of it illusions which were easily dispelled if the magician on the receiving end was fresh and rested.
On Carrtog’s part, this meant trying to set up a spell-proof circle around the camp at night, which still required him to break his sleep at least once in a night. Being fully aware of his own limitations, Carrtog did not dare respond in kind too often; he had to reserve as much of his power as possible for the final confrontation which looked more and more likely as they went on.
Toward the end of the second day, Yakor approached him. “How are you holding up? You’re looking a little worn.”
Carrtog summoned a grin, but only briefly. “I’m glad to hear I look so well. I feel as worn as a ten-year-old saddle blanket.”
“My own magical abilities aren’t worth a spit in the wind, but is there anything I can do to help?”
Carrtog shook his head. “Nothing that I can think of, but thanks for the offer — uh-oh, here comes something else!”
He snorted as a humming mass approached them. “Swarming bees at this time of year! He must be running short on ideas!” On the other hand, he considered as he prepared to dispel the swarm, it’s that much more strength taken out of me, when I can bare afford to waste any.
#
Late next day, with their horses still gamely pressing forward on the brief rests and snatches of food they were allowed, the party crested a rise and saw below them a military force just in the process of camping for the evening.
Cut off!
Discouragement swept over Carrtog’s weary mind. So near, and yet so awfully far!
Then he heard Yakor cheering and looked again. There were two smaller baronial pennons, but in the center of the camp was a vice-regal pennon, signifying that the force was at least part of a force being led on the king’s behalf.
Even as he began to think that they might be safe, he heard shouting and looked back to see the pursuers breaking cover. Now it would all depend on their already weary horses.
“Ride!” Carrtog shouted, completely forgetting that the king had removed him from command.
No one, not even King Bornival, bothered to quibble, but set spurs to their horses.
Yakor kept to the rear, and Carrtog stayed just behind him.
It was probably due to two things, the weariness of the horses and the poor footing, but suddenly the princess’ horse went down, and came up limping, with the princess sitting up on the ground clutching her splinted arm and shaking her head. Carrtog pulled his own horse beside her and jumped down. There was no thinking of his horse bearing double, not with what the animal had been through recently.
He pulled the princess to her feet and swung her up into the saddle. “Hold on!” He slapped his gloved hand on the horse’s rump and saw the king turning his own horse to come back for his daughter.
Yakor was beside him. “Jump up!”
“Nonsense! No use both of us being lost! Get out of here!” He put every last ounce of command into his voice.
Yakor paused a moment, then kicked his horse after the pair. Carrtog turned to the approaching enemy and fired his pistol, speaking the spell that brought the Grove of Battle into existence.
A wave of forest-scent came over him as the trees and underbrush flashed into being. He heard men shouting and horses screaming on the far side of the Grove, and his hands went to work reloading his pistol, preparing the Spell of Accuracy.
He didn’t allow himself either disappointment or regret when the first bolt of lightning hit the Grove before he had finished recharging his pistol. One bolt after another struck the Grove, and by the third bolt, gaps were showing in the trees.
He didn’t dare turn back to see if anyone was coming to his rescue, all he could do was to make the best stand possible. Three more bolts and the Grove was gone. The rebels still hesitated before rushing across the empty ground where the Grove had been; most likely one or two had rushed forward and been caught up in the dangers of the spell.
The enemy magician seemed to be reeling in his saddle; Carrtog suspected the man had used himself up bringing down the Grove of Battle. But then the magician was shouting, and his men moved forward. Carrtog raised his pistol and, near as possible aiming at the magician, squeezed the trigger.
The magician slumped down on his horse’s neck then slid to the ground. Two other rebels also fell, which Carrtog considered great success at that range.
But the enemy magician pushed himself up on one hand and pointed a finger, and suddenly the air in front of Carrtog solidified and struck him like a massive sandbag. He collapsed to the ground.
Chapter 7
He woke in a strange bed in a room, which he shortly recognized as a solid building, not the camp tent he had somehow expected. A man in the king’s livery was looking down on him. “You’re awake, then? Good! His Majesty will want to talk to you.”
He went to the door and spoke to someone outside, then came back to offer Carrtog some water.
Carrtog discovered two things: First, that he was weak as the proverbial kitten, and second, that he was dreadfully thirsty.
“It’s good to see you awake, Lord Carrtog. You’ve spent several days unconscious and about two weeks mostly asleep, only waking up for a moment or two now and then to take some water or some broth. From the look and feel of you now though, I think you’ll be with us more often from now on.”
Carrtog closed his eyes for a moment, or so he thought, but when he opened them again, King Bornival was there.
The king was very much changed from the weeks of their flight from the north. The dirt of the trail had been washed away, his hair and beard freshly trimmed, and he was wearing a clean, properly tailored suit.
In addition to that, the expression on his face was more friendly and accepting than Carrtog had ever seen it.
“I am in your debt, Lord Carrtog. You saved my daughter’s life, at great risk to yourself. There is no way I can properly repay you for that, though I shall do my poor best to reward you suitably.”
“Your Majesty, I did only what I saw to be my duty, and not for any hope of reward.”
“Of course you didn’t! All the more reason for me to do what I can to see that you are repaid to some degree.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“No, it is I that thank you! But I see that you are still tired; I will leave you alone, now, though I believe your man will wish to talk to you for a moment or two. Never fear, though, I will be back from time to time.”
The king bowed and left, and a moment later Yakor entered. He looked back toward the door and then faced Carrtog again. “Congratulations, Lord Carrtog.”
“Don’t you start fawning around me, Yakor! You know me better than that!”
Yakor grinned.
Carrtog shifted up in bed. “But tell me Yakor, what news from the North?”
Yakor glanced at the door again. “There seems to be little to te
ll. The leader or leaders — we have no name or names for them as yet — of the rising are continually retreating before General Maelgwyn, fighting only a skirmish here and there to keep him advancing. No great victories, no great defeats. Although the rebellion itself is being styled the Black Powder Rebellion after the black powder magic that acted against the king in Tenerack.”
Then his expression turned serious. He leaned forward and spoke so quietly that Carrtog could barely hear him. “It’s been determined that the fault for the fiasco in Tenerack that cost the lives of so many of the King’s Gentlemen and members of the king’s household lies with the late Captain Gwailants. You understand?”
“Yes.” And indeed he did understand: not only the fact of the one decision, but no matter how much the king favored him now, it was entirely possible that something might happen to overturn that favor in a moment.
#
When he next woke, it was to the sound of nervously shuffling feet and feminine giggles. The first face he saw was that of Lady Adengler, and right beside her was Princess Ellevar .
The princess spoke first. “My Da is an old dear, but something of a fussbudget. He felt it necessary to order me to come in and think you personally for saving my life, as though that were some nasty chore that I might shirk. You may be sure, Lord Carrtog, that I am not here under duress. I’m here willingly, very willingly, to thank you for my life.”
Carrtog felt himself redden. “Highness,” he protested, “I did no more than my duty!”
“And near died for it! Lord Carrtog, I will hear no more foolish talk! I am in your debt, and it is a debt I doubt I can ever repay. Now, I’m told that you are recovering well. Is there anything I can do to help you, even if it’s only to make you a little more comfortable?”
“I can think of nothing at present, Highness.”
“So, then. If you ever do think of anything I might do, be sure to inform me.” Her face went stern. “If I ever find that you had any small complaint that I could have dealt with and you did not let me know, I will be very angry with you!”