Mystic: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

“I saw them.” Loren shrugged. “They were encamped to the west, and their host has grown by many hundreds since we last saw them.”

  “Many hundreds? No, that is not possible. They . . .” He looked to Xain. “Where do you mean to go, wizard?”

  Loren turned to see Xain slowly backing away. He stopped at Jordel’s words, glaring. “Your company seems an unhealthy place to be. I would take my leave.”

  “We did not grant it,” said Vivien. “There are many horsemen, and without your help they might overrun us. Then they will pursue you, and you will have less help than if you lent your strength now. Even a wizard so great as you might struggle with such numbers on the open field.”

  “Mind your own affairs, witch.” Then he turned, scowling at Loren. “This is your fault, girl.”

  “None of us would be in this mess if you did not try to scamper off in the darkness every chance you got,” she said. “Stand, and act with honor for once.”

  “Says the would-be thief,” muttered Gem.

  Loren cuffed the boy on the back of his head.

  “I will help drive them off,” said Xain. “But not at the side of Mystics. I will strike from atop that hill.”

  Loren caught a curious expression on his face and thought she understood. The Mystics had not seen his eyes glow black from the magestones. Xain meant to separate himself to bury the detail.

  “The choice is yours, but you go to too much trouble.” Vivien swung a leg over her saddle and dropped lightly to the ground. “Three score could not give much trouble to us both.”

  Xain ran to the hilltop. The mercenaries were almost upon them by the time he climbed it. But once the wizards struck, the skirmish was a one-sided battle.

  Vivien attacked first—her fingers clutching air as she pulled at nothing. Men jerked from their saddles. But they did not fall backwards; instead, Vivien pulled them forwards so they tumbled over their horses’ necks. They fell to the ground and were trampled, broken and twisted bodies mashed to pulp beneath their fellow riders’ hooves. Loren’s stomach lurched, and Gem turned his face.

  Again, Vivien swiped at the air, and many of the mounts’ legs snapped like twigs. They went down, crushing their riders and other horses alike. The air rang with screaming, horses and men, far worse—more terrible and painful—than it had been at camp.

  Loren clenched her teeth at the senseless death, but it hardly felt like the right time to reprimand Vivien. She did not know what the Mystics intended to do with her.

  Xain joined the fight, and wall of flame a hundred feet long sprang up on the grassy field. Dozens of paces ahead of the cavalry—they had plenty of time to rein their mounts to a stop. Many of the horses bolted in fear from the heat, their riders cursing and shouting as they fought for control.

  Hardly a dozen riders remained, urging their horses through the roaring fires. But Xain waved his hand and cried aloud. Bolts of lightning struck the ground on all sides. Their last shreds of discipline vanished—the horses screamed in terror and bolted away. Xain let the flames die upon the field, empty save for the broken bodies cast down by Vivien.

  She growled in anger and repeatedly struck, pulling down a few more fleeing horsemen. Many escaped, disappearing into the hills and out of sight.

  “You fool!” she cried. “Why did you let them escape? Now they will warn the host to our presence.”

  “Let us say I have a sympathetic heart for a runaway,” said Xain.

  Jordel cleared his throat. “It matters little. For we shall not be here when the Dorsean sellswords return. For the moment, Xain, we all must flee—and whether we end up in Feldemar as I wish, or the High King’s Seat as is your aim, east is our best option. Will you at least ride with us until this danger has passed?”

  Xain looked as if he might refuse, but Loren stepped forwards.

  “You will, wizard, for we have unfinished words. And I shall not give you a horse without your promise to come.”

  “Very well then,” said Xain. “Since you leave little choice. Your company is harder to part than an infestation of lice. Lead on, Mystic—for now.”

  Everyone mounted, Annis before Loren atop her black horse. Xain on the chestnut steed. And Gem behind Jordel yet again. At Jordel’s command, the Mystics spurred their horses, and off they rode.

  forty

  JORDEL LED THEM SOUTH, WHERE soon they found the empty road, and then east along it, pushing their horses as hard as they dared. Loren knew it could not be long before the outriders returned to alert the hosts, and the mercenaries would no doubt send their full mounted strength. How many horsemen remained after her nighttime adventure? Had the sellswords managed to collect most of the steeds, or did they still roam free across the plains? She hoped most were lost, but something told her they would not be so lucky. If even half the horses had been recovered, they might well find five hundred riders at their backs.

  It was not long before the road turned abruptly right, heading south for Wellmont. At first, Loren thought Jordel would direct them towards the city, to hide behind the safety of its walls. Instead, he reined to a stop at the crossroad, and they halted in a circle around him.

  “The mercenaries will think we are scouts sent from Wellmont,” said Jordel. “Or at least that is my hope. If I am right, they will reach the crossroads and turn south to look for us, hoping to catch us before we make the city. But we will ride east, and if we are lucky they will not follow.”

  Vivien chewed her lip and spoke. “But then the army will sweep down upon the city, and they will have no warning.”

  “They will have their walls, and that is all we can do.” Jordel’s tone brooked no argument. “You will learn once and for all where your loyalties lie. We ride on.”

  “At least send one of the men to the city,” she said. “They deserve to hear word. Send me, if you wish.”

  “I will not spare one warrior, you least of all. Every hand will be needed ere long, and none of this would be necessary if not for your actions in Wellmont. Or do you deny it?”

  Vivien’s eyes met Jordel’s, and Loren saw the anger burning within her. But she dropped her gaze and nodded. Voice icy, she said, “As you see fit, Captain.”

  And so they rode, dust flying from hooves on the road. Jordel let them take a more measured pace, for he hoped the mercenaries would not pursue them. And if he was wrong, they might need their mounts ready for a burst of speed.

  Loren held a wary eye to Xain and saw him often survey his surroundings. It seemed clear he planned to escape, and she regretted furnishing his horse. Jordel rode close on one side and Vivien on the other, giving the wizard little chance. The other Mystics stayed behind, eyes watchful and hands never far from their blades. For now, Xain would remain with their party.

  Once they had left the crossroads far behind, land surged into sharp hills that walled the road on either side like a rampart. Jordel called them to a halt and commanded his men to dismount. Xain followed suit. Annis began to slide from the horse’s back, but Loren held her in place.

  “Why do we stop?” Loren asked. “I would feel easier if there was yet more distance between us and the city.”

  Jordel said, “As might I, but halting now or in an hour will make little difference. And we are all of us weary, for we stayed awake through the night searching for you. A mouthful of food will do us well for a long day’s journey.”

  Loren felt a stab of hunger in her own hollow stomach. It growled as if to remind her. She dismounted, patted her horse’s neck, and made a crude hobble for its legs with the end of the tether. Jordel sat by the roadside, separate from his men, while Xain sat even farther. Vivien’s eyes were watchful upon him, and he did not try to flee. Gem and Annis sat by themselves, trading words in whispers while Annis threw her darkest looks at the wizard.

  Loren went and sat across from Jordel.

  He said, “I guessed Xain had not the time to gather supplies before his flight, and you carried nothing when you went with him, so I had my men fetch your sack
before we rode out.”

  He motioned, and one of the Mystics came over with Loren’s bedroll and pack. She pulled out some bread and bit as if starving. Again, her stomach growled, this time in gratitude.

  “Where did the three of you mean to go?” said Jordel. “I thought you had no wish to follow Xain to the High King’s Seat.”

  “The wizard proved less than faithful. He called himself my friend and asked me to steal him a horse from the mercenary camp. Once I had gone, he trussed Annis like a chicken and struck out on his own.”

  Jordel frowned. “You have suffered much at his hands, and little has been your fault. But mayhap now you will be more cautious when dealing with wizards and place more faith in me. But if I may ask, why the deception? Why send you off alone rather than simply leave?”

  Her stomach turned, but Loren stayed calm. The Mystic was perceptive. Xain had wanted Annis alone so he could steal the magestones, but Loren did not think it wise to confess—especially since the wizard still held them in his care.

  “Xain will think twice before he dares to tangle with me again. He has often given me cause to spar, and every time I have sent him to the dirt. I think he wished for a simple escape.”

  “Fighting with wizards at such a young age. If you were of a different mind and temperament, mayhap you would have made a mage hunter.”

  Loren let herself blush. “I thank you, but I am afraid the color red suits me ill.”

  Jordel’s eyes smiled even if he didn’t. Mayhap he was not so angry.

  Vivien shot to her feet. “Captain! We are found!”

  Everyone rose and stared into the west.

  A cloud of dust billowed above the road, shrouding the gleaming of sunlight on metal.

  Jordel sighed. “Riders. And far more than before.”

  “Curse them!” said Vivien. “How do they keep finding us?”

  “Mayhap they guessed our deception,” said Jordel, but his eyes were troubled. “I do not see how they could have known. Unless . . .” He turned his gaze upwards. Loren did the same, seeing only clear blue sky.

  “There!” cried Vivien. “I see it. A hawk, wheeling far above.” Loren squinted and saw it—a tiny black dot, turning circles in the air.

  “A weremage,” said Jordel. “Likely he has been a spy to our ride. Mayhap he followed you three after you fled the camp. Eron, can you shoot it?”

  One of the Mystics shook his head. “Not without a longbow.” He had a bow upon his back, but Loren could see that it was too short for such a shot.

  Vivien said, “I cannot reach that high with my magic. I can scarcely even see the thing.”

  “We must remove him somehow,” said Jordel, “else all hope of escape is lost. Perhaps we—“

  A crackle of lightning struck the clear sky, and a burst of feathers rained from the hawk. The bird jerked and fell, plummeting towards them.

  All eyes turned to Xain, but by the time they looked, the black glow had left his eyes. He shrugged and gave them a dour grimace. “Consider him removed. Though the bolt will not kill him.”

  “The fall will do the job as well,” said Vivien with a cruel smile.

  Loren turned her eyes skyward again and saw the hawk begin to change, expanding many times in size, feathers sinking into its skin. Its wings grew thicker, unfolding into arms and sprouting fingers. The change took only a moment, and then a full-grown man fell stark naked towards the ground.

  “Catch him!” Loren turned to Xain. “Please!”

  The wizard shook his head. If he used air to cushion the man’s fall, his eyes would turn black and he would be discovered. And yet no man could survive such a fall.

  Jordel’s voice rang out clear and strong. “Do it, sergeant. Mages are few and precious enough. No one should wish for another’s death—least of all you.”

  Vivien gestured with glowing eyes and slowed his descent until the man was gently floating just above the ground. She closed her fist, the glow died in her eyes, and he fell the few final feet to land with a thud.

  “Our enemy’s life has been preserved, Captain.” It was impossible to miss the bitterness in her tone.

  “Well done,” said Jordel. “Though he was the enemy of Wellmont not of the Mystics. Now come. Let us ride, for those horsemen will not tarry.”

  Indeed, the cavalry had closed much of the distance already, for they had spotted the party and spurred their horses to a gallop. Still, the road was open for a long way in both directions, and they were many miles away. The party mounted in haste and spurred their horses forwards, hampered by Xain and Loren, for they were without saddles and could not move as quickly.

  Loren’s legs burnt. They had grown sore from a morning of riding, and a brief rest had invited more pain. It seemed to double as they galloped. She gritted her teeth, determined to bear it. Annis, meanwhile, seemed comfortable despite their lack of a saddle and acted as a rock for Loren to hold.

  “You ride as if born to it. I feel as though this horse will shake the bones from my body.”

  “You clutch too tightly with your legs,” Annis told her. “You must find a balance—do not hold so loose that you are shaken off, or so tightly that your body becomes taut like a bowstring.”

  Loren loosened her legs and almost slid backwards off the horse’s rump. She held on tighter and said, “I think I must bear it for now, else we will part company much sooner than I would wish”

  After a while the land rose up and away from the river. The hills stretched higher on either side of them, and through them the road seemed to have been cut as if by a great giant with a cleaver. When they had reached the top of the rise, Jordel called another halt. From their vantage point he turned, peering at the riders who chased them.

  “There are more than I feared, and more than we can hope to defeat—even with our wizards. I do not understand. There are at least eight hundred, and mayhap more than a thousand. They could not have gained so many riders trekking through Selvan—even if they had recruited company at every village along the way.”

  “Yet it seems they have,” said Vivien. “And we have gained no ground.”

  “We must go faster,” said Jordel. “This shelf goes on for half a league before finding a steep drop on the other side. They will be forced to slow their descent, and then we may make up some time.”

  “Why do we not strike north?” said Xain. “The wilderness might hide us, at least until they pass.”

  “Then they will be ahead of us when we continue,” said Jordel. “And these wildlands are unkind. You can see the steepness on either side of the hills, and they become no gentler farther north. After that, we might find ourselves sunk in a bog or attacked by wolves. Both are plentiful here. And we cannot manage a journey in the wilds across Selvan, for we have neither the supplies nor time to waste. It would stretch our journey from weeks to months. No, speed is our only hope, and to lose them after the rise.”

  Xain nodded with shifty eyes. Loren wondered what he was plotting. She would have to keep a careful eye upon him. Until she recovered the magestones, he could not be let loose from her sight.

  Jordel ordered them forwards, and ground vanished from under their hooves. Loren marveled at the strength of her horse—though he carried two riders, still he kept pace with every other mount. And if Loren did not enjoy riding bareback, still she felt less jostled than the wizard, bouncing clumsily on the back of his chestnut. She took an arm from Annis’s waist and reached down to pat the mare’s neck.

  “There is the descent!” Jordel shouted over the thundering hooves. “Make ready for the slope!”

  The land fell away steeply before them. They reached the edge, and Loren saw what lay ahead.

  Her heart fell. Annis gasped.

  Though Jordel issued no order, the party stopped to stare out over the lowlands.

  The road reached level ground and then straightened before running many leagues into a far-off horizon. And on that path was an army. Hundreds of horses and many more men, neatly lined
in rank and file, marching inexorably towards them.

  forty-one

  “AT LAST I UNDERSTAND,” JORDEL said in what was almost a whisper. “I knew the sellswords could not have marched west of the city so quickly nor grown so fat. That was a second force. This, the army before us, is that which we saw upon the King’s road.”

  “A second force?” said Loren. “From where?”

  “From Dorsea. The Dorsean commander is clever. He recruited an army of sellswords in Selvan and marched them across the kingdom, knowing they might be spotted. But they seemed a minor threat, and so Wellmont would prepare itself for a mild feint from the north. But in secret, Dorsea mustered a much larger army and sent them across the Dragon’s Tail at the feet of the Greatrocks Mountains. We thought the sellswords were still more than a day’s march out, but the larger army can attack today when the city will not expect it.”

  “Wellmont,” Vivien whispered, “the city will fall.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Jordel. “For it seems a great thief struck a mighty blow against the sellswords horses. Regardless, we must escape.”

  “How?” Loren hated her trembling voice. “They are both behind and ahead of us.”

  “Let us try the wildlands,” Gem suggested. “Even savage, they are better than getting caught between hammer and anvil.”

  “I would not care to risk it,” muttered Jordel. “And yet it seems such need is upon us.”

  Looking behind them towards the pounding hooves, they saw the cavalry emerge from far down the road. The riders caught sight of the party and whooped a great cry, spurring their horses to even greater speed.

  Annis cried out, “We have been seen. Now they will follow us over the hills.”

  Xain smirked, nudged his horse in front of the party, and dismounted, facing the approaching horsemen on foot. “Here is your only course. Climb the hills, and make for the wildlands, returning to the road only when you know it is safe. I will remain here to deal with these riders.”

  “No, Xain,” said Jordel. “You have my respect, and I do not doubt your powers, but they are too much even for you. Especially alone. We will stay together and lend our aid if a battle there be.”