by P. S. Power
They rode at a decent pace, without tiring the horses. Anders simply moved to them, got his bow out and ready and used three spelled arrows to take fifteen of the things. They weren’t huge, so, even if it was difficult, he caused them to float behind them as they rode back. They bled them first, but as soon as he got in, he passed them off to the army cooks.
“To feed the prisoners, so it won’t take away from the food for the troops.” It wasn’t enough for a long time, but he offered to freeze it for them, if they could have it ready before he had to leave, heading to the next camp.
One of the cooks made a sign of the evil eye against him, which did nothing at all. There was no magical talent behind it at all. Just a hand gesture.
He saw it and simply rolled his eyes.
“Don’t be foolish.” He left then, dropping the meat on the ground. Sir Clemence simply followed along. He hadn’t spoken much that day, until they were nearly back to the tents, after letting the horses go free in the large pen, with their saddles on, since they were leaving soon, if all went to plan.
When he spoke, the other man sounded... Pleasant.
“It’s a problem the weak of the world have when they realize that those around them aren’t as they are. Four strong men with swords came at you and died. You didn’t even wave a weapon at them. Word has likely spread on that part. Being feared isn’t a great thing, but it can be a useful one. Now, we need to get things packed and ready. We leave at mid-day. The journey isn’t a far one, but we won’t want to leave anything.”
Anders nodded, then spoke, his voice low.
“Sorry. I’m not trying to seem...” He waved a hand. “You know, I don’t know what I might seem like at all. Sad and confused?” He was making light of himself, but the other man chuckled and shook his head.
“No, Anders. Not at all. You seem determined and strong. I know that I wouldn’t want to cross you on something you actually care about, at least. Let’s get our gear, animals and your wagon and cart ready. We need to wait on the Princes, or we’ll all look bad.” He smiled then, and moved inside the tent to get his things.
Anders nodded, to himself and hurried to see to his own things, as well.
In the end, they were waiting on Prince Robarts, so that part worked out, well enough.
Chapter twelve
“Well, gentlemen, I think we might be about finished here.” There was a certain air of relaxed calm to the older man’s words, given the situation below them.
Anders had spent the day before at a slight remove from the third General he was supposed to have met with. Close enough to get a feel for the man and his command staff, but not so much that he was, as people had suggested, under-foot. Frankly, the man had been a bit rude and dismissive to Anders the whole time, even if he was capable of polite behavior, over all. He managed well enough with the knights and of course was positively genteel when it came to either of the Princes.
He kept referring to Anders as boy, however, even after an introduction had been made and it was clear that his role as messenger was a bit more inclusive than simply handing letters over, with a bow. For his part, Anders didn’t really care. Part of his mind kept dwelling on the people who he’d killed a few weeks before. Not only in battle, but the men that he’d dispatched in the trial by combat.
That portion of things, the fallout of it, was interesting, at least. General Coelder, who had proclaimed the need for the fight in the first place, seemingly without hesitation, had been wracked with conflicting emotions about the whole thing. On the one hand, armies weren’t supposed to allow rape of enemy soldiers and knights, if they were taken in battle. Everyone did though, when it came down to it.
Most of the time they simply looked the other way, when it happened.
That Brolly had been there complicated things. He’d negotiated terms of surrender, and the military had, after a fashion, breached that. His conflict wasn’t in that he’d allowed Anders to handle things, but rather that he thought he might have been safer if he’d killed the four men himself. If King Mathias decided that the boy represented him there, which was obviously the case, then Coelder might well find himself out of a job, or worse, hanging from a gallows, for the crime of allowing his men to take such an action.
The only grace, according to the man’s thoughts, had been that Master Brolly had handled the four soldiers so incredibly well. Making it seem less like a trick to murder the boy, in an attempt to cover up the situation than it might have if it had been a hard-won battle.
That part had shocked Anders a bit, when he’d realized what the man had planned at the time. He’d thought that Anders, being a boy, would be hacked to pieces in a real battle against that many trained fighters. Most users of magic required a lot of time to prepare themselves for a fight, if they could at all.
In short, the man had, in that moment, tried to kill him, to keep his own neck on his shoulders. A thing that wasn’t likely to happen, if Anders had died, of course. The move had been a poor one, ill thought out and in the end, thankfully, not needed.
At least so far no one had gone to him and demanded he answer for his actions. That would happen, of course. Eventually.
This other man wasn’t half as caring or concerned about the little boy who was there, for some reason. In fact, he rather ignored him, with a high level of focus on the other things in his world. Given there was a battle on and had been for over a day, that made some sense, even if it felt a tiny bit pointed, since he was the only person getting that kind of treatment. Even other messengers were given a nod or a wave at times.
On the good side, that left him plenty of time to get a feel for the fellow, General Topher Nest, and his main command staff. Sitting on the ground, which was much drier, being further north than the other two camps had been, he worked out the needed affinity to make contact with the unpleasant man and his team. They, in the main, seemed to be in the same mold, except for one single Captain who had given him a nod when Anders had handed out cups of clean water, a few times.
The latest news had hit hard, since there were two things going on, it seemed. Reading from a letter that had been handed to him, the General, who was old, fat and rather worn looking, turned to Prince Robarts.
“We need to get you and your people out of here, if we can. A force of at least forty thousand men is marching toward us on the right, which will trap us in place. We don’t have time to move everyone out, but a small group of fast riders could, possibly, make it. On top of that, here, in the center of the line...” The man moved to a low wooden table, which had the command maps on it, with small metal figures to represent the various forces being arrayed, the General put a new one on, which was very nicely done. It showed men with swords, who were screaming and seemed less than perfectly arrayed in lines.
He tapped the top of the new figure, showing where he meant, once it was in place. His weathered fingers shook a bit, even if he was calm, otherwise.
“Here in the front line, hundreds of fallen soldiers from the other side have risen and are refusing to fall in battle a second time. They don’t fight well, but we can’t stop them. Those two things, as well as our backs being to this small mountain, mean that we can’t win.”
There was tension from the men around him, but Anders simply closed his eyes and checked the information, using his wizard talents. Having seen the map it was ridiculously easy to gain more information about what was going on. This time, instead of holding his tongue, as he’d been instructed, he spoke. Gently. In a trance.
“The dead there are being animated using a complicated blood magic spell. The caster, a necromancer, is a woman called... Derna Lossen. She’s wearing a headdress of horns and has all black robes. Around her neck, in gold and blood, is the talisman that the spell is attached to. It won’t be enough to simply kill her, since the power is coming from those wounded and fallen in battle. The spell must be removed from the metal. Fire will do it. That or cleaving the thing in two.” If anyone spoke to him, Anders couldn
’t hear it. “The men coming in are fresh, except for a forced march starting earlier today.
Their commander is planning to focus them on our right flank and to eat away at our forces there, knowing they are already exhausted from the fighting that has gone on already. Once that’s done, they’ll simply move down the line, squeezing us between the men we have already battled and the illusion that is about to be cast.”
He let his eyes open slowly, and looked at Prince Erold, as if he’d been speaking to him, personally.
“Our friend from the other week. Deruda. Illusion, unlike the dead fighters. Those are quite real. Do you want me to take care of this?”
Anders meant in that he could get a chant going when the time came, that should show that they weren’t fooled by mere light shows, no matter how well performed they were, but Prince Erold nodded at him.
“I think it’s time, Anders. General, which of these issues do you wish us to handle first? The undying fighters are already here. The others will be some moments, I suspect?”
Anders closed his eyes again, and checked their progress before answering.
“Three hours? Enough time, I think, if all goes well.”
When his eyes opened, the General and most of his men were still ignoring him, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. That didn’t go for the Prince, of course, who commanded total attention.
The General shook his head.
“What is this messenger boy going to do? Take in our papers of surrender? I... Suppose, though I can’t like it.” The man seemed honestly baffled by the idea, instead of mocking him.
Anders shook his head.
“Not yet. I was thinking I’d send a different message first, if I have your leave?”
The man, who looked away from him again, spoke, as if to no one.
“Do what you may, I suppose. We’re all dead anyway, so why not?”
Anders looked at him and shook his head.
“We aren’t dead yet. I’ll be back shortly, I think.” He had Brownie tied to a tree, by the other horses, not too far away. Chestnut was back at the camp, about five miles away. The position they were in had been picked to make it harder to come around the back at them, but that had been when the forces were fairly even in numbers.
Another forty thousand, especially in fresh troops, would be a lot to face, after a full day and night of fighting. Not that much actual combat took place in the dark. No one could see, so they’d pulled back, waiting until first light came. Anders strung his bow and placed large, rather powerful, spells on ten of his arrows. They weren’t that sensitive, so jostling or even dropping them probably wouldn’t kill him. Fired at a distance though, the things would try to rip the world apart.
He just hoped he didn’t have to use too many of them. He’d gotten to rest, magically, save for some small spells, such as summoning water from the air, or cleaning himself after a night of restless watching. He’d eaten, but only the remains of the cheese he’d brought and some hard bread, made in the last days. It was stale, but still better than nothing or the hard crackers that were all he would have left for the trip home, as far as grain-based products went.
Anders was halfway to the front line of the battle when he realized that Erold was beside him. The Prince had his full plate on, which offered better protection than what Anders had, but it also made him conspicuous.
As strange as it had to seem, Anders rode with his eyes closed for a few moments, then pointed with his left hand, his fingers closed.
“There. About the same distance back on the other side that we are. Our friend, the necromancer. I think she has to touch the dead to imbue them with life again. Here, let me see if I can distract her.”
He did that by getting down from his horse and firing a single arrow in the right general direction. The blast from it was powerful, but other than a rain of body parts and dirt, their side didn’t seem too affected by it. Except Anders, who had to sit down, since the world went black on him, suddenly.
When he managed to stand again, some moments later, there was a soft cheer from the line. That got louder as the men wounded unto death on the other side started to collapse, finally laying on the ground, unmoving, as a proper dead person was supposed to do. Anders didn’t feel impressed with himself. When he checked, using magic, the necromancer wasn’t there any longer. Neither was her complicated and very powerful spell.
Getting back on Brownie, after unstringing his yew war bow, he got her to turn and rode back up the hill to where the commanders had settled.
Feeling a bit annoyed with the General, Anders nodded, once. It was dangerously close to a bow, which would be a problem, given the location.
“Message delivered, General Nest. The necromancer is dead and her spell destroyed. Now we just have the new forces coming in and their illusionist. I saw his work the other day. The man is incredible, as an artist. That monster and then the rain of fire? If we weren’t at war, I’d recommend hiring him to perform for the King.” He looked at Prince Robarts, who nodded, to show that he, too, recalled the fantastic sight. It would be hard to forget, after all, having been huge and well presented. Both illusions had been. “Illusion though, so we don’t have to worry too much, as long as the men don’t run away from it. I should go and set up for them, I think.”
He waited, not having leave to go and do anything like that at all. Interestingly, the General finally decided that he might be worth noticing. For his part, Anders didn’t really care what the man thought or felt, any longer. He tried to shake that idea, since it wasn’t fair. The other man was, most likely, acting in a way that made sense to him. Anders was simply a message boy. The kind of person that you ignored, not only for your own convenience, but for their safety. If ignored, you could pretend not to see minor gaffs and things that otherwise might have to be assumed to be an insult.
He fought to seem engaged and like he wasn’t being consumed with guilt and rage. Yet again, he’d killed. Hundreds had just died at his hands, not including those reanimated corpses. They were already gone, so not his fault or responsibility, of course.
The old man laughed. It was still grim, but came with a nod.
“Message delivered, indeed. More firmly than I’d thought possible. We might not be dead yet, gentles! Can you do such a thing again this day, sir? Strike with another mighty arrow like that?” Now the man seemed far more polite about things. At least toward Anders.
He nodded.
“It’s hard and I need to recover each time. That... About a quarter of an hour, if I can get it. If I push too hard, too fast, I’ll pass into blackness and be useless for a time. I probably can’t keep that up for hours, either. Call it... Ten more such explosions. I could freeze them as well, or call fire, but those don’t cause as much death.”
There were other things he could have done as well, but he didn’t mention them, since doing things like causing the world under the enemies’ feet to turn into mud was as hard or harder than making loud noises and throwing things around. At least it would be, at the moment. The world was more or less dry where they were. Sending a stream or river through the ground at the right place would take hours, at best.
He shrugged then, and looked down at where the fighting was still going on.
“Then, if the men on the other side will bunch up, say in marching formation, I could remove many of them at one time. If I were to ride over and hit them before they properly got into place...”
The General made a sharp sound then. Through his nose, in a fashion that seemed almost painful.
“Don’t be an idiot. You might kill a thousand of them, and then be overrun and killed yourself. No, if you can, use those on the field as a shield, like you did before, so that you may strike many times, before you die. Better, don’t die at all. You used a bow. Can you cast the arrows to standard distances?” The man seemed shrewd then, but went still when Anders shook his head.
“About half that. I can send arrows about a hundred and fifty paces. Man paces, not m
ine, but that isn’t the full length. I’ll be in range of their bow, when I act.”
That was simply due to his lack of strength, physically. He shrugged then, thinking of something.
“Though, I’m only needed to put the spell on the arrow. No one said I had to be the one working the bow. If we found someone stronger that way, we can act from a greater distance. Plus, they’ll probably target him, instead of me, so there’s that.” He was trying to jest, but the men there, all of them, nodded.
One of the Majors, a man named Lewethin, made a considering sound.
“We could line up ten men, firing at one time, making it even harder to tell who is doing what. How close do you need to be to the arrow, when fired?”
Anders thought for a moment, since it was a very different way of doing things than he would have come up with on his own.
“Really, I could place the spells from here and never leave your side. The pacing in time is the important part for me, not the shooting of the bow. I don’t know if I can trust others to use the spells at the right time. For my recovery, I mean. If they’re used to close together, I’ll probably die.”
The General and Prince Robarts both nodded, but the friendly Captain, the one that had acknowledged him as being a person before, let his head bob a few times.
“You make those up, and we can simply hand them out, one at a time, in the locations we need? No one can make much of a mistake that way, or get antsy and shoot before it’s time in panic. That’s vast, a weapon like that, so it’s worth using it with care. What do you need for it? How long?”
The time was a minor factor, but they had to get proper arrows, and the men for them. The hardest part was actually getting the arrows, since they’d all been used in the last day. In the end they had twenty of them, but the poor things were mainly damaged to being nearly unusable.