by Jon Bender
Vaniece traced the skull pommel of her sword with one finger as she watched the men scramble into place. It was awkward to carry the enchanted sword in one hand, so she could cast with the other. Plus, it was too large for her to ever use effectively in a fight. She had thought of simply giving it to another mage, but the strange weapon’s ability to redirect magic was far too valuable to just give away. Since the siege, Vaniece had seen the priests of the dark god, but the mage who owned the sword had yet to make another appearance. She was secretly thankful for that and in no hurry to again meet him in battle.
Sagrad watched as the last of the units fell into place, forming a solid line at the center with small breaks between them at the flanks. He looked to the signaler and nodded. The man brought a white horn to his lips and blew a long, deep note that reverberated in Vaniece’s chest. As one, the army advanced, chanting with every second step. Sagrad moved his horse forward to follow, the mages on their own horses spread behind the formation. In the distance, the enemy prepared for the assault. The dust was so thick in the air that she could not see past the first few lines of men. This was the first time she had been in full battle. The slight tremor in her hand was a constant reminder of the fear coursing through her body.
Sagrad’s calm green eyes seemed to see right through her. “Concentrate on what you have to do, and let the rest go,” he said.
His words quieted the thudding of her heart. She only had to do one thing—protect the prince. She took one final look at the thousands of men around her, and the thousands more waiting to meet them, then removed them from her mind. She would see only what was in front of her, meet only the threats to his life and hers. Her world shrank to a bubble the size of him and the Desert Walkers.
The army advanced slowly, their line straight as an arrow. With another nod from Sagrad, the signaler blew three short notes. Thousands of voices erupted in a roar that startled her horse. As they ran forward, she was only just aware of kicking her horse to match the prince’s speed. The Rilnormans drew closer, and the roar grew to a deafening thunder as men and steel collided. From her high vantage, she saw the individual battles of man against man. She saw them cut each other down and push forward to meet the next. Magic flew from both sides, much of it colliding, but some slipping through to ravage the soldiers who had no defense against it. Bolts of lightning, spears of ice, and fireballs skipped across the battlefield. Large florae sprang up on either side, grabbing men who wandered too close. Two such plants with long vines struggled to rip each other apart. Massive golems of stone waded through the fight, crushing any in their path.
Sagrad shouted orders, and the signaler blew different notes. The units at the flanks pushed forward. Some were stopped, but others managed to force the enemy back. More horns blew from the other side. The Rilnorman formations began adjusting as reserve units appeared to fortify the weak spots. The line shifted and bulged as each side tried to break through or move around the other. Shadow warriors half again as large as a man and wearing thick plate armor appeared at the center. Wielding immense two-handed swords, they pushed past the Rilnormans and into the line, slaughtering any man who got too close. The Walkers moved to position themselves between the shadowy attackers and the prince. Hacking and slashing, the shadow warriors opened holes in the line, allowing the enemy to pour through the gaps.
Having faced the dark priests’ creations before, Vaniece knew her magic alone was not enough to stop them. She concentrated on the flood of enemy soldiers. She raised her hand, and swirling spheres of black smoke flew forward in rapid succession. Each one threw a man back or at least slowed him down. The Walkers continued their deadly advance. Vaniece aided them wherever she could, barely noticing the sound of the horn blowing next to her. When it seemed they were about to be overwhelmed, men on horses rushed past her into the fray, trampling the first wave of enemy soldiers. The Walkers turned their attention to bringing down the faceless warriors. Wielding their twin blades with grace, they slashed and danced around the hulking creatures. One by one, the shadow warriors were destroyed. The reserve Calvary pressed forward, reversing the breach with sheer brute force. The Rilnormans were now out of position, their advantage lost in their haste to get to the prince. The enemy center broke into a dozen smaller units as Ostegan soldiers poured in behind the Calvary and surrounded them.
The signaler blew more notes, and other units began shifting. Those closer to the center shifted inward to take advantage of the weakness there. Those at the flanks broke into smaller groups, sweeping out further to the sides, trying to squeeze the enemy closer together. The Rilnorm forces maneuvered to counter the changes, but their situation only worsened.
The battle seemed to go on forever, and Vaniece felt herself tiring. With every minute that passed, they gained further advantage over the invaders. At one point, the Calvary, having pushed past the embattled armies, bore down on a small group of mages and priests protected by swordsmen. Vaniece watched as those brave men paid a heavy price to reach the casters. They were cut down by flame and stone or smashed from their saddles by large black tentacles that left them broken on the ground. When it was over, more than a hundred of them lay unmoving in the brown grass with only three mages and two priests dead for the cost. It was enough. The mages on their side now had the advantage, and the remaining enemy casters were soon concentrating on protecting themselves instead of their entangled soldiers.
Throughout it all, Sagrad sat calmly, never even bothering to draw his sword. As more enemy mages fell, others fled. Without magical support, the Rilnorman soldiers knew they could not win, and horns began blowing to sound their retreat. At first, they pulled away in an orderly manner, giving them a short advantage as the Ostegans were forced to pursue on the invaders’ terms. Soon, however, small groups of soldiers broke from the battle at a run. These groups grew larger until whole units were fleeing, not bothering to look back. Vaniece watched as the Ostegan units reformed and began helping the wounded, offering fallen men water and bandaging bloody gashes as best they could. Off in the distance, she could see the small dots of the Calvary harrying the retreating enemy.
“Are we going after them?” she asked Sagrad.
The prince shrugged. “Our remaining horsemen will hunt down those they can, but we will never find them all without splitting up our men.”
“But won’t they be back?”
“Their leaders will have a hard time holding together half of what’s left. Even if they could, they lost most of their wagons,” he said, pointing to where dozens of enemy wagon were neatly circled. None had horses hitched to them. Fleeing soldiers had likely taken them to get away more quickly. “Their only chance of rejoining the fight is to find the rest of their army.”
Vaniece nodded, her short hair caught in a hot breeze. “What about us?”
Sagrad let out a loud laugh that drew the attention of the men around him. Many gave him disapproving stares but held their tongues. Sagrad gazed at the battlefield, littered with the dead, and the smile drained from his face. “I would love to return and celebrate in food, drink, and merriment, but my sister would be very unhappy to hear of that. We must march and come at them from the south while the queen pushes down from the north. But first we must tend the wounded and bury the dead.”
Vaniece looked out at the trampled field full of bodies. In the future, a death mage might stand where she was now and draw on the bones of these dead. She felt a pang of mortification at the errant thought. These men had given their lives to protect their families. They deserved better. Sagrad left her to reflect while he tended to the men. Hundreds of soldiers began dragging their fallen comrades to a clear area and leaving the enemy’s dead to rot in the heat. Others brought a wagon filled with digging tools. Needing to do something, Vaniece moved her horse over the blood-stained and flattened grass, careful to avoid stepping on any of the soldiers. She pulled the power of death into her, gasping at the strength of it in this place. Despite the surge exhilarating power, Vaniec
e’s stomach turned. She had never before felt ashamed of what she was, but in that moment, she felt only disgust. She was just another carrion feeder, gorging herself on the loss of others. Ignoring a wave of nausea, she lifted her hand, casting. Many of the living jumped at the sight of fifteen dead enemy soldiers lurching to their feet. The resurrected men commenced lifting the fallen and taking them away to be buried. She could not give them back their lives, but she could help them to a dignified rest. The work continued until the last man was covered by earth. She moved her risen to a respectful distance and let go of the magic, feeling thin and weak. As the soldiers moved away from the graves with the sun setting at their backs, many nodded their thanks.
Back at the camp, she left her horse with a handler before heading to the mages’ tents. She knew she should check in on the prince, but the idea of dealing with him at the moment was not appealing. He would be safe without her for one night, surrounded by his army. On the way, she passed camp fires surrounded by sleeping soldiers. The sun was below the horizon by the time she found a tent with an empty cot. Inside, three other mages wearing the robes of their schools sat around a small folding table with a wineskin and food between them. They greeted her cordially and asked her to join them, but she declined. They were simply being polite to a mage who had fought beside them. She had never truly been accepted by them, and she thought most would be happy to never speak to her. She collapsed on the flimsy cot and was asleep in moments.
Chapter 13
Jaxom rolled onto his side and wrapped his arm over Adriana’s sleeping form as she shifted to press closer to him. Predawn had crept into the sky, casting a golden-red glow. The small fire they had banked the night before had burned to a scattering of embers and gray ash. After seven days, the monotony of the trip was beginning to wear on him. They flew all day with only a few short breaks and then found a safe place to sleep for the night. Traveling on the durgen was much faster than riding a horse, but it also heightened their need for stealth. The risen beasts would terrify most people, but that was not the only reason for keeping themselves hidden. Servants of Or’Keer would recognize the creatures and inform the dark god. Jaxom wanted to avoid a confrontation. Not only would a battle push him to draw on his magic, but they were also traveling in a small group of just five now. Even with all their capabilities, he had not felt so vulnerable since first entering the Teriken Forest a year ago.
Sighing, he reached out to the durgen to begin the routine again. The amount of magic needed to perform the task was minimal, and staying in control required very little effort, even in his half-asleep state. As long as he was aware of the desire to give in to the power, keeping it locked away in his mind took less effort. He was finally getting a grip on the curse of his magic, learning to manage it. But even with his newfound strength, he never allowed himself to forget that his will was weakening. One day, the magic would win if he could not find a solution.
He found the five durgen where he had left them the night before, tirelessly circling their small camp in the sparse trees. He reached into the mind of the nearest, taking control over its reanimated body. Once, the change in senses would have been jarring, but now it was effortless, likely another side effect of his increasing power. Sniffing the air, he did not detect anything unusual, but he still wished he had one of the emora with him. The large cats’ senses were superior not only to his own but also the durgen’s. The loss of them was unfortunate, not least because he had grown fond of the cats. Perhaps Warin could be persuaded to part with one or two of the six he had collected on his way back from Kelran.
Finding no immediate threats, he spread his black feathered wings, flapping them until he was high above the trees. Moving further out in a spiral pattern, he searched the surrounding area. They had passed into Ostega the day before, the land steadily becoming emptier and the air warmer, the lush green of Bruxa gradually darkening. He could not be sure, but he thought they were near the shared border of Bruxa, De’Var, and Ostega. A road close by headed toward the south, and he followed it. The winding path led him to a walled town, large enough to hold thousands. Keeping his distance in the low light, he watched as people started moving about. Some headed to the surrounding fields of turned earth. He did not know what they were growing on the parched land. Gliding further east, he found the white squares of tents dotting an area close to the outer wall of the town. Around two hundred soldiers in tan livery moved between them, many beginning to take down the canvas structures.
With the sun quickly rising, the durgen would soon easily be seen. Leaving a command for it to return, he pulled his mind back to his own body. Opening his eyes, he found that Adriana had left their blankets to stir the fire back to life. A small post hung above the flames on a stick frame. As it warmed, the smell of stew wafted from it. The others were already awake. Laiden and Brenin were rolling up their blankets while Darian squatted near his saddlebags, sifting through them. Pulling out his bowl, he turned to see Jaxom looking at him.
“I will never get used to that. It’s like you’re dead. I don’t think you would wake if we poked you with a stick,” Darian said.
Jaxom grunted and sat up. “Keep that in mind if we’re ever in danger. I don’t want to put it to the test, but I might not notice someone running a sword through me.”
“I would never let that happen,” Adriana said, turning her head and smiling. She had tied her dark hair back into a pony tail and washed her face.
“Neither would I,” Darian said. He stood and moved near the fire to ladle some of the stew out with a large spoon. “Though I admit to being tempted to write my name on your forehead with ash.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen either,” Adriana said, looking pointedly at the ice mage. Darian shrugged, and moved closer to the fire.
Jaxom laughed. He could always count on Darian to raise his spirits. The man always found the joke in every situation, no matter how dire. Jaxom began rolling up their blankets. Tying them to the saddlebags, he brought his and Adriana’s bowls over and scooped a portion of stew into one before grabbing a hard biscuit from the small sack nearby.
“We need to refill our water skins, and our food is running low,” Brenin said, as he and Laiden joined them.
Jaxom blew on the steaming stew. They could spend time hunting, but that would only give them meat. They would soon need grain or vegetables to accompany it. “I saw a town not too far from here. We have enough coin to resupply as long as we’re careful.”
“That’s a great idea! Maybe we can stop by one of their taverns for some wine as well,” Darian almost shouted.
“Maybe we could get a real meal,” Laiden added. He eyed his bowl skeptically before swallowing a spoonful.
“I want to spend as little time around people as possible. We will have to leave the durgen somewhere and walk in. I doubt the people there would receive them well,” Jaxom said.
“If it means I can finally enjoy some civilized living for a while, I will gladly walk the rest of the way to Kilreth,” Darian declared with enthusiasm.
Jaxom doubted the truth of the statement, but nodded anyway as the others sat down to take their share of the food. When they finished eating, he called the durgen to load up their bags. A short distance from the town, he spotted some brown thickets near a small stream. After filling their skins and replacing them on the saddles, Darian and Brenin shouldered a couple of the empty saddle bags. Jaxom had the durgen lie down in the brush and circled them until he was satisfied that they would not be seen by anyone passing by.
The small group of friends passed several people on the road into town, one leading a cart of strange yellow vegetables. Reaching the walled town, Jaxom used his sleeve to wipe the moisture at his forehead. The increasing heat of the day had them all sweating, and he found himself missing the cooler air of the north. Soldiers wearing chainmail and the tan livery he had seen earlier stopped them at the gate. The men did not have the look of professional soldiers, giving off more an air of boredom t
han suspicion. Jaxom guessed they spent most of their time breaking up tavern brawls and catching thieves. Jaxom and the others stood out, their dark clothing a stark contrast to the colorful, light material of the townspeople. He told the guards that they were Bruxans on a journey to visit family further south, which was true in a sense. The main guard appeared skeptical, eyeing their weapons, but he finally nodded toward the gates before moving to stop a farmer leading a cart.
The town and its people were awash in an array of different colors. The women wore billowy day dresses while the men wore shirts and pants made of the same light material. The buildings were of a light colored stone, and the signs hanging above them were brightly painted. One of those signs read “Gasto’s,” with a picture of man on a horse. Inside, the friends found an older man with long, thinning white hair standing behind a simple wooden counter. Stacked in every corner were assorted barrels, sacks, and crates, and hanging from the wall on iron hooks, Jaxom saw a plethora of items: sheathed knives, rope, traveling packs, and even two saddles, along with practically everything else he could think of.
“I’m Gasto,” the man said, bowing low with a flourish of his hand. “If you are on a long journey, I have everything you need right here.”
“We need some rations. Dried meat, bread, vegetables, enough for a ten-day. And spices if you have them,” Adriana said.
The old man bobbed his head up and down twice as he moved around the counter, his body slightly hunched. “So where ya’ coming from, and where ya’ going?” he asked as he grabbed a few smaller canvas sacks from the top of crate.
