Markal shielded his eyes. The griffins were wheeling in a big circle overhead, positioned to renew the attack. When it came, they’d only have seconds.
“Hold your men, Captain,” he said. “Brace for another attack.”
Wolfram told his fighters to maintain a defensive posture, an order that was shouted from group to group. Markal and Nathaliey pushed out of the cluster of paladins to get a better view. The flock of griffins was still climbing, now several hundred feet overhead. They were drifting gradually west. One of the griffins broke off from the rest and made for the highest peaks.
“Do you suppose it’s injured?” Nathaliey asked.
“The way it’s racing out of here?” Markal said. “Doesn’t look like it. The rider looks fine, too.”
“Then what? Fetching reinforcements?”
“Most likely, yes.”
They went back and reported what they’d seen to the captain.
“I’ve seen it before,” Wolfram said. “A probing attack to test our preparedness, followed by a serious assault.” He shoved his sword into his sheath. “We’re only three miles from Lucas’s encampment. It’s a box canyon—they’ll have a harder time hitting us there.”
“Assuming we can make it in time,” Markal said. “How many riders can they muster?”
“I’ve seen flocks as big as thirty.”
“That sounds . . . intimidating.” Markal glanced at Nathaliey and tried to think of what spells they might throw into the sky when the griffins returned. “They’re creatures from the north country, from a land of ice and snow. They prefer the heights, where it’s cold. We can add heat to the battlefield. That might help.”
“I’d like to avoid an open battle,” Wolfram said, “especially without our horses.”
“And you’re sure it’s a fight they want?”
“They don’t want us dead, just gone from here. But they’ll fight if they have to.”
Markal feared the griffin riders, but he didn’t hate them. From what he’d learned these past two days, the flocks were enemies of anyone who entered the mountains, including King Toth. Maybe more so, given that the king was building castles to control the mountain passes.
“You’ve spoken to them before,” Markal said. “Couldn’t you explain? Tell them we’re leaving?”
“This might not be the same flock. Anyway, it’s not like they came down and asked what we were doing here.”
“That’s true,” Markal admitted. “Hard to parley for a truce when the first encounter is all sword, beak, and talon.”
Now that the threat of imminent attack seemed to have passed, Wolfram called up the rest of the paladins until he had them in a single group. It would take longer to travel bunched up, but it would be safer so long as they were exposed on the ridge. They’d follow the ridge, he said, which continued another half mile or so, but instead of climbing the grassy mountainside beyond as had been the plan, they’d skirt the edge, sticking to the cover of the woods. A longer, but less exposed route.
The paladins were tired after nearly a week of traveling on foot, carrying their own supplies and gear, not to mention hungry, as their already slim rations had run out that morning. A few people suggested they should stand on the most exposed part of the ridge and lure the griffins into a battle. Kill a few of the beasts and teach them a good lesson.
Wolfram merely listened, then reiterated his earlier command. First the ridge, then the forest, where there was cover. There was no more argument.
They were almost to the woods when the griffins returned in greater numbers, at least two dozen this time, though Markal didn’t stop to count, instead joining the general scramble into the trees. The scream of a score or more griffins and the piercing whistle of riders communicating at distance was enough to put the fear of death in them all. And as the griffins swooped overhead, their powerful wings making the treetops shake, there was no more nonsense about taunting the riders into an attack.
“I feel like a hunted rabbit every time I step into the open,” Nathaliey said. “I can’t wait until we get to the old road.”
Markal glanced at her. “There may or may not be griffins in the high passes, but if Wolfram is right, the road is infested with giants and marauders.”
#
Markal waited until the company was pressing through the thickest part of the forested mountainside before he told Wolfram that he wanted to make another search for Bronwyn. The Blackshield captain called for a rest, and Markal and Nathaliey retired some distance from the company so they could have solitude to practice their magic. A few minutes later they were seated across from each other on a cushion of pine needles, with only the sound of birdsong and a trickle of water from a nearby stream to break the silence.
“We’ve seen very few signs,” Markal said. “I think we’re losing ground.”
“If the marauders are too far ahead, the seeker won’t reach,” Nathaliey said.
“I don’t think it’s come to that yet, but we can’t keep sweeping in a circle, either.” He’d been thinking about this since morning. “From here, the enemy either needs to drop into the plains south of Aristonia, or start climbing toward the old road. If they descend to the plains, we’ll lose them anyway.”
“Toward the mountains is where Wolfram has his horses and the other paladins,” she said. “You don’t suppose Bronwyn wants to kill them and steal their mounts to keep her brother from crossing back into Eriscoba?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Wolfram seemed confident she wouldn’t be able to find where they’re hidden. Could be she’s just trying to reach the road herself.”
“And invade Eriscoba with all of fifteen marauders? Doesn’t seem likely.”
Yet Markal was sure Bronwyn had come this way. They’d searched before leaving the stone circle, and spotted the former paladin and the surviving gray marauders picking their way south on foot. Three more searches over the subsequent days had turned up nothing, but this morning they’d stumbled over the remains of a campfire, the ash still warm.
Nathaliey spoke the incantation, and an invisible eye formed overhead. Markal attached his perspective to the object as it floated up from the trees and moved south. The seeker was naturally drawn to movement, and they passed above a black bear foraging for berries, and then a partially constructed stone tower atop a rocky ledge, where four slender figures were building an aerie while their griffin mounts squabbled over a deer carcass. That was useful to know; even if Markal and Nathaliey didn’t find the marauders, they’d at least veer lower on the mountainside when going that way, so as not to alert more griffin riders of their presence.
The seeker moved in jerky movements, covering a good deal of ground at once, and then slowing to hover as Nathaliey regathered her will to push it into motion again. They moved over cliffs, deep gorges, rushing mountain streams, and thick woods.
“Keep going south,” he murmured. “The road should be just ahead of us.”
“The seeker is fading. I can’t carry it much farther or it will break apart entirely. Surely they haven’t reached this far south. They were only a few miles ahead when we spotted the campfire. Maybe they’re taking cover from griffins, like we are.”
“Didn’t the seeker hesitate a little ways back?” he asked.
“Just past the griffin aerie, you mean? I was trying to get control again, that’s all.”
“No, I felt something. Bring it back this way a little, but send it lower to the ground.”
Markal’s eyes were closed to follow the seeker, and he sensed Nathaliey’s doubt, rather than saw it on her face. As she brought the seeker closer to their position, her control improved, and its vision sharpened. Suddenly, the seeker came to a halt above a stony hillside, where only patches of scrubby brush had taken root. One of the larger rocks moved, and then he saw that many of them were not rocks at all, but people lying flat against the ground with their cloaks drawn up about them. He counted eight, but several of the other rocks might have been peop
le as well.
They seemed to have solved two mysteries at once. First, that the marauders were indeed going toward the old road, rather than dropping into the lowlands. And second, the enemy was making better time than the paladins because they had the ability to cross open terrain without fear of attack from the air, thanks to their cloaks. Whenever Bronwyn spotted griffins, she and her men could flatten themselves and hide, as they were doing now.
Markal told Nathaliey to search the sky, expecting to see griffins overhead, but there was nothing. So why weren’t the marauders moving? The seeker dropped lower to study the enemy warriors more carefully, and that’s when one of the marauders threw off her cloak and looked directly at the seeker. It was Bronwyn. She clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes, and her thoughts were almost audible.
I see you. I know you’re spying on me.
Nathaliey broke apart the seeker and let out her breath slowly as the two of them stood and brushed off pine needles.
“That was . . . unexpected,” Nathaliey said. “A seeker’s vision isn’t supposed to flow both ways.”
“It did this time.”
“Yes, apparently.”
They returned to the paladins, who were anxious to resume their march. Markal told Wolfram what they’d spotted. The captain listened thoughtfully, and didn’t seem thrown off that his sister had detected their presence and knew they were following.
“It’s a trade I’m willing to make,” he said. “Once we reach Lucas’s band, we’ll have mounts and more paladins with which to fight. Any battle on the road will be to our advantage. We’ll catch Bronwyn in the mountain passes and put an end to her.”
#
It was well after dark when Wolfram led them, stumbling and exhausted, into his hidden encampment not far from the old road, which had been abandoned by all but the hardiest bandits and large groups of armed men, thanks to giants infesting the passes. Towering cliffs rose on three sides of the narrow box canyon, leaving only a narrow slit for the stars overhead, but the canyon walls very nearly concealed them from overhead and left them invulnerable to ambush from below at the same time.
Before traveling north to the stone ring, Wolfram had left roughly twenty paladins to guard his horses and supplies, and their lieutenant was a barrel-chested man named Sir Lucas, with a red beard shot with gray, and a patch over his right eye. There were relieved greetings all around, and Lucas’s paladins set about putting up tents and bringing out food for the newcomers.
Markal and Nathaliey took their place at one of the campfires, and cold, weary paladins settled in all around with coughs and groans and murmured relief. Food and drink soon materialized. The rest were already eating by the time Wolfram settled in from inspecting the camp. He took a round of flatbread and a piece of cheese on a wooden plate, and took a swig from a wineskin as it went around the fire.
Lucas approached a minute later and sat down by the captain, but not without first fixing his good eye on Markal and Nathaliey with a suspicious gaze that gradually faded as Wolfram explained who they were and summarized the fight at the stone circle. Lucas expressed dismay to hear of Bronwyn’s dark transformation, then reported in turn.
He’d stayed hidden this past week, even when a scout reported a dozen marauders coming up the old road to cross west into Eriscoba. He’d very nearly led his company after them in an attempt to ambush the marauders from behind, but it was a good thing he hadn’t, as a much larger group of enemies was following in their wake. This was another company of marauders, plus some three hundred Veyrian soldiers on foot.
“I hated to let the devils go through unimpeded,” Lucas said. “I wanted to ignore orders and give them a fight.”
“Twenty paladins against three hundred men?” Markal said doubtfully.
“We’re mounted, and they were on foot,” Lucas said. “We’d have killed or scattered the lot of them.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Markal said. “Veyrians are brave enough in battle.”
“Like leaves to the wind,” Lucas said, and slammed a fist into his palm. “But the marauders are another matter. There were twenty in the second company.”
Wolfram looked troubled. “Twelve ahead and twenty behind. And three hundred regular soldiers on foot.”
“Plus Bronwyn’s fifteen,” Markal said.
“My scouts didn’t see her pass,” Lucas said. “I had a man watching the road all day, and he reported nothing.”
“If she came through after dark, you’d have never spotted her,” Markal said. “Not if she didn’t want you to.”
“That makes fifty marauders, give or take,” Lucas said. “Plus three hundred foot soldiers. It’s enough to cause trouble, but they can’t take the whole of Eriscoba with it.”
“Could be they intend to grab a toehold long enough for a full army to come in behind them,” Wolfram said. “What do you think, wizard? Does the invasion come here, in the south?”
“I don’t think so,” Markal began carefully. “Toth already holds the northern passes, and his army there numbers in the thousands, not hundreds. Plus tens of thousands of slaves, and a new highway to carry supplies quickly from across the khalifates.”
Nathaliey leaned around him to join the conversation. “He already has his toehold in Estmor, doesn’t he?”
Wolfram nodded. “Right where his highway comes down from the passes. He flooded the land, killing hundreds with flooding and disease, and enslaved or drove out the rest. Enemy troops hold the castle, but the kings, earls, and the like have bottled them up with an army.”
“How about here, in the south?” Markal asked. “Which lands are on the other side of the mountains?”
“Mostly freehold farms. Some towns left impoverished since the road closed. A barony that collapsed after marauders sacked its keep and killed the baroness. It wasn’t far from there that my sister took the red sword.”
“Did you say you’d got it back?” Lucas asked.
“We’ve got it,” Wolfram said, “but I don’t dare to use it. Not if it’s turned against us, like our friends here say.”
“It seems to me that the enemy has done well attacking from both the new road and the old,” Markal said. “He’s got a castle in your lands to the north, and left the hill country to the south lawless and infested with bandits.”
“Only near the mountains,” Wolfram said. “Go twenty, thirty miles west from the hill country and you’ll find everything in order.”
“But now they’re making a serious push with marauders and foot soldiers,” Markal said. “The marauders will raid and kill and force the Blackshields to chase them across the land while the Veyrian troops burn fields and sack the towns and villages.”
Wolfram glanced at Lucas, and the two men shared a troubled look at this assessment.
Markal continued. “And then, when the kingdoms near Estmor try to raise more troops for the main fight, the lands to the rear will refuse because they’re pinned down with an invasion of their own.”
“My sister is the key to all of this,” Wolfram said. “With fifty marauders under her command, she’ll be difficult to defeat.”
“We’d better catch her before she gets through the mountains,” Markal said. “But then what?”
Wolfram sounded more decisive. “Once we finish her, we’ll take the fight to the main invasion force and wipe them out.”
Markal glanced around the camp. “You’ve got sixty, seventy paladins in fighting condition. Before you’ve bloodied yourself against Bronwyn’s company. And then you expect to destroy a small army of marauders and foot soldiers?”
“This isn’t the entirety of my forces,” Wolfram said. “Not even the half of it. We’ve doubled our numbers since Bronwyn left, and the ones who’ve joined the Blackshields are more dedicated, better warriors on the whole than the ones we left behind.
“I’ve got another hundred and twenty paladins gathering near Arvada,” he continued. “When we get through the mountains, I’ll send a rider to fetch the rest of
my forces, and we’ll end the threat once and for all.”
“All right,” Markal said. “But when you’ve destroyed Bronwyn and defeated the diversionary attack, the enemy will still be pressing through the mountains to the north. What then?”
Wolfram lifted his chin, and a passion Markal hadn’t seen before burned on his face until he looked like Bronwyn when she’d been standing on the bridge over Blossom Creek, sword in hand, facing down an army of wights. Just like his sister before, a holy warrior facing evil.
“And then, with victory at our backs and triumph on our tongues, we ride through Eriscoba, sweeping up all who would join us. Kings, knights, peasants with spears—all will join our army. We will meet these decadent eastern warriors and heap their dead upon the field of battle.”
Firelight reflected in Wolfram’s eyes as he turned his gaze on the companions from the Crimson Path. “And you, my friends, will stand at the head of our army, calling down the power of the Brother Gods to sweep this necromancer from the face of the earth.”
Chapter Eighteen
Nathaliey was still yawning and blinking back sleep early the next morning when they reached the old road. They’d given her a horse, but it carried supplies, and she was on foot, leaning against the animal for support as they both plodded along. She missed her old horse, and couldn’t help but wonder how it was faring in the hands of the marauders. But this was a good animal, with stamina enough to carry a burden, while still being strong and swift enough to carry a rider into battle.
They were moving toward a gash between two of the largest peaks, and Nathaliey could clearly see where passing Veyrian troops had come through and trampled the grass sprouting up in the middle of the neglected, seldom-traveled road. Once she was more awake, she thought she’d grab Markal and they could push ahead to study boot and horse prints to confirm the number of marauders versus men on foot.
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