The Hunter's Gambit

by Nicholas McIntire

  Aleksei nodded dumbly, his eyes still fixated on the rows upon rows of pointed white tents. The last report he’d received estimated the total size of the Ilyari Legion to be around one hundred thousand men strong. Looking down into the encampment it was not difficult to guess who now held the upper hand, if only in terms of sheer weight of arms.

  “We’re going to have to change our strategy.” he muttered.

  “So what are you planning?” Jonas asked after a long silence.

  Aleksei started, emerging from a stream of statistics and numbers that had suddenly taken on a vital level of importance. “We need to get to the Drakleyn.” he heard himself say.

  “Those were my thoughts as well. If we can get a sense of what they’re planning, we can mount an appropriate defense.”

  “We’ll have to go through the camp.” Aleksei said flatly.

  “Is that really wise? What if you’re recognized?”

  Aleksei bit his lip, running various scenarios through his head. Yet ultimately there was no way around it. A few hundred feet into the camp, the cliffs became so sheer as to be impassable.

  “It’s the only way.” he said finally. “I can talk my way past the tents. It’s just a matter of what happens when we reach the Drakleyn.”

  Jonas looked out into the encampment, “I think I have an idea. You just get us past the soldiers.”

  Aleksei shrugged, “If you say so.”

  Jonas backed up slowly from the cliff’s edge, then turned and descended into the valley. Aleksei found himself suddenly very thankful that he wasn’t wearing anything that would indicate his rank.

  It was going to be dangerous enough walking through a sea of deserter Legionnaires who may have seen him in the past year. Being the Lord Captain was about as low profile as being the Prince’s Archanium Knight.

  It was near sunset by the time they reached the valley floor.

  The snow was falling harder now, and Aleksei noticed that it already reached Jonas' ankles. If it kept up like this, they were going to have a difficult time getting back through the pass.

  As they approached the first row of tents, Aleksei saw a sentry running towards him.

  “State your name and your region.” the man huffed.

  “Ilia Bondar,” Aleksei said without pause, “from the village of Voskrin.”

  “That on the Southern Plain?”

  Aleksei nodded, “Yep.”

  The sentry pulled out a small ledger and made a note with a charcoal stylus then tucked it back into the pocket of his coat.

  “All the boys from the Plain are camped at the northeast corner of the valley. Just ride straight ahead towards the command center. You can’t miss it.”

  Aleksei bowed his head in thanks, then urged Jonas forward.

  While the deserter camp appeared to be a dream of Legionnaire efficiency, closer inspection proved such a vision to be false. Among the rows of pristine white tents was an entire city of carts, stalls, campfires and sleeping rolls that suggested that the army was much more hodgepodge than Aleksei had first presumed.

  He wasn’t overly surprised by this realization. This army was not privy to the supply lines that had long ago been established to ensure that the Legions were fed and clothed properly.

  As a result, they had to take what they could get. If that meant buying meat pies from a few enterprising fellows from Drava or one of the other small lumber villages bordering the Relvyn Wood, then so be it.

  Aleksei also noted that few of the men wore Legion-issue coats. Here and there he would see a deserter wearing the scarlet and sapphire of the House Belgi, but for the most part their clothes were patched and worn.

  There were obviously no inspections taking place to ensure that everything was taken care of, and as a result he could see signs of wear in the men’s equipment. Some had even left their boots outside to rot in the snow.

  But just as Aleksei was feeling an overwhelming disgust for these men, he also understood what an enormous boon this could be. He may have a fraction of the numbers, but his men were disciplined, well-trained, and well-armed.

  Their swords were sharp, their armor was kept in good repair, their clothes were mended and clean. Such things not only made for more efficient soldiers, but also helped keep the men healthy and free of disease. And disease could lay waste to an army just as effectively as swords or spellcraft.

  After riding through what seemed like leagues of white tents, Aleksei finally caught sight of the end. He rode up to the last tent before the valley wall and looked to his right. There, rising into the darkening sky, stood the remains of the Drakleyn.

  “Alright, what’s your plan?” he whispered.

  “Look straight ahead. Do you see that outcropping of rocks?”

  Aleksei looked up and saw a small collection of boulders huddled next to the Drakleyn’s outer wall. “I do.”

  “You’ll dismount there so I can shift. And then we’ll need to do a little reconnaissance.”

  “You’ll go inside?”

  “If I can find out where Krasik meets with his generals….”

  Aleksei appraised the structure of the ruins. “I can circulate among the men.” he announced as Jonas stopped behind one of the giant boulders, “See what they’ve heard.”

  Jonas came to halt and Aleksei slid off the mountain pony, which a moment later transformed into a sleek golden coyote.

  “Try to find a grapple and rope while you’re there. I have a sneaking suspicion we’ll have to scale that wall before the night is through.” Jonas called a moment before he disappeared from view.

  Aleksei nodded and sighed heavily to himself, pulling up the collar of his coat and stepping back into view of the camp. No one paid him any mind as he wound his way through the rows of white tents, keeping his ears tuned for any conversation that might be useful.

  From just a cursory examination, Aleksei knew that his first suspicions had been correct. Order was lax. It would be easy for disease to spread, for men to freeze to death or even starve without anyone noticing. Every good officer woke up in a cold sweat with such concerns, especially with so large a command.

  “Just making my job easier.” he muttered happily.

  “…arrived tonight, I heard.”

  “Perron too? Or just that other one…Declan.”

  Aleksei turned in the direction of the voices and walked casually by. Four men were standing inside a tent around a small fire. The top of the tent had been opened up to let the smoke out, but despite this effort the air in the small space was practically opaque.

  He stepped into the tent and slipped next to a fellow who looked like he wouldn’t notice if a Salamander sat on him.

  “Perron too, I heard. That means they’re all here now.”

  “So what’re they gonna to do, then? Surely we can’t be set to march ’til the snow melts.”

  “That’s what I thought. But I heard from Bert that there’s talk of marching in a few days.”

  “Days? That’s madness!”

  “Still, it’s got to be a fair sight better than sitting ‘round here.” the man next to Aleksei coughed.

  “When’re they gonna talk formal?” Aleksei asked gruffly into the smoke.

  “Formal? Ah, there’s a big council planned tonight. Bert up in the castle, he says Perron was in a right state about it. I bet the old boy’d like a pull off the bottle and a pretty girl ‘bout now, but no sir! He’s gonna to be sittin’ with Krasik and the Dark Man himself!”

  Aleksei nodded to himself. Krasik and Bael. So Perron was less than thrilled by the prospect of a war council?

  An idea began to hatch in Aleksei’s head. He needed to get back to the boulder field. Gods, he hoped Jonas had discovered where the men were going to meet.

  If they could find that out they might actually be able to listen in. It was a long shot, but worth the risk if they could learn anything.

  “Come on.” Aleksei said, taking the
coughing man next to him and steering him out of the smoky tent. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

  “Thank you kindly, Captain.”

  Aleksei tensed before realizing that the man hadn’t recognized him. He patted the man’s shoulder, wincing as a coughing fit overcame the soldier. Aleksei would wager his command that whatever illness this man had would be spread throughout the troops come spring. And soldiers couldn’t fight if they couldn’t breathe.

  He suddenly recalled Jonas' request. “Say now, you wouldn’t know where a good bit of rope and a grapple could be found, would you?” Aleksei asked after they’d walked several paces from the tent.

  “Sure thing, Captain.” the man coughed. “My tent’s just here on the left. I’ve got one you can borrow.”

  “Thanks, friend.” Aleksei said, following the man into his tent.

  “What do you want with it anyhow?” the sick man asked as he rummaged around in a pile of equipment.

  “Me and some of the boys want to tie up this horse we found wandering around, but every rope we try breaks. Can’t get the blighter to stay put.”

  It was the weakest excuse Aleksei had ever managed to fabricate, but the sick soldier just laughed, “Oh yeah, them horses can be a handful. ‘Specially in this weather.”

  Moments later Aleksei was threading his way back towards the boulders. He exited the camp without incident, sidestepped the sentries, and was soon standing behind one of the giant rocks.

  Aleksei stood with his back against the boulder, keeping his ears tuned for the crunch of approaching footsteps. Unfortunately the snow buried all but the most pungent smells emanating from the camp, so he was unable to track by the wind.

  The sky was black as pitch by the time Jonas returned. As a coyote, his pale gold coat blended in so well with the snow that when he shifted back into a man Aleksei nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “You wouldn’t believe the state of that place.” the Magus muttered.

  “I don’t know, it couldn’t be worse than the camp.”

  Jonas gave Aleksei a look that said he begged to differ. Finally the Magus asked, “Did you hear anything worthwhile?”

  “As a matter of fact I did. Perron arrived this morning with several of the Southern lords in support, including Declan. The men I was listening to seemed to think there was going to be an important tactical summit tonight.”

  Jonas nodded, “That matches what I heard in the Drakleyn.”

  “Any idea where this meeting will be taking place?”

  “Perron kept moaning about having to go all the way to the north tower.”

  Aleksei arched an eyebrow, “You saw Perron?”

  “No one notices one extra mouse when the whole place is crawling with rats.” Jonas chuckled.

  “So which one would you call the north tower?” Aleksei asked, looking up at the bluff prominence of the fortress and the small forest of towers that dominated its skyline.

  “I know where it is.”

  “The north tower was the command center when the Drakleyn was a weapon.” Jonas pointed towards the tower in question. “From the embrasures you can see the entire valley. As you can imagine, it makes for a highly defensible position.”

  Aleksei’s eyes began to trace a trail of walls and ledges back from the north tower towards their position on the western side of the wall.

  “We can get there from here.” Aleksei declared, tying the rope to the grapple and looking to Jonas for confirmation that he agreed.

  Jonas breathed a deep sigh, then looked up at the wall towering above them. “Are you ready, then?”

  Aleksei nodded. “Can you tell where Bael is?”

  Jonas embraced the Archanium and searched for the Magus. After a moment to searching, however, Jonas realized that there were too many Dark Magi in the valley to single Bael out.

  “There’re too many. I can’t–”

  All at once, the hundreds of Magi filling his head vanished. In their place, Jonas could only feel Bael. Or at least the walking abomination that Bael had become.

  “Jonas?” Aleksei asked, stepping forward and gripping the Magus' arm as he swayed.

  His eyes snapped open, “I think I’ve found him.”

  Aleksei searched the bond and felt a river of revulsion flowing through the prince.

  “Are you alright?”

  Jonas steadied himself against the wall. “I just…I didn’t expect him to be this strong. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.” He turned and pointed to the base of the tower, “He’s still down there. Has been for a few hours, but I have a feeling he’ll be present for any tactical decisions. His abilities will tip the scales in a very different way than we’ve dealt with before.”

  “So as long as he stays put, we’ve got time. If we can get into the war room before they do, we might have a chance of listening in.”

  “Of course,” Jonas said thoughtfully, “if we’re too late, there’s also the chance that he’ll sniff us out and hunt us down.”

  Aleksei growled. “Let’s try to keep our minds positive for the moment.”

  “Very well then,” the Prince said, gesturing towards the wall, “you may climb when ready, Lord Captain.”

  A moment later Jonas scurried up Aleksei’s trouser leg and climbed into his shirt pocket. Aleksei looked down at the tiny brown wood mouse peeking out of his pocket and chuckled in spite of himself. There was wonderful irony in the idea of Jonas Belgi turning into a mouse that never failed to amuse him.

  Stepping up to the wall, Aleksei let out several lengths of rope and spun the hook. He waited until it was whistling, then released. The rusted iron shot into the air, sailing clean over the wall. Aleksei gave it a few measured pulls, finally catching it among the jagged stones.

  Gripping the rope in both hands, he planted one boot against the stone of the wall and began to pull himself up, hand over hand. In a matter of moments, he reached the top and lifted himself onto the edge of the wall. It took a second to unhook the grapple, and then he was jogging lightly across the narrow, snow-covered pathway.

  He reached the joint where the wall connected with the body of the fortress and looked down into the courtyard. From this height, Aleksei estimated there to be at least a score of sentries below him. If all went according to plan none of them would ever be the wiser to his presence.

  Aleksei found his way along a short ledge that protruded from the main structure. It was broken in places, but nothing he couldn’t jump. His main concern was to avoid kicking snow on the sentries beneath him.

  If they saw him now he was dead.

  Fortunately, none of the men seemed to pay much attention to anything above their eye level. They seemed more concerned about an uprising from the lower ranks than the lone man hugging the walls twenty paces above them.

  He reached the far side of the ledge and found himself standing just beneath a guard tower.

  Aleksei took a deep breath, knowing that there was no other way to reach his target. He was going to have to climb the tower and silence whomever was up there before an alarm was raised.

  For a long moment Aleksei breathed in the frigid winter air and concentrated on what he was about to do. He couldn’t afford a misstep.

  Then he stretched upwards and gripped the snowy edge of the battlement. Marshaling all his strength, he heaved himself up and over the short wall.

  One guard stood with his back to Aleksei. From the looks of it, the guard was more interested in the goings on down in the courtyard than with keeping a good watch.

  Aleksei slipped his sword from its sheath and stepped quietly behind the man, preparing to run him through.

  At the last second the man leapt out of the way and pulled his knife, lunging towards Aleksei. The Knight altered the course of his blade and swung it at chest height, hacking almost completely through the man in one clean sweep.

  And then he realized he was staring into the shocked eyes of Pyotr Krovel.
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  Aleksei lost his grip on his sword and stumbled back, staring at his childhood friend as the man dropped to his knees and coughed a stream of blood.

  And then he died.

  Aleksei sat down in the snow, his breathing matched only by the hammering of his heart. Tears leapt into his eyes even as he searched for a way to understand what had just happened.

  Aleksei? Jonas asked. Aleksei, are you alright?

  The Knight nodded, but there was no energy, no conviction left in him. He felt drained, as though he’d just been struck by lighting. The world was spinning and he could hardly begin to keep his balance.

  Aleksei leaned to the side and violently retched into the snow. His stomach was on fire, and the smell of blood and viscera didn’t help matters.

  Jonas climbed down Aleksei’s coat and into the snow before shifting into a man. He walked over and looked down at Pyotr Thatcher’s cold, glassy eyes, then back at Aleksei.

  “Who was he?”

  “His…his name was Pyotr.” Aleksei said brokenly. “We grew up together. When I went back to the farm I was told he’d left his wife for Perron’s militia. At the time I didn’t really understand the weight of what was happening, so I didn’t think much more of it. But I never thought.…” His words broke off as quiet sobs overtook him.

  Jonas put his arms comfortingly around Aleksei’s shoulders. He could feel the conflict taking place within the Knight. Aleksei whimpered into Jonas' shoulder, and Jonas hugged his Knight tighter. It was difficult for him to see Aleksei so upset, and yet at the same time he realized that Aleksei was going to have to deal with his grief by himself.

  Of course, it certainly didn’t help that not a handful of days before Aleksei had been delivered a prophecy containing the gods only knew what, or that he had this very day condemned a village he’d risked his life to save.

  Aleksei finally broke away from his Magus and stared in disbelief at the empty husk of his former friend. Bitter tears stung his eyes as emotions he couldn’t hope to name crested and crashed through him.

  And then Jonas was shaking him gently, “Aleksei, you have to get up.”