Landmoor

by Jeff Wheeler

  The lean woodsman nodded and stepped forward. “The Iron Point Road is well-traveled and clear. Not many rough spots until we reach the Shoreland swamps. This half of the forest is dry and flat, but the southern half is jagged and wet. That’s where it will be difficult, but it will also help us dodge the regiment and Kiran Thall. It will take at least two, maybe three days to cross the Shadows Wood. It’s thicker to the east and west – that’s why they cut a road here. Wide enough for an army to march. Jaerod asked me to scout ahead, to warn us of ambushes and approaching horsemen. Sturnin Goff will take the front, then Justin and Ticastasy. Flent will linger in the back, and Thealos, I want you to bring up the rear. You will help keep anything from sneaking up behind us. I always want a bowman in the front and the rear.” He put his hands on his hips. “Good enough?”

  “You are one of the best,” Jaerod complimented. “Take the lead, Allavin.”

  Allavin smiled and went off ahead of them. His lean body had a long stride and puffs of dust came up from his boots. He moved quickly, in the Silvan stepwalking pattern.

  A few moments later, Jaerod led them down a short embankment in the trees and onto the road. The Sleepwalker walked ahead of the rest. Thealos watched Ticastasy’s hair bounce and Flent rub his ale-bleary eyes. Justin hugged his rustling robes. Sturnin looked menacing in his splotched armor, and Thealos was glad to have him in front.

  Huge trees stretched their shadows across the Iron Point Road. A blanket of low-hanging clouds wore away by mid-morning, and only then the sun touched the road. The noontide sun bathed them with light for only a quarter-hour before the other wall of vine maple and cedar obstructed it. The Shadows Wood smelled of dust and cottonthistle, and there was scarcely a breeze. The road had been cleared of dense scrub and pine — just wide enough to permit wagons and travelers. Clumps of witch-thorn and wildflowers choked the sides of the road.

  Thealos was lost in his thoughts as he walked. He remembered what Jaerod had told them that morning if the Sorian decided to confront them. Leave that to me. Thealos was impressed with his confidence, the way he accepted the danger and determined to face it anyway. Sleepwalkers had been killed by Sorian. Jaerod had intimated that much. But was this Sorian good enough to kill Jaerod? Thealos swore under his breath. He hoped to Keasorn not. In his mind, he remembered his last night in Avisahn when Nordain demanded that he choose a calling. Thealos now knew what he wanted most. He wanted to be a Sleepwalker. He wanted it more than anything. The benefit he could be to the Shae – and especially to Laisha Silverborne as she assumed the throne when her father died. A Sleepwalker could go anywhere and not be seen – could face down Crimson Wolfsmen without weapons. Jaerod had scattered a group of Kiran Thall – nearly alone. It was Sturnin who had insisted on fighting alongside him. And hadn’t Jaerod gone to Avisahn looking for someone like Thealos? Hadn’t he said that they were more alike than Thealos realized?

  He stared down the road at the Sleepwalker, amazed that he left no trail of bootprints to follow.

  XXV

  Dujahn of the Gray Legion took a quick gulp from his cup of lukewarm ale. He set it down and rubbed his bloodshot eyes, listening to Hallstoy tear into him again. It was the middle of another sweltering night, and he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep the previous evening.

  “You tell that banned woman I want her out of my camp!” Hallstoy bellowed. “Sorian or not, she’s caused enough problems. Tsyrke will be here in another day or two, and another Sorian with him! If that bleeding harlot is still here by then, she’ll rue it for sure. Do I make myself clear, Dujahn?”

  Dujahn looked up at the Bandit colonel. “If you’re too afraid to say it, I can tell her whatever you wish, Hallstoy. But she will leave when she is ready. Not before.”

  “The men were just fine until she came. Now every other man has the gut-sickness and a bout of tide fever is hitting us!”

  “You’re camped in the middle of a swamp!” Dujahn said, exasperated. “Of course there is going to be tide fever!”

  “We were here before she arrived,” Hallstoy said. “And we have all the tobac and juttleberry to handle a campaign. But now half the army is sick and in need of a healer. The whole banned Zerite cult couldn’t cure all of us! You’re a blind half-wit if you don’t believe she’s done this. I want her out of my camp.”

  “Tell her yourself.”

  They glared at each other. Dujahn watched fear and anger battle across the colonel’s face. He didn’t care. If he never set foot in the Shadows Wood again, he’d consider his life blessed. His voice was low so that the other duty officers wouldn’t hear. “You’re afraid of her, colonel. That’s healthy. There are worse things than gut-sickness.”

  Hallstoy’s expression went flat. “Get out of my tent.”

  “Gladly,” Dujahn replied. He pushed away from the table and started for the opening of the tent door when shouts of alarm rose up in the camp.

  “Sweet hate, what now?” Hallstoy said.

  Dujahn opened the flap and was nearly knocked over by a Kiran Thall barging in. “Colonel! We’re under attack!”

  Dujahn blinked with surprise. “What did you say?”

  A horn blurted in the darkness, several long heavy blats that caused a collective groan from the mass of writhing men. Yells and shrieks from the camp spurted up all around.

  “The pickets were breached,” the Kiran Thall gasped. “A dozen dead already. Some say the knights of Owen Draw – others claim they’ve seen the Shae. Half of the dead are from arrow wounds, Colonel. They’re moving through the camp too quickly. Must be Crimson Wolfsmen – it’s the only thing that makes sense!”

  Dujahn staggered outside, watching the mass of teeming soldiers coming awake in the middle of a midnight raid. His heart slammed against his ribs, catching fire with the smell of smoke and fear in the air. The soldiers were panicking. If Hallstoy didn’t quell it, they’d start attacking each other before long.

  “Colonel!” Dujahn said, turning back into the tent. “It’s a small force. Less than a dozen, no doubt. Maybe Wolfsmen, maybe they want us to think that. They’re going to hit the south pickets. Send your forces there – quickly!”

  “How do you know?”

  “This is my profession, you fool,” Dujahn snapped, rushing from the tent to warn Miestri.

  * * *

  Thealos had never felt so afraid in his life. Forbidden magic. Everywhere. The smell of it was thick and putrid in his nose, overwhelming in its intensity. The stain of it was throughout the Bandit camp, laced in the mud and cinders and groaning coughs of the sick. He felt its effects leeching the life out of the camp. As they had entered the army, the men were stronger. But near the center of the Shoreland regiment, the presence of true Firekin was thicker than the mud clinging at his boots.

  He was amazed that no one had challenged them yet. Maybe it was the stinging smoke from hundreds of campfires. Maybe it was sleep and ale. Getting past the Kiran Thall at the perimeter was almost too easy. Jaerod had taken Allavin along with him, and both had returned moments later, beckoning them on in silence. Thealos had never felt so much tension in his life. At any moment, someone would call out in warning and the chase would be on. Waiting for that moment was agonizing. Thus far, Jaerod’s plan had been flawless. They walked quietly through the camp, stepping around the sleeping soldiers and steering wide of the command pavilions in the center. Jaerod had been through the camp himself and picked out the path he had chosen earlier.

  “Who in blazes…?” a voice rang out before an arrow whistled and dropped the man with a grunt. Allavin had another arrow ready instantly.

  “Over there! Do you see them? Intruders!”

  “Run!” Jaerod ordered, and the chase began. Arrows lanced out at the soldiers who had spotted them, but the alarm had been raised at last. As a group, they started a quick jog together. The Sleepwalker’s advice burned in his memory. Create chaos and confusion in the darkness. The Bandits would start fighting themselves. Thealos turned and shot an arro
w into a smoldering firepit as he had with Tannon’s band. A shower of sparks erupted, causing curses and shrieks from the soldiers sleeping nearby.

  “Right flank! Thealos!” Allavin shouted out, dropping another soldier with an arrow to the man’s throat.

  “Got them!” Thealos shouted, swallowing to keep from vomiting. He gripped the riser of his hunting bow and drew another bodkin arrow back, sighting a Bandit commander’s mail shirt before letting it fly. He reached for another arrow and dropped the other soldier with a solid shot to the leg. The man stumbled and cursed, grabbing the shaft that crippled him.

  “You Shaden rook!” a Bandit yelled from behind him, and Thealos whirled, using the bow to block the sword thrust. Before he could grab at his blade, Thealos watched Flent score the man across the back, sending him crashing into the churn of Shoreland mud. The Drugaen nodded for him to follow, and Thealos pressed behind him into the camp.

  The alarm went up like wildfire as they ran. All around them, the soldiers were waking, emerging from tents and hurrying to fix their hauberks in place. It was madness. And if that wasn’t enough, the reek of Forbidden magic was so strong he could barely think.

  Sturnin Goff and Jaerod cleared the path ahead, their blades scything through the Bandit sentries who opposed them. Allavin held back with Justin and ‘Stasy, keeping a steady rain of arrows on whoever charged at their flanks.

  Thealos gasped, staring at the dead Kiran Thall sprawled in the wake of the Sleepwalker and the knight. Command pavilions came alight with lanterns and torch-fire. Thealos wanted to look everywhere at once, but he couldn’t. His courage wilted under the danger, and he felt like dropping his bow and sprinting with all his might.

  “Come on,” Flent said, tugging at Thealos’ arm to keep him from losing the rest of the group. The Drugaen’s face dripped with sweat. His hazel eyes narrowed as another rush of Bandits came at their rear. Swinging the axe up, he prepared for the fight.

  Thealos felt a prickle of Earth magic just before the ground turned into a stinking black morass and trapped the attackers. The Bandits let out startled yelps and sunk into it, and they were soon covered in black, tarry mud. Thealos glanced over his shoulder and saw Justin looking at the Bandits, his thin arms lowering.

  “Quickly!” the Warder said, waving them after him. Naked fear blazed in his eyes.

  Thealos and Flent caught up with the group. Thealos breathed the humid air in gulps, trying to quell the fear and nausea in his stomach. He had never witnessed the carnage of a battle before. The blood-spattered wretches writhing in the mud didn’t hint at the glory and honor that had always been his perception of war. And he had never felt so abandoned or so alone, so at odds with the peace and tranquility of Avisahn. In all the hard business dealings in Dos-Aralon, he had felt the absence of the Earth magic. The din of commotion always muted it. But the depressing blackness of thought and feeling that suffocated him was a hundredfold worse than anything he had experienced. Even the bitterness of the Krag they had faced was nothing compared to this. No, the Forbidden magic being used in the army was anathema to any Shae. And the wielder of that magic knew he was there — silent, thoughtful, and fully aware of his presence. A shiver of comfort ran through him, and he turned to see Jaerod behind him.

  “We’re almost through,” Jaerod said, and the words brought Thealos back from the cliff of his fears. He could feel the man’s presence tingling on the back of his neck. The Sleepwalker had doubled back, leaving Sturnin alone in front. Thealos glanced at each side of the camp, watching the trembling masses of men rise from their bedrolls, struggling to overcome the lethargy of sleep. They were too slow, too sick and disorganized to stop them. Jaerod’s voice pitched low by his ear. “If we’re separated, go on to Landmoor. Let nothing stop you.”

  In the bowels of the camp, Thealos felt a presence stir – a whisper of magic that stung his nose and brought tears to his eyes. His knees buckled. He stopped and stared, blinking quickly, and tried to steady himself. The presence was unmistakable and chilling. Squinting in the darkness, he saw a single pavilion, separated from the rest. Thealos went cold to the bone.

  “Keep moving!” the Sleepwalker said, rallying the group around him. “Close together now.”

  Thealos stood paralyzed.

  “Come on, Thealos,” Jaerod urged. “It is only fear. I will protect you.”

  “The Sorian,” Thealos stammered, all blackness and chills.

  “Yes, the Sorian. The magic in Landmoor can stop this. Remember.”

  He listened to the Sleepwalker’s voice and grasped onto his words. Fighting down the panic, he gripped his own blade’s pommel for reassurance and followed Jaerod into the last row of pickets. Dead soldiers littered the ground.

  “What now, Sleepwalker?” Sturnin demanded, mopping the sweat from his forehead. His mail shirt was cut in several places, showing glistening snags of chain. He had several nasty wounds. The breastplate was smeared in blood, giving the knight a menacing look in the dim light.

  Allavin clutched an injury on his side and scanned the treeline. “Kiran Thall are roaming on the south bend. Ambushes everywhere. We should leave the road and strike into the woods. I can get us south around them. The road will be too dangerous now with their horsemen.”

  Jaerod nodded. “The Kiran Thall will follow us into the woods. Lead the way, Allavin.”

  Thealos felt a whisper of death in the air and froze again. He smelled the Forbidden magic even stronger. Justin shoved up his sleeves, revealing thin arms prickling with gooseflesh. The Warder Shae was as tense as a bowstring.

  “It’s here,” Justin whispered with dread.

  Out of the darkness of the wood before them came a shape sharing the colors of the night. Soft velvety robes swished and moved apart, revealing a woman holding a glowing orange orb. Her eyes were depthless and black and sent shoots of fright down to Thealos’ toes. He couldn’t breathe.

  “Get behind me,” Jaerod warned, moving before the band to face her. His tapered blade was up defensively, gleaming with a cool white light. He jerked his head to Allavin. “Take them, now!”

  “Go!” Allavin barked, jerking Ticastasy by the arm and breaking off away from the main road and the two combatants. The Sorian and the Sleepwalker faced off in the reddish light of her orb.

  For a moment, Thealos panicked. He didn’t want to leave Jaerod alone, yet he felt helpless where he was.

  Justin did not.

  The Warder Shae stretched out his long thin arms and sent a blast of Earth magic at the woman. Thealos inhaled the acrid smell of flame and cinders that brushed against his face as the light exploded on them. Heat and flames licked at her robes, but the orb flickered once and the fire guttered out, leaving nothing but haze.

  “Go, Warder!” Jaerod said, advancing on her. “She is more than your match.”

  Justin’s body tensed as he stared with hate at the Sorian. She stood still, studying Jaerod with an impish smile on her mouth. She wasn’t interested in the Shae at all.

  “Welcome to the Shoreland, Sleepwalker,” she said in a teasing voice. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back.”

  Thealos covered his eyes as scarlet flames jumped from the orb and rushed at Jaerod in a blast.

  Again Justin intervened, bringing up his arms and sending a jolt of blue lightning at her. With a casual pass of her hand, the jagged arc deflected away, slamming into a huge cedar with a shattering crunch of splintered wood and ash.

  “Go!” Jaerod yelled, swinging his tapered blade and slicing through the red curtains of flame. The polished edge cut through the magic, absorbing its heat and rush.

  Thealos grabbed Justin’s arm and pulled him away, darting into the forest after the others. The Shadows Wood swallowed them in its blackness, and Thealos had to slow down as the branches cut his face and hands. He cursed under his breath, struggling through juniper bushes and over mossy slopes. Justin lagged behind, panting for breath. The Warder Shae’s robes were stained with mud and his eyes glitt
ered with emotion.

  “She is a Sorian,” Justin huffed, pausing against the slope of a tree. “And the Sleepwalker will die.”

  “Don’t say that!” Thealos gasped. “Jaerod knows how to protect himself.”

  Justin shook his head. “Sorians are immortal. She cannot die.”

  The feeling in Thealos’ stomach deepened. He looked back the way they had come. The forest was dark, but the light from the Bandit camp was getting brighter. Already the sounds of pursuit could be heard. Their sprint had taken them far from Jaerod and the Sorian, but they had also lost the others in the darkness of the woods. He didn’t have Flent’s Drugaen vision to see well enough in the night. He rubbed his mouth, listening to the sound of the Kiran Thall whistles getting closer.

  “Go with me to Avisahn,” Justin said and then coughed. “We cannot face her without the Heir.”

  “And what about the others?” Thealos said, praying that Jaerod would emerge from the trees, following them. He clenched his fist. Don’t leave me alone to do this, Jaerod. I need you!

  “There is nothing they can do,” Justin replied. “There is nothing any of us can do. We must go to Avisahn and warn the Heir. That is our duty. The duty we owe our people.”

  Thealos shook his head. “I don’t believe that. Jaerod knew…”

  “What could he know?” the Warder whispered. “He said it himself – they have fought and died against the Sorian. We need the Red Warriors here. We need the Silvan army. For the love of Shenalle, Thealos, you must believe in the Shae! If we die here, who will carry word of our failure?”

  From the Bandit camp, a blinding white streak of lightning lit the night. Thunder shook the trees and dropped them both to the ground. The force of it caused dry needles to rain down throughout the woods.