Wine of the Gods 05: Spy Wars

by Pam Uphoff

  “I expect we're about to. These hills are the edges of the Southern Divide, we can't be but a few miles from the Old South Road. If they’re going to ambush General Rufi, it will be tomorrow or the next day. They’ve got scouts out and messengers running back and forth.” Oscar scowled around the camp. “This was a lousy idea, we’re too far from where they talk things over and make decisions.” He slid the chops into his marinade and checked the bread dough.

  “So? We can hardly miss seeing all the troops riding out.”

  “But how do we warn Rufi?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “Oh, good, but you’d better hurry. They’ve started running all over out there. I think this afternoon may be busy.” Oscar swept his glance around. No one looking, that he could see. He bent over as if to pick something up, and warped light around himself. “Let’s head out the way the scouts always go.”

  “Right.” Bran spoke from thin air, beside him.

  They bumped and jostled each other as they circumnavigated the encampment. Once on the trail, the puffs of dust from Bran’s feet made it easy to follow him. Six miles down the track, head ready to explode, Oscar grabbed Bran and pulled him around to the far side a rock outcrop. And collapsed. Bran also released his light warp and joined him on the ground.

  “I can see the dust the Auralians are raising. Let’s let them go by, then we can follow them, see where they’re setting up the ambush, circle and get ahead of them, to warn Rufi.” Oscar grabbed his head. “If I don’t die before then.”

  “Good plan. Not the dying, the checking out their ambush.” Bran laid an arm over his eyes and appeared to fall asleep.

  Oscar fought off a desire to do the same, and emptied his mind, soaking in the warmth and listening, while letting nothing out.

  The troops rode by, two hundred men and horses, looking lean and mean. Probably sweating worse than their horses under their metal breast plates and helmets. Only seeing the camp they’d left, the wagons and work horses, grain and hay, the blacksmith, the armorers, in addition to the usual support for any human troops, showed the effort it took to field even a brief sortie into enemy territory. The front ranks carried long lances. The rest would use their swords after any defensive line had been broken by a charge.

  The minds of the Auralians ran from bright to dull to his inner senses, varying amounts of magical talent, none strong enough to worry him.

  Trailing the column by enough to let the dust die down, the Oners felt odd. Eight of them were connected to each other, not unlike a mage compass, but shielded from Oscar and Bran, separate from them, outside. The other four felt like strong mages, but they didn't join anyone. They were solitaries. All the Oners leaked at the high frequencies, and disappeared in the low. Oscar kept his mind quiet and drawn in. They gave no sign of feeling them. Peering out, Oscar shivered. Pax was with them—and he was completely invisible to the mental sense.

  “All right.” Bran eased up beside him. “I had an idea. I’ll hold a light warp around both of us, for half an hour or so, then you do it.”

  Oscar nodded. “Good idea. Great, in fact. Let’s go.”

  They alternated walking and running, to keep the Oners barely in sight. They spotted where the Army scouts waved them off in a different direction, and followed even more slowly. The Oners tied their horses well back from a canyon rim. One of them walked out and looked over. Nodded in satisfaction.

  Bran and Oscar swung wide around them, and dropped down into a break in the cliff edge where they too could look over, without the Oners seeing them.

  The Old Road predated the Kingdom of the West. Broad, smoothed from a thousand years of use and sandstorms.

  The western scouts were already past them, the head of the column just coming even with them.

  “Oh, crap.” Oscar snatched up a rock at threw it. No chance he’d hit any of them, but the rattle caught their attention.

  With their eyes scanning the cliffs, Bran stepped out where they could see them, and held his arms out, brought them in, left up, right down . . . Bran hesitated.

  “Both arms up, then both down for horse troops.” Oscar hissed.

  “What’s a hundred?”

  “Right over your head, bent across it, left out, bent up”

  The column stalled. The scouts turned and trotted back. Maybe fifty riders in uniform, no armor, some wagons following. Rufi looking up from below nodded and turned to speak to his officers. Had he recognized Bran’s red head?

  “Right, so let’s go see what the Oners have to say, coming all this way for nothing.” Oscar started back up when he heard Bran hiss. He looked back. Horsemen, coming from the east. The Auralians spread out, forming a broad front, trotting horses breaking into a gallop, long lances dropping down.

  Yelled orders from the Westerners, a few shields hastily snatched and horses urged forward to take the brunt of the first charge. The Westerner’s usual lances were shorter, more maneuverable. Even if they’d had them ready, they would have been of little use.

  The Auralian knights crashed into the hastily formed Western line, and through it. Horses and men screamed as lances hit living targets. Swords clashed.

  The embattled general yelled again, not orders this time. A prayer. "God of War! Assist . . ." That was as far as he got, the Auralians pressed in . . .

  And something odd happened, a twist of reality, some broad powerful untraceable flood of magic poured over the battlefield.

  A huge rearing horse of blackest midnight, a rider in silver chain mail, breast and back plates, black leather, glittering sword held aloft.

  The black stallion lunged sideways taking down the Auralian threatening the general, horse and all, while the God of War shortened another by a head. Horse and man cleared a space around themselves with brutal efficiency.

  Oscar felt the shields, just physical. Could squint and see a low arc around the horse to keep him from being gutted or hamstrung. But flexible, not hampering the horse's movements. How does that work?

  General Rufi had lost no time. He rallied his still mounted troops and hit one side of the weak spot just created in the Auralian line. They crashed through, leaving men and horses bleeding on the ground, wheeled left in impeccable formation and charged into the Auralians' secondary. They slaughtered a path through and left the Auralians in disorder, trying to turn their line and get through a barrier of their own wounded and dead.

  The Auld Wulf had spun to face right and charged the other half of the Auralians. In a messy confused melee he slaughtered men right and left, and the horse leaped and kicked out, and disappeared in mid leap. From the far side of the melee, they charged in again, and as the Amma's knights turned to attack him, General Rufi reversed his troops and hit them at full speed. The King's Own were experts with their short lances, and those with them were in the first line. The second line had already lost theirs, but waded in happily with swords. Just the speed and momentum of the horses was a weapon in its own, knocking the knight's mounts flat when they hit them from the side, trampling riders, carrying their own riders into and through the line of battle before the Auralians could rally to surround them.

  The Auld Wulf continued to act independently, throwing fireballs at the officers as they bellowed orders across the bloody chaos. Wherever order appeared, he was there, destroying it. The Auralian line collapsed, reformed back a good way, but retreated rather than trying again, a few officers retaining enough control that it wasn't a rout.

  The Auld Wulf stopped then, not pursuing. He searched the horizon and spotted the men on the cliff.

  Rufi rode over and joined the staring contest.

  Oscar shifted to where he could watch and hear Pax and the Oners.

  He felt the Auld Wulf shift his physical shield then, placing it between himself and the spectators. The God added a shield covering the lower end of the light spectrum, heat through about half the visible spectrum. Oscar nodded. The more a shield covered, the thinner and weaker it would be. Now, would t
he god hold a third shield, or would he keep some offensive capacity?

  Edmo jerked his head at Pax. "Aren't you going to do anything?" He turned and raised his right hand to point at the Auld Wulf. The temperature dropped as power was pulled. Damn. Just like a Mage. I didn't see that they were pulling the heat too, last time.

  A line of light hit the Auld Wulf's shield, almost high frequency enough to penetrate, and was quickly followed by lightning. No, not lightning, an electrical current. The God held the shield out, grounded it and drew a line of ionized atmosphere along it, down to the ground. Oscar shivered. A man wearing that much metal shouldn't play with electricity. The god swung off the huge horse and dropped to the ground. One quick motion, and his mail rippled, disappeared, replaced by some odd mottled colored clothing, thick-soled, laced boots.

  Peace's voice rang clear. "That brings back old memories, Wolf. I'm surprised you'd wear it though. You lost that right when they court-marshaled you, when they realized you were a monster like the rest of us." He stepped back from the cliff edge and out of sight. The Oners glanced toward the retreating Auralian knights and backed away reluctantly. They were arguing quietly as they rode away from the invisible Oscar and Bran.

  Down in the broad canyon, the Auld Wulf turned and surveyed the battlefield. Rufi had a lot of men down, but there'd been more wounded than killed outright. Most fighters were not as deadly as the God of War. He handed something to Rufi.

  Oscar felt the ebbing of the torrent of magic that had brought the God of War to the Battlefield. And suddenly the God was gone.

  "He has got to teach us how to jump around like that." Bran sighed and looked around for the retreating Auralians. "I suppose we ought to go hear the Amma's reaction."

  "Should be interesting. Pity we can’t steal some horses and supplies and beat this lot to Fascia. I'm tired of cooking." Oscar looked wistfully back at General Rufi, but the General had a bottle of that wine, and the Auld Wulf knew where to find him. There was no point in scrambling down the canyon to speak to him.

  ***

  Ajha was still shaken, when the Info Team finally had the privacy to talk. "Pax is still opaque. But that fellow that popped out of nowhere . . . I've never heard of battle magic being used like that."

  "The widespread magic field, that was like being in Mekkah. Swimming in magical potential." Idlo paced. "I had no sense of something similar to the One though. It was like a million people focusing on the area, all at once, but no connection between any of them."

  Wink nodded. "And that . . . God of War . . . He held multiple shields, dealt easily with Edmo's probe."

  Egto looked bothered. "It looked as if he was teleporting around the battle field."

  Wink shook his head. "Not possible. You've been watching too many weird shows."

  "Have not. And I really miss them."

  "And then Pax backed off and ended the confrontation before we tested it any further." Ajha chewed a knuckle. "He didn't want us to find out too much."

  Egto brightened. "He didn't want us to know we were stronger than that War person. He didn't want us to work out the easiest way to defeat one of them."

  Ajha bit his lip. "Was that why? Or is Pax a coward, when it comes to blood, gore and actually risking his life?"

  Idre stopped and faced him. "That's an interesting possibility. Something we need to watch for, because a weakness like that is very exploitable." He huffed out a breath. "And now we need to hustle back to Fascia for the wedding. The treaty negotiations ought to go fast, after that."

  Ajha nodded. And maybe we can figure out how that God of War seemed to pop out of nowhere.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  14 Shaban 1363 / midsummer 1361 Local

  Empire of the One

  They reported back to the Priest once the wedding was over, and the Princess had daily contact with the Amma. And a good bit of control over him. Some the old fashioned kind, but touches of magical influence as well. Princesses of the One were trained to have a light touch, so no one would detect changes in the man's behavior. And in this rare case, so even the magically talented could not detect her manipulations.

  Treaty terms were quickly agreed upon. The Amma had been impressed by the demonstration the first trained troops had put on, and was eager to get his hands on enough modern weaponry to arm his entire army.

  After the Ambassador reported on the diplomatic advances, the Info team reported. Briefly, as the Priest already had their detailed written reports in hand.

  "In the six months we've been here, we've analyzed Auralia in depth. We have found a tiny background of low level magical power being used, But no sign of an organization that trains or even identifies people of ability. Apparently the few spells we saw used were handed down from mother to daughter like an heirloom. There was no theory being taught. So despite near universal belief in magic, we have not found anyone similar to Paxal Gold, other than our single distant glimpse of the purported 'God of War.' "

  "The native mythos is that there were thirteen Gods. Gold claims to be the God of Peace, and when questioned has said that a few of his fellow gods are still around, and that they avoid him. He says they are violent and over-emotional." Ajha paused for breath, not to actually look at his note pad.

  "We've certainly found it true of him, and the battle we observed, the so-called God of War was absolutely deadly. Of course he was fighting against other mounted swordsmen, not dealing with modern weaponry. Unfortunately we were not close enough, long enough, to pickup details of his magic usage. We need to keep studying Paxal Gold, and possibly track down some of the other so-called gods."

  Idre took over. "Looking at the other polities there, the four other nations are an interesting spread of governmental types. Two kingdoms, one with a ruling nobility, one with a partially elected Council. One is a full blown democracy. And a trading empire with the governmental power based on ship ownership that ossified sometime in the last few hundred years into a de facto aristocracy." Idre sniffed disparagingly. "Scoone, the democracy, has outlawed all magic. The Kingdom of the West is the home of the worship of Ba'al. Post Head Usse reports that magic in association with the Church is rare but present. We propose to quickly check Verona, so the military will have some idea of any magical defense, then we'll move to the Kingdom of the West for an in-depth study of the Church of Ba'al. We can, at the same time, check for infiltration from Earth into either of those two polities."

  One Ygti nodded. "A very succinct report, Information Team. I approve of your plan to check those two polities. I will be moving across to the Target next year, and will undertake to study this God of Peace myself."

  The Priest turned away from them. "Ambassador, the One has approved the agreement you have negotiated. The cadre of officers to train the Auralians in modern weapons and warfare will begin arriving inside a week. By the time they have the army up to speed we should know how much of a threat the Kingdom and these other gods are, and perhaps the Action Teams can deal with these native magicians before we begin our move to unite the world. I would prefer to put off a confrontation until we are a bit more comfortable in our relationship with the Amma, and deeper into the penetration of the Amma's bureaucracy."

  The Priest tapped a new page, and frowned. "The matter of the poor discipline shown by the Action Leader and her aide . . . Action Leader Kael has an excellent record, and retesting confirms that she has the complete double set of the Prophet's genes. Pregnancies, while rare, are not unheard of, and are usually a sign of ill health or long term use of some medications. So since her sexual activities were kept out of her own team, I think this will be treated as a medical matter."

  Idre and Egto had frozen in place. No glances were sent their direction. Kael must have declined to name her lover.

  The meeting broke up then, and the Information Team found themselves with ten days off before the next gate opening. Idre and Egto exchanged terrified stares. And then glares as Wink started grinning.

  "Don't say a thing
. Not a thing." Idre growled.

  Wink bit his knuckles, and almost got control of his expression.

  Egto looked around, a bit obviously. "Well, I think I'll pop home, see you in ten days."

  They split up immediately.

  Ajha called home, left a message with his mother's housekeeper program that he would arrive the next day, then booked an over-night ticket and went shopping. Showing up in foreign clothing wouldn't do. As it was he barely had time to make the suborbital. He changed clothing in flight, hogging the facilities long enough for a sparing sponge bath. He was tempted to get his hair cut between airport and home. But the style in Auralia was long.

  Black Point Holding was two hundred kilometers north of the port, a brief stop for the train that served the coast. The thirty-five prophets had, by and large, had many wives. Actually some variations of the Book claimed that ten of the thirty-five Prophets were women, but whatever the truth, their descendants now numbered nearly a billion, loosely organized into over three thousand clans. Black Point holding was one of the smaller clans, having married internally rather more than was probably wise. But they'd produced a large number of very powerful Withiones and Neartuones, high up in government. His own father . . . well, no chance he'd be here.

  Ajha headed uphill, through what amounted to a small town. Grocery store, run by Servaones that everyone pretended weren't relatives, medic center, a few art galleries, the hardware store, run by a cranky old Withione, bookstore, tack shop run by a retired world class rider, and on up into the residences. There were probably two thousand of the family that lived here full time, double that number who, like him, had a room stuffed with their possessions in some relative's home, and where they were, in theory, welcome to sleep when they were in town. The rest rented rooms at the hotels, camped or begged for crash space if they came to a family convention. Family . . .