“Right,” Erik said with a nod.
“And, I have another salve that will help keep the insects away,” Turk added. “Lather yourself up with that, and you’ll find a quick reprieve from pestering stings and bites.”
Erik heard a rumble behind him. Looking over his shoulder again, he saw the clouds growing taller and fuller and darker.
“Blood and guts and thunderstorms,” Switch cursed.
“Do you think we can outride the storm,” Drake asked.
“Doubtful,” Vander Bim replied. “You don’t realize how fast that storm is traveling. It’ll be on us in no time—probably before nightfall.”
“That’s all we need,” Switch continued, “to get bloody soaked while we sleep and ride around with wet clothes.”
“Never being able to dry off in such a hot and humid climate; I’d be more worried about fevers and illness,” Demik replied.
“Who decided we should travel here,” Switch asked, “a league away from the mountains and where we can get rained on every night?”
“It was me,” Turk replied defiantly, “and what does it matter if we travel close to the mountain or a league away? The rain will still reach us.”
“The mountains would offer a bit of shelter,” Switch argued.
“Would you like to trade the rain for mountain trolls?” Turk asked. “For the wetness we might avoid, we would have to contend with what you know very well is lurking in the shadows of trees and boulders just above the mountain foothills.”
“Damn tunnel diggers,” Erik heard Switch mutter as the thief kicked his horse hard in the ribs, spurring the animal forward and away from the rest of the party.
“Maybe, if it rains I’ll stay awake,” Erik muttered to himself.
The heat of the day finally subsided, and Erik shivered as he felt smatterings of water on the back of his neck. He couldn’t tell if was sweat from his hair or errant raindrops carried by the strong wind.
Sleep, please stay away.
Erik shook his head, knowing it was a false hope.
Chapter 2
PATÛK AL’BANAN LOOKED OVER HIS shoulder for one last glance at Warrior. He hated going into battle without the giant of a war horse; the beast had proved almost more of a reliable weapon than his sword. Those hooves could easily crush a man’s skull. But, being in the hills of the Western Tor, Warrior would have been more of a hindrance than a help.
A short time later, from behind a rock, Patûk watched as Terradyn interrogated one of Patûk’s men. Patûk had not seen the Messenger’s henchman for a while, and he looked as if he hadn’t aged a day in the last twenty years. Patûk watched the large servant to the Messenger of the East remove yet another finger from his scout’s hand.
Patûk growled but did not wince. To most, the interrogation might have been hard to watch, the large man mercilessly beating the two captors and removing appendages at will, and often they would die, and they would be glad for it. If the Messenger’s enforcer let them live, Patûk would serve much worse —punishment for being captured.
“We move,” Patûk whispered, looking to his personal guard, Bao Zi.
They inched closer, silently and unseen. The General looked to his left. Lieutenant Sorben Phurnan looked nervous. He should have left him behind, in the camp. He was becoming a liability.
Sorben seemed surprised when Patûk said he would be leading the attack himself. But who would he put in charge? Sorben Phurnan? Certainly not. That would prove catastrophic. Captain Kan was east, towards the center of the mountains, and Lieutenant Bu was busy tracking fools willing to serve the Lord of the East. Bu would have proven an excellent commander for this skirmish. All in due time. Besides, it had been a while since Patûk had been in a fight, and he needed his men to see him in action. They needed to know he was still willing to shed blood. He needed them to respect him . . . and to fear him.
A scream caught Patûk’s attention. He had been watching the ground before him as he inched closer, crawling on his belly and taking cover under brush and behind rocks. Staring through the thin branches of a yellow-flowered shrub that grew waist high and clothed itself in thin gray leaves, he watched as Terradyn drove his two-handed sword into one of his men’s bellies. The captured soldier spat blood across the henchman’s face as the Messenger’s man lifted his blade. Patûk heard cracking as the blade easily cut through bone and eventually sliced through the soldier’s shoulder, splitting him like a fileted fish. The other captor began to cry and shriek as his companion’s intestines spilled over the ground and blood soaked his pants at his knees where he knelt before the large interrogator.
“Damn the gods,” Patûk muttered.
He had planned on inching closer before they attacked, but the remaining captured soldier would talk now and reveal the location of the camp from where he came. Patûk’s men were loyal and well-trained—all thirteen thousand of them—and the vast majority of them would withstand any interrogation, keeping their mouths shut in reverence of their devotion to the General. But Patûk had interrogated enough men to know when they were about to crack. This man—already missing a hand, both ears, the tip of his nose, and now staring at the entrails of his companion—was at that point.
Patûk nodded to Bao Zia, and his trusted guardian lifted a hand. It was the only signal the archer needed. An arrow passed through the remaining prisoner’s neck, and he fell forward, dead. A quick command from Terradyn brought twenty soldiers forward, their shields interlocked in practiced precision. The ensuing volley of arrows bounced harmlessly off the steel that glared at Patûk’s force with the emblem of the Messenger of the East.
Patûk Al’Banan prided himself in strategy, but even so, he had made a fair number of logistical mistakes in battle. Every military leader had. Only a few had proven disastrous, and he always made up for them with great victories and total devastation. This was quickly proving to be one of those miscalculations.
A frontal assault on one hundred Soldiers of the Eye was folly, even if Patûk’s numbers were four times that, his men would struggle against the elite personal guard of the Messenger. But, he had no choice. They had captured two of his men—those fools—and, in order to protect vital information, Patûk had given up their position. Today would be a defeat, but it was to protect the resistance, the locations of his camps, and to put the Lord of the East on his guard.
“I am done hiding in the shadows,” Patûk Al’Banan grumbled.
He nodded his head, and Bao Zi whistled. The arrows stopped, and full attack commenced. There was no battle cry, the General thought that stupid. Why have a bunch of men waste their energy screaming and yelling? Go to battle. Do your job. Kill the enemy and be done with it.
Four hundred men, led by Patûk Al’Banan and Bao Zi, raced down a gently sloping hill and towards the waiting forces of the Messenger of the East.
“Black magic,” Patûk groaned as the sky above them grew dark and a thick fog rose before them. He spat into the dusty earth. “Cowards.”
The fog that clouded their path did not hinder the vision of the Soldiers of the Eye, and as the ground around the feet of Patûk’s soldiers moved and swayed, turning to mud, he knew his enemies’ feet stood firm on solid ground. Rain began to pour down on the General’s men, but it was not cool like the recent rains of the monsoons but hot as if some god above them was pouring water on them from a cauldron taken from a fire. He felt a few drops hit his face, and his skin sizzled. He felt the blisters rise almost immediately but ignored them.
“You have no honor!” Patûk yelled to the sky. “You never did!”
A boom of thunder cracked overhead, but it wasn’t thunder—it was laughter.
That’s when the screaming started. Arrows loosed from within the ranks of the Soldiers of the Eye found their mark among Patûk’s men, and he knew they wouldn’t just be arrows. They would burn or freeze the blood of the man they hit or turn him to stone—some further enchantment from Andragos.
“Bao Zi,” Patûk Al’Banan
said. His guard turned to him. “When we retreat, which we will have to, whoever from our ranks is captured, make sure they do not live.”
Bao Zi nodded.
Patûk tried to lead his men around the wall of soldiers, hoping that they might flank them, but the Soldiers of the Eye had formed a box around their carriages. In honor of his eastern heritage, the General decided to attack the eastern flank. Perhaps the gods of Golgolithul would look kindly on him for doing so and give him some little semblance of a victory.
Man after man fell under the spear or sword of the Soldiers of the Eye. Patûk’s force crashed and fell against the wall of soldiers like waves against a rock cliff. They were able to pull one of Andragos’ men away from the wall, cutting him down even as he took four more with him. Bao Zi killed at least one. And the General killed three. The enemy were well trained, by the gods they were the best trained in all Háthgolthane, but they were not as well trained as Patûk Al’Banan. For every parry, he struck twice as hard and fast. For every feigned attacked, he predicted where the real attack would come from. And as one of Andragos’ soldiers would plan three moves ahead, Patûk would plan six.
“You are a gutless pig, Terradyn!” Patûk Al’Banan shouted, watching the giant of a man stand behind the wall of soldiers and direct the fight. “Where is your equally craven companion, Raktas? Or should I call him Rat’s Ass!”
“Why don’t you come and find him?” Terradyn called back.
Patûk watched as a smile spread across the man’s face as the wall of soldiers parted, offering up an opening and a direct path to Terradyn. The General was no fool, but many of his men proved to be. As they rushed into the opening, they met a swift end at polished steel.
Patûk nodded, and Bao Zi whistled. Flaming arrows flew through the sky, daring the burning rain. Two boulders, covered in burning brush, rolled down the hill. The arrows thudded into the ground and the boulders crashed by a parting wall of soldiers to strike a carriage and burst its wood into flame. The confusion was intentional and organic, and this smoke was not magic.
Even as a sudden wind rose up, blowing the smoke away from the Messenger’s caravan, it was all Patûk needed to escape unseen. As he did, he claimed one last victim, a soldier that had broken from the ranks of his comrades. The General drove his sword hilt deep into the man’s belly, retrieved his blade, and then—as the soldier fell to his knees—removed his head from his neck.
When Patûk Al’Banan felt comfortable enough to stop his retreat, he looked down upon the battlefield from a tall hillock covered in large ash trees. Nearly all four hundred of his men lay dead down there, some by his own men’s arrows. It seemed a waste, all those men. But it was a necessary sacrifice.
“They now know we are strong,” Patûk muttered, “and that we are no longer afraid.”
“Yes, my lord,” Bao Zi replied with a quick bow.
To many, this might have seemed an overwhelming defeat, but to have killed a tenth of the Black Mage’s soldiers—if one truly understood the prowess and the Soldiers of the Eye—could be measured as a victory.
Patûk watched as Andragos emerged from his wagon. The fires had died, and the dead were now piled in a large heap, the wreckage of the carriage with them. The Messenger walked about the battlefield and approached one of his soldiers. The man looked injured, clutching his stomach and crimson covering his legs and arms. The Black Mage touched the man’s shoulder, and the soldier stood straight, uninjured and strong.
“Black magic,” Patûk grumbled yet again.
Andragos looked in the General’s direction. Patûk’s keen eyes thought they saw a smile creep across the Messenger’s face.
“You couldn’t possibly see me,” Patûk said. But then, he realized it was the Messenger of the East he was talking about. “Well, if you can see me, then you can hear me. Know this, we are strong, we have allies in the east, and we are no longer hiding in the shadows.”
“Are you all right, my lord?” Terradyn asked.
Andragos sighed.
“Just tired,” he replied as he rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “Magic seems to take more out of me than it used to.”
Andragos could feel Terradyn staring at him. He looked up, straightening his back a little. He couldn’t tell if the concerned look on Terradyn’s face was one of fear or concern.
“I’ll be fine,” Andragos said with an insincere smile. “What are our casualties?”
“Ten, my lord,” Terradyn replied. “It would have been eleven, but you . . . Why did you heal him? He could have been replaced.”
“It seemed the right thing to do,” Andragos replied with a shrug. “Do you think I am getting soft after all these years?”
“Hardly, my lord,” Terradyn said. His voice sounded defensive.
“I’m assuming the interrogation yielded no results,” Andragos said.
“No, my lord,” Terradyn replied, shaking his head.
“I didn’t think it would,” Andragos said. “A waste of time. More eastern blood spilt.”
“Traitors, my lord,” Terradyn said. His voice was now hard, stoic, and proud. “Hardly easterners. They turned their back on Fen-Stévock. They turned their back on their lord. I gutted one while the other wept and pissed himself and then . . .”
“Then Patûk had him killed.” Andragos finished Terradyn’s sentence. Then his voice dropped to an inaudible whisper. “Is it so hard to imagine someone turning their back on Fen-Stévock?”
“What was that, my lord?” Terradyn asked.
“Nothing,” Andragos replied. “We will have to replenish our ranks when we return home.”
“There are plenty willing to serve,” Terradyn replied.
“Aye,” Andragos said, “but I think I might be more selective this time.”
“My lord?” Terradyn said.
“You admonish these men for turning their backs on Fen-Stévock and their lord,” Andragos said.
Terradyn bowed in response.
“But whom do you serve?” Andragos asked.
“You, my lord,” Terradyn replied.
“And who do the Soldiers of the Eye serve?” Andragos asked.
“You, my lord,” Terradyn replied again.
“You—and they—do not serve Fen-Stévock and the Lord of the East?” Andragos asked.
“Well, of course,” Terradyn replied. “But, so do you, my lord.”
“Aye, but who do you serve first?” Andragos asked.
“Well, I serve you first, my lord,” Terradyn replied.
“And Raktas?”
“He serves you first as well, my lord,” Terradyn replied. “My lord, forgive my brazenness, but what are you getting at?”
The look on Terradyn’s face was one of true concern. Andragos let the man stare for a while and then finally shook his head with a smile.
“Do not trouble yourself with my inane questions,” Andragos said. “Patûk Al’Banan has become bold.”
“We will follow him,” Terradyn replied. “We will track him and kill him.”
“So easily?” Andragos asked.
“My lord?” Terradyn replied with a question of his own.
“He, alone, killed five of my men,” Andragos explained, “and his servant, Bao Zi, killed another two. Two men killed twice as many soldiers as it took four hundred to kill. He is a cockroach. You can step on him, poison him, crush him, and he will live on. We are only ninety, plus you and Raktas. He is . . . How many men does he command?”
“Our last intelligence says ten thousand, my lord,” Terradyn replied, “but that was several years ago. It could be more.”
“We are outnumbered,” Andragos admitted. “It would be too much, even for the Soldiers of the Eye.”
“Even with you?” Terradyn asked. “With your power?”
Andragos laughed silently.
“It will take me a while to regain my full power, Terradyn,” Andragos said. “I feel drained. It is odd, I suppose. I have never felt this way. But I might
prove a hindrance, as my soldiers would sacrifice themselves to protect me. No, we will continue to Fen-Stévock, and we will report back what has happened here.”
“And what exactly will we report, my lord?” Terradyn asked.
“We will report that Patûk Al’Banan is growing strong and bold,” Andragos replied. “We will report that winds of change are on the horizon.”
Chapter 3
“I COULD DO WITHOUT THESE damn bugs,” Bryon muttered. He slapped his neck hard. He missed whatever six-legged creeper had been resting there and winced at the quick sting. He heard Erik chuckle. “What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing, cousin,” Erik replied. “I just think it’s funny, you constantly slapping yourself.”
“I’m so glad my misery amuses you,” Bryon said.
“Oh, please, cousin,” Erik said. “Your misery is self-inflicted. Ever since I used Turk’s salve, I’ve barely felt a bug. Befel too.”
“Yeah, well, you both smell like shit,” Bryon retorted. “Befel even more so because of that cream the dwarf has him put on his shoulder too.”
“Maybe,” Erik replied with a quick shrug of his shoulders. That look of indifference that Erik had been giving recently, especially to Bryon, infuriated his cousin. “But at least we don’t look like idiots, slapping ourselves every few moments.”
“At least I don’t smell like pig shit,” Bryon replied. He glared at Turk. “I’ll not give in to their tricky ways.”
Erik shook his head and rode away from Bryon.
“You’re the reason I left the farm,” Bryon muttered as something buzzed about his ear. “You and days after days of grueling work in the sun. I don’t know if this is any better.”
He tried to swat a bug and almost fell out of his saddle. He heard Switch laugh.
Bryon felt his face color with embarrassment. He hated that man. Was this any better indeed?
But it was an improvement because the end result would be better. Gold. Women. Fame. Days of hard work and abuse on the farm meant nothing, just more of the same on the morrow.
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