Koren nodded proudly. "I can cast accounts, sir; count to a thousand, or more, if I think hard enough on it. Add, subtract, multiply and divide, though I haven't had much call to do anything with that, other than learning it." Everyone in Crebbs Ford knew that, if you couldn't figure numbers yourself, you were sure to get cheated by merchants, or grain millers. Reading may be considered an impractical luxury for many people in rural areas, but every farmer in Crebbs Ford knew how to reckon the value of their grain, or their animals.
"Oh, very good, very good." Koren would certainly be better than most of the servants Paedris had employed over the years. "For now, your job is to rest, and recover your strength, which is not full yet, whether you can stand on one leg, or none, for that matter. You will be leaving in the morning, with the Regent and the princess, to ride to Linden. When you get to the castle, wait for me in my tower, I shouldn't be long."
"You're not coming with us, sir?"
"No," Paedris said with a troubled shake of his head, "I fear that bear is only the tip of the danger we face, and I need to root it out now, rather than later."
“Why a bear, Lord Salva? Why a wild beast, why not a human assassin? That wouldn't have been simpler?” Duke Yarron asked quietly, slightly out of breath from climbing the steep slope. They were struggling up a ridge, through thick, tangled woods, stumbling and slipping over moss-covered rocks, banging their knees and shins, pulling themselves up by hanging onto trees and vines. The sky overhead hung low, gray clouds sodden with rain. It had rained several times throughout the day, the trees were still dripping water down onto Yarron’s head, soaking his silver hair and beard. The Thrallren woods, at the eastern end of Duke Yarron’s LeVanne province, was part of the border with Acedor. Elsewhere along the border, Yarron maintained troops, reinforced by part of the royal Taradoran army. But since the Thrallren woods were so thickly tangled, and the land was nothing but sharp ridges, deep gullies, and impassible dark woods, that Yarron only posted a few sheriffs there. He could not imagine an enemy invasion force coming through the Thrallren woods. Until now.
“Because,” Paedris explained, “if Ariana had been killed by an assassin's blade, such an action would likely pull the Dukes together against our common enemy. But if she was simply killed by a wild beast, an accident in the wilderness, you and the other six Dukes would be fighting each other to control the throne. And that would leave us weak and divided, open for invasion.”
“Ah.” Yarron said simply. He had much to think about. The wizard was correct, the seven Dukedoms of Tarador could not agree on much, other than that they all wanted more power. And, almost as important, they all wanted to prevent the other six from gaining more power. Carlana was serving as Regent, not because she was qualified to rule Tarador in her daughter’s name, but because the Dukes had been unable to agree on anyone else as Regent after her husband the king had died. “Ariana’s father was my strongest ally, and my friend, I care for that girl as if she were my own daughter. For the enemy to attack her, on my land, while she is under my protection-”
“Halt!” Paedris called out in a loud hiss. “Halt, you up there!”
The three scouts ahead froze, turning around slowly. They waited for the wizard to make his way up to their position, offering hands to help him scramble over the last rock. “Thank you.” Paedris huffed and puffed, catching his breath. He was very glad that he had switched his official purple robes for plain brown pants and a warm jacket. “There is a ward spell up ahead, between those two boulders.” Paedris pointed to a pair of giant rocks, which had tumbled down the ridge long ago. They blocked the way above, the gap between them was the only way to the top of the ridge.
One of the scouts kneeled down, waving his hand over a place where moss had been flattened. “That is where the trail leads. The enemy’s tracks go in that direction.”
“And they knew we would follow the trail if we were tracking them. Stay here.” Paedris approached the boulders, stopping just short of where the ward lay across the gap like an invisible spider web. The ward was powerful and somewhat crude, typical of the enemy’s magics. He could not release the ward without alerting the enemy. What he could do is fool the ward, so it didn’t react to troops passing through it. It was a simple matter for a master wizard, he waved to the scouts to him when it was done. “What lies beyond the top of this ridge?”
One of the scouts spoke. “I’ve only been here once, Lord Salva, but what I remember is a shallow gully, then another ridge, a bit lower than this ridge. Beyond that is a deep, wide gully, almost passes for a valley in these woods.”
Duke Yarron held out a hand for his scouts to pull him up. “A valley? I am ashamed to say that, though these are my lands, I don’t know this area. Is this valley a good spot for a raiding force to gather?”
The scout nodded. “It could be. You wish us to follow their tracks?”
Yarron looked to the court wizard for guidance. Paedris rubbed his beard while he considered what to do. “No. A ward here means the enemy must be close, close enough to hear if the ward is triggered. Go to the top of the next ridge, keep low, so you can see if the enemy has placed any pickets, but without revealing yourself. Duke, I propose we turn right just this side of the ridge top, and follow it north half a league. There, we will see if we can cross to the next ridge east of us, and see what lies in this valley beyond.”
“Agreed.” Yarron pointed to the sky. “We must make haste, the light will be failing us in a few hours.”
“These old eyes are, I fear, not as good as they used to be. But even I can see a substantial force.” Yarron whispered. The light was poor, the setting was almost hidden behind heavy clouds to the west, just a vaguely less dark part of the sky. It had started to rain again an hour ago, making everyone miserably cold and wet, if they weren’t already. Yarron was lying in a squishy pool of cold, muddy water under an overhanging rock, peering down into a valley that was not as deep, or steep-sided, as most of the Thrallren woods. The enemy had been camped there long enough to have cut down trees, and build a partial fence along the valley floor. Camped on his land, treating it as if it were already their own! The enemy had chosen well, the valley lay less than ten leagues from the western edge of the woods, where some of the best farmland in LeVanne province lay. And an enemy who controlled that part of the province could cut the major roads to the south, which would make it difficult for reinforcement royal army troops to reach LeVanne in case of war.
“I count perhaps two hundred of the enemy, my lord.” One of the scouts observed. “Men only, I don’t see any orcs.”
“The enemy rarely mixes men and orcs, they usually end up fighting each other sooner or later.” Paedris observed. “Two hundred is a good estimate. And they have a wizard with them.”
Yarron frowned. He had less than sixty men; twenty of his own, and forty troops of the royal army. All were cold, wet, and exhausted from the grueling trek through the woods. There had been no chance for hot food on the march, and since horses, and even mules, were unable to walk in the tangled mess of Thrallren, the men had been forced to carry all their weapons, food and gear on their backs. To set an example, even Duke Yarron carried a backpack, something he had not done since he was a young boy. The problem was not that his men were not walking on fresh legs; the problem was that he had far too few men. Sound battle tactics usually called for an attacking force to outnumber the defenders by at least three to one. “Lord Salva?”
Paedris considered what to say, to convince the Duke to attack the enemy force which had invaded his land. “I know your men are tired, Yarron.”
Yarron shrugged, as much as he could in the confined space under the rock. “No battle was ever won except by a tired army. But I won’t throw my men’s lives away in a futile gesture.”
“I believe I can even the odds. The enemy is also cold, wet and tired, they have likely been in these woods for a fortnight, and they haven’t been allowed any fires for cooking or warmth. Their wizard is weary, keeping a c
oncealment spell for so long is a terrible strain. Unless I am greatly mistaken, their wizard is no match for me.” Yarron raised an eyebrow at that remark, so Paedris added “That is a fact, not a boast.”
“You have a plan? We would have to cross open ground, I can see at least two sentries facing our direction. Lepto,” Yarron asked his lead scout, “could your men take out those sentries, silently?”
Lepto shook his head. “No, my lord. They are behind a screen of brambles, very clever, for that would deflect any arrows, but they can see through it. They would surely see me and my men, before we could get to them.”
“Lord Salva, unless you can do something about those sentries, and do so quietly, I think this attack is impossible. Then, there are barricades on the valley floor both north and south, blocking our path, and the valley walls east and west are too steep for my men to attack from there. Anything you do about their wizard will alert their soldiers.”
Despite the cold, and his muddy, soaked clothing, and his empty belly, Paedris smiled. The Duke underestimated the power of a master wizard. “I have a plan. Let’s get out from under this rock, and prepare.”
The enemy wizard was well aware that the men under his command were cold, wet, tired and hungry, which did not make for alert sentries. The sentries were, therefore, relieved every hour, to keep their eyes, and ears, fresh. And to keep them awake. It would therefore have surprised the wizard from Acedor to see that the sentries at the north barricade were yawning, and barely able to keep their eyes open. The two men were very sleepy, sleepy, sleepy. Unusually, suddenly, terribly sleepy. Their wizard had placed wards around the area, how could an enemy approach without being detected? The sentries did not need to watch, they could sleep. Sleep. And so they did, without their wizard noticing anything wrong. Soon after, Lepto’s scouts carefully moved the brambles aside, and had the two sleeping enemy sentries bound and gagged. But the scouts then retreated back to the north, which also would have surprised the enemy.
The ridge to the east of the valley was steep, especially at the top. At the top, there were many large rocks clinging to the slope, in many places held in place by other rocks. It started with a few pebbles slipping down the slope, then small rocks clinking against each other as they fell. Small rocks coming down the ridge was nothing new, the valley floor was littered with them. What was new, and would have alarmed the enemy if they had known, were the very large rocks that were swaying back and forth. The clatter of small rocks became a cascade, which now did cause the enemy below to look up in curiosity, but it was too late. One giant boulder, the size of a farmhouse, broke loose, and that started an avalanche. With a terrible roaring sound, rocks slid, tumbled, rolled and bounced down the slope, gaining speed as they fell.
Enemy troops, dulled by sleep, staggered out of their tents, fumbling for weapons. Officers were running around, shouting and kicking their men to get them to move, when the first boulder smashed into the barricade, crushing the logs like a pile of twigs.
While Paedris had shaken the rocks loose from the ridge, he had not been able to control where they fell, and most rolled down around the barricade, missing the main encampment. In the dust, darkness and confusion, the enemy wizard held his staff high, with an angry red glow from the tip of the staff illuminating the valley. He had sensed no magic. Was this merely an accident, a rockslide caused by the soggy ground being loosened by several days of rain? The wizard was still gathering his senses, to search for a hostile presence around the valley, when his mouth opened wide in terror, and he was surrounded by white-hot flame. The flame burned hot, his staff burst into splinters, and pieces of the staff scattered where he had been standing. When the flames were snuffed out, there was no trace of the wizard.
Duke Yarron put a steadying hand on Paedris’ shoulder, as the court wizard swayed from momentary weakness. “Will you recover, Lord Salva? That fireball must have taken much of your strength.”
Paedris leaned on his staff, catching his breath. “The fireball was not the problem, it was the spell I concealed the fireball inside, so the enemy did not see it until it was upon him. That sapped my strength.” He straightened up, stretching his aching back. “I’m getting too old for this. Moving those rocks took far more effort than I expected.”
“All my men, working together, could not have moved the smallest of those rocks. Rest, Lord Salva, my men and I can take the battle from here.” Yarron turned to look down the valley, where his troops were advancing, now that the rockslide had ended. A jumble of rocks lay where the barricade had been, but his men were making their way around the boulders, using them as cover to send arrows into the massed enemy soldiers, who were disoriented and fearful at the sudden death of their wizard.
“Your men, yes. You stay here, Yarron. We did not come all this way so that LeVanne could be thrown into turmoil by the death of its Duke.”
Duke Yarron bristled at the thought of not joining his men in battle, to wipe out the enemy who had invaded his land. The wizard had no actual authority over him. “My eldest son-”
“Is old enough, certainly, is he experienced? Acedor has been bold enough to attack the crown princess on your land, and to set up camp here. Here, in your backyard. Who best to lead LeVanne now, when the danger is so clear? You, or your son?”
Yarron’s focus moved between his men, the wizard, and back to his men. He spat on the ground in disgust. “Your words ring true, Lord Salva, but it is not easy for an old warrior to stand aside, and let others do the fighting for me.”
Paedris patted the Duke on the shoulder, and addressed him by his first name. “James, this is but a skirmish, the war is coming, and coming soon. There will be much fighting for all of us then. Save your strength, you will need it."
Yarron watched as his men charged down the rocky slope to the valley floor. "Will I? Does it matter, Lord Salva? In the long run, in my son's time, will it matter?" He looked at the wizard sharply. "You can no longer see the future as you once could, but your last vision showed the enemy's power is ascending-"
"Ascendant." The wizard interjected. Paedris grew irritated when amateurs tried to use knowledge that belonged only to wizards."
"-and that our power, your power, will inevitably fade."
"It is not written in stone, Yarron. The future can be altered. Even when we had the ability to glimpse the future, it was only that, a glimpse. A flickering, uncertain shadow, a mirage that is less distinct the closer you try to look at it. If I knew exactly what the future held, our King Adric would be alive-"
"Loathe I am to speak ill of my distant cousin, but Adric died because he was foolish and overconfident. You saw a future of death and destruction for the realm, and because Adric listened to your council, our army was there to stop the enemy. If Adric had listened to all of your advice, and the advice of his generals, he would have survived the day."
"Perhaps. That is my point, Yarron. The future is not written. Yes, the power of the enemy is ascendant now, and we do not as yet foresee a way to victory. I do not need fortune cards or magical spells to fight on in the face of the enemy's growing strength, I have faith. Faith gives me strength, and it should you as well."
"Mmm," Yarron grunted, pointing at the valley, where his men had routed the enemy and were skirmishing with small groups of survivors. "I have faith in my own men, Salva. That, and the power of our wizards."
"Fair enough," Paedris nodded. "Now, if you want to do something useful here, help me get down there. My powers will, I fear, soon be needed to help heal the wounded.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“You see, see it, on the right there, the pointy tower?” Ariana gestured excitedly out the window of the royal coach. She was so eager to point out sights to Koren that she was blocking his view. He knelt on the cushion and stuck his head out the window, ignoring the disapproving frowns of the royal guards.
“The one made of dark grey stone? That is where Paedris lives?”
“Yes, and that’s where you will live. My rooms
are over toward the left, see the white building with the red roof?”
Koren didn’t know whether Ariana was playing a trick on him. The castle was an immense building with battlements and towers, encircling the top of a hill, with a city spread out all around. Koren had never seen such a place. Still, he was somewhat disappointed. “I thought the royal palace would be more grand, like-“ Koren stopped when he realized he was insulting Ariana’s home.
“No, silly,” the crown princess of Tarador punched him playfully on the arm, “you mean like in a fairy tale? It’s a castle, a fortress, it was built a long time ago, when Tarador and Acedor were one land. Before the war.” A frown passed briefly over the girl’s face. “The palace was built inside the castle walls, when the first king came to live here. Don’t you know anything about history?”
“We didn’t need to know history to live on a farm.” Koren grumbled.
“Well, you will simply have to learn. I can teach you. The first king of Tarador was Dagon the First, of course, he-“
“Ariana, stop hanging out the window like a monkey, and don’t bore Koren to death with the royal lineage.” Carlana ordered. “Koren doesn’t need to have his head filled with useless facts to be Lord Salva’s servant.”
Koren took one last look at the forbidding tower where Ariana said the wizard lived, then sat back down on the plush cushion of the royal coach. He still could not believe he was riding in the royal coach, with the crown princess and the Regent. “Pardon me, ma’am, I mean, Lady, I mean, your Magnificence-“
Carlana couldn’t help laughing. “Call me ‘Your Highness’, Koren. Dukes and Duchesses are ‘Your Grace’. Ariana is ‘Your Majesty’, but not until she becomes Queen, and not while she has bits of straw stuck in her hair from hanging out the coach window like a wild monkey.”
Ascendant Page 8