‘Sound the retreat!’
‘We can still defeat them!’ cried General Renucci.
‘But not in time. And not without heavy casualties. Now, sound the retreat!’
General Renucci seemed about to protest again but he too could see that the collapse of the mage army had changed everything. The magi had gone from being a unit of great potential to a liability that had cost them the battle. Baring his teeth in frustration he ordered the signalmen to sound the retreat.
As the horn blasts echoed across the valley the emissary watched anxiously as the army struggled to check its momentum and fall back. Disengaging from battle was one of the most dangerous things an army could do but the soldiers of the Fourth were able to hold formation as they backed away.
Sensing weakness the Possessed rushed to follow them but the emissary used archers and sweeping cavalry charges to prevent them from closing and slowly a gap began to open up between the two forces. They had managed to avert disaster but they had lost the initiative and now there was no way they could prevent the two Possessed armies from joining up.
The truth was that they could probably defeat even this larger force but the cost would be too high. The emissary would need reinforcements if he was going to keep his army intact. As soon as they were out of the valley he would send a rider to Hoffen. And once the reinforcements arrived he would turn and fight again.
And as for the approaching demon, well... they could only hope that Nathalie returned in time.
*
Flying high over the forested valleys of Illicia, Nathalie winced as they felt it again, the soundless echoes of a soul in torment. After finding no sign of Wildegraf they had finally decided to give up the search and return to the emissary, and even now they would arrive later than they had planned. But there it was again, an overwhelming sense of agony that drew them back for one last look.
‘I don’t know,’ whispered Nathalie in response to the questioning thoughts of her dragon.
Ciel’s mind was filled with disturbing images of fear and terrible pain while to Nathalie’s mind it had sounded almost like a scream. Somebody somewhere was suffering. But this was not only the sound of a human in pain; a dragon was in anguish too.
‘Don’t worry, my love,’ breathed Nathalie. ‘Whoever it is, we’ll help them.’
Making a small adjustment to the direction of their flight the battle mage and her dragon flew on. They would free these souls from whatever torment they were enduring and then they would return to the emissary with all possible speed.
*
In contrast to General Renucci’s fury the emissary felt a distinct sense of pity towards Dagoran Sorn. It appeared that for all their impressive powers the magi had succumbed to the failings of normal men. In their fear and excitement they had unleashed all their power in one explosive outburst, just like any inexperienced soldier who expends all their energy in the first few minutes of battle.
‘And how long before you can use these offensive spells again?’ asked the emissary as they held a quick meeting around a field table laid out with maps.
‘Several hours of meditation are needed for a single attack,’ said Sorn. ‘But it takes weeks to build up the stores of energy required for a battle.’
General Renucci gave a snort of contempt and even the emissary could not contain his frustration.
‘Then I will not keep you from your preparations,’ he said in a clipped and censorious tone.
With a stiff bow Dagoran Sorn returned to the broken ranks of his army and the ravages of his own shattered ego.
They had finally succeeded in putting some distance between themselves and the enemy but the two Possessed armies had now joined up and they were being pursued by a force that was roughly the same size as their own.
‘We could still defeat them,’ said Captain Salien, a veteran of the war against the Possessed.
‘Yes, we could,’ said the emissary. ‘But we cannot afford to break the Fourth Army in the process. Another eight thousand troops from Hoffen will give us the advantage and reduce our casualties.’
‘But we have to destroy the Possessed army now before the demon arrives!’
‘And we will,’ said the emissary. ‘As soon as the reinforcements arrive from Hoffen.’
‘The reinforcements aren’t coming!’
They all turned as a travel weary scout came stumbling towards them, his face pale with the news he bore.
‘My Lord,’ said the scout, giving the emissary a hasty bow. ‘Marshal Vitrion sends his apologies. The garrison at Hoffen has been called away to prevent an incursion to the north. It will be more than a week before they can come to our aid.’
The emissary closed his eyes while the other commanders all began to speak at once.
‘We must retreat to the city.’
‘Are you mad?’ said General Renucci. ‘We can’t lead a demon army to a city without a battle mage. Walls alone won’t keep it out!’
‘Then we have no choice but to attack the Possessed before the demon arrives!’
‘And lose half the army!’
‘At least we’d keep them from joining with the demon. Better a demon with a handful of troops than a demon with an army of twenty thousand.’
As the officers continued to wrangle, the emissary looked down at the map. General Renucci was right. They could not lead a demon army to an unprotected city. Somehow they needed to lead the Possessed away from Hoffen and give Nathalie time to return. He was still confident that she would get back to them but if she did not then the city of Hoffen and this whole area could be lost.
No. There had to be another way.
The emissary’s finger began to trace a line on the map, a line that followed a new valley leading away from Hoffen, a valley that led in the direction of Le Matres. Suddenly a thought occurred to him that might just give them a chance. The officers ceased their heated debates as the emissary turned to one of the dispatch riders waiting nearby.
‘Ride to Le Matres,’ he said. ‘There you will find a garrison of three thousand plus the cadet army from the Academy of War.’ He ignored the gasps of disbelief from several of his officers.
Were they now expecting cadets to fight with them?
‘Tell them to ride out immediately and to meet us in this valley, somewhere here.’ The emissary tapped an area on the map with his finger. ‘And tell them to bring Falco Danté.’
‘Danté!’ exclaimed General Renucci and the other officers looked at them uncertainly.
‘He’s strong,’ said the emissary. ‘Stronger than he looks.’
‘But he’s not fully trained!’ said General Renucci.
‘No,’ said the emissary. ‘But if the demon reaches us before we can destroy the Possessed then he might just give us a chance.’
59
Daston
In Le Matres the supplies were distributed, the bridge work had begun and a census was being drawn up of the refugees they would be escorting back to Wrath. While the cadets were busy with the practicalities Falco spent some final time with Meredith. So far the communication experiment had proven to be a success but the master of Le Matres’ mage tower seemed reluctant to grant Meredith an audience.
‘They’re feeling a little put out,’ he explained. ‘They don’t appreciate an upstart like me telling them how things could be improved.’
Falco smiled in sympathy. Meredith was clearly pleased at his achievement but he also looked drained by the effort.
‘I take it you’ll return to Wrath once you convince them.’
Meredith nodded. ‘It’ll take a few days to teach them how to transfer the awareness. And I have some research to carry out while I’m here. But yes. I will be returning to Wrath.’
‘Good,’ said Falco. ‘I’ll be needing your help when we get back.’
Meredith looked at him but said nothing. He knew Falco was thinking about the Rite of Assay, but like Aurelian, Meredith knew he was not ready.
‘Are you goi
ng to see Fossetta?’
‘We’re not even sure if she’ll be there,’ said Falco. ‘But Daston’s only about twenty miles away so we’re certainly going to try.’
Meredith gave a slow nod. He wondered what it must be like to have people you cared about like that.
Falco and Malaki were going to head off in the morning but Bryna could not leave just now. A number of fights had broken out between the Dalwhinnies and members of the local militia. It seemed that Bryna’s men now objected to being labelled as poachers and cutpurses.
In the grey light of the following morning she stood by and watched as Falco and Malaki saddled their horses.
‘I’ll try to come over in a day or two,’ she said. ‘Just as soon as I can convince Patrick Feckler that beating up the locals is not the best way to convince people of one’s honour.’
They all laughed and Malaki gave Bryna a long lingering kiss.
‘Take care,’ she told them.
‘You too,’ said Malaki and with that they set off into the misty drizzle that clung to the surrounding hills like smoke.
The path took them along an old drover’s road that wound between the hills and it was late afternoon when they finally arrived in the forest town of Daston. The inhabitants eyed them warily as they followed the main road into the centre. The people of Daston were used to strangers moving through the town. Most were fearful refugees fleeing from the advance of the Possessed, but not these two young warriors. There was nothing fearful about them.
A gaggle of children began to follow them until they stopped to water their horses outside a blacksmith’s forge.
‘That’s a handsome beast you have there, my Lord,’ said the smith, wiping his hands on a rag as he emerged from the forge.
‘That he is,’ said Malaki, patting Fidelis’s neck. ‘But I’m not a lord, only a knight in training.’
The smith gave Malaki a discerning look that seemed to say, ‘If you say so.’
‘Can I be of service?’ he asked casting a similarly appraising gaze over Falco.
‘We’re looking for a friend of ours,’ said Falco. ‘A woman by the name of Fossetta Pieroni. We understand the mayor might know a way of reaching her.’
‘Aye, he might,’ said the smith. ‘But so do I.’ He took a few steps into the street and nodded down the road towards a large building that had the appearance of an inn. ‘Mesdames Pieroni and Asclepios are guests at The Oak Leaf.’
Falco’s heart was suddenly racing. For some bizarre reason he felt nervous.
‘But you’ll not find them there just now’’ said the smith. ‘They’ll be back later,’ he added, noticing the disappointment on Falco’s face. ‘They’re away up the valley visiting Old Dame Casta.’
Falco’s face lifted. He had hardly dared to believe that Fossetta would actually be here.
‘And young Master Merryweather is with them too,’ said the smith, clearly pleased at being able to offer good news. ‘They’ll be back before sundown.’ His expression darkened. ‘Not wise to stay out beyond sundown.’
‘Thank you,’ said Falco.
‘You’re welcome,’ said the smith. ‘It’s been good to have a proper healer in town.’ He stepped aside as they drew their horses back from the water trough. ‘You can wait for them in The Leaf, if you like. Madame Beaujon won’t mind. Get yourself something to eat and a bed too, if you’ve a mind.’
With another word of thanks they took their leave and made their way down the road to the inn. The Oak Leaf was a large two storey building which had the look of a fine establishment that had recently fallen on hard times. Leaving their horses in the care of a young stable hand, Falco and Malaki ducked under the low frame of the inn’s front door. The interior of The Oak Leaf was surprisingly homely with just a few patrons who stopped talking as the armed youngsters approached.
‘Can I help you?’ asked a stout woman behind the bar who they took to be Madam Beaujon.
‘We understand Fossetta Pieroni is boarding here,’ said Falco. ‘We’d like to wait for her, if that’s all right.’
‘Friends of hers are you?’
Falco nodded. ‘Do you know when she might be back?’
‘Shouldn’t be late,’ said Madam Beaujon, rinsing her hands in a stone basin before stepping out from behind the bar to greet them. ‘Valentians, eh?’ This was more of a statement than a question. ‘Come through to the courtyard and we’ll get you some food.’ She ushered them through to an open courtyard laid out with tables and chairs. ‘You’d not be from Caer Dour, would you?’ she asked.
‘Yes, we are,’ said Falco and there was a knowing look in the landlady’s eyes.
An elderly man appeared through a doorway and began crossing the courtyard with a slow arthritic gait.
‘Albert,’ said Madam Beaujon, and the elderly man teetered to a stop. ‘Would you mind fetching some food for our guests?’
‘I suppose so,’ said the man, without so much as turning his head.
‘And some wine too...’
‘If I have to,’ he drawled in the tone of a long suffering servant.
Madam Beaujon made no apology for his lacklustre service. Indeed the smile on her lips conveyed a distinct fondness for the old man. Clearly resisting the temptation to ply her new guests with questions she took her leave and returned to the bar.
It was some time before Albert reappeared, and it took a further two trips before they were both provided with wine and food. Replete and rested they sat back in their chairs.
‘What are we going to do now?’ asked Malaki. ‘We could take a walk round the town.’
‘Think I’ll just wait here,’ said Falco.
There was no way he was going to leave, not when Fossetta could appear at any time. Malaki simply shrugged his shoulders, shifted down into his chair and within the space of a minute he was asleep.
60
Defiants
Ciel spotted it first. A strange mass of green and black near some cliffs at the edge of a steep escarpment. It was from here that the sense of torment was emanating. Knowing that something truly horrible had happened they circled the area at a great height before slowly beginning their descent. As they came lower Ciel’s sharper eyes began to pick out the details.
‘Oh my heart!’ gasped Nathalie as she realised that the green mass was a dragon and the black shadow splashed across it was blood.
‘Wildegraf!’ she choked as she finally recognised the body of the Illician battle mage sprawled, no, stretched across the body of his dragon.
Ciel’s landing was decidedly shaky as the full impact of what they were seeing dawned upon them. Someone, or something, had mutilated and then ‘displayed’ the bodies of Wildegraf and his dragon Berylian. The dragon had been pinned to the rock by Wildegraf’s sword. Its body was contorted and bent and somehow secured to Wildegraf’s wrists and ankles, stretching his body as savagely as any torturer’s rack. The battle mage’s armour lay strewn across the ground and one of Berylian’s horns protruded from the bloody flesh of his belly.
Whatever foul sadistic fiend had done this had turned each of them into an instrument of torment for the other.
Looking round for any sign of danger, Nathalie slipped from Ciel’s back, arming her shield and drawing her sword as she did so. Whatever had done this might still be in the area. Ciel knew this too and the dragon scented the air warily as they slowly advanced.
Nathalie could not believe that either Wildegraf or Berylian were still alive but this was one of the unholy powers of the Possessed, to keep someone alive beyond the limits of normal suffering. They could see that great ribbons of Berylian’s skin had been peeled from the dragon’s flesh and used as bindings to tie the battle mage’s wrists and ankles. Both of Wildegraf’s shoulders were dislocated, the joints misshapen and discoloured by bruising. The left side of his face was a mass of scabs and the blood that seeped from the puncture wound in his abdomen was black. It ran like oil down the pale skin of his torso.
It was a
sickening truth that Nathalie had seen torture like this before, but never against a battle mage, never against a dragon. Only a demon of great power could have done such a thing.
She knew there was nothing they could do to save them. All they could do was end their suffering and bring them some peace. While Ciel kept watch for any sign of danger Nathalie sheathed her sword and reached out her hand to release the two great souls from torment.
*
Through a thin veil of ethereal rock the Slayer watched as the Defiant came closer to the cliffs, drawn to help her fallen comrade by the weakness of compassion. So arrogant, so easy to manipulate. It was almost a disappointment to have caught her so easily. Just a few more steps and he would kill her with a single blow.
*
Wildegraf’s mind was filled with pain and it was all he could do not to give in to the screaming sense of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. But then he felt a presence descending towards him. It was a presence of strength that gave him hope. At first he thought it was just a dream or a trick of his tormented mind, but then he recognised the aura of a kindred soul... two souls, one human, one dragon, descending towards them with love and compassion flowing from their hearts.
He almost wept with the joy of it, but then he remembered the Slayer lurking nearby, waiting for them to walk into the jaws of its trap. He sensed the demon’s anticipation as his fellow souls came closer, landing a short distance away and approaching with caution. The Slayer was hidden, they would not see it! Taken by surprise they would suffer the same fate as he.
‘Go back!’ thought Wildegraf, struggling to bring the words to his dry and broken lips. The frustration of not being able to warn them was worse than all the pain and a single tear ran from the corner of his eye.
‘Go back!’
*
‘Closer!’ thought the Slayer, gripping its blades. ‘Just a little closer.’
Battle Mage Page 50