“Hey!” Renzo yelled. “Stay awake!”
“I . . . try . . . ,” Khara whispered, her voice slurred.
Tobble came running back, wheezing. He was trailing a green vine. “Here you go.”
Renzo stripped the leaves until he had a half dozen. He rubbed them between his palms until they’d turned to a fibrous green paste.
“All right,” said Renzo. “Quiet, everyone. I have theurgy to perform.”
With his hands enclosing the wound, Renzo shut his eyes and began to rock slowly back and forth. He spoke words I didn’t know, in a language I’d never heard.
Eskimin raz dur
Eskamin fell yar
Durin elias
Elias lofel.
He repeated the chant three times, as a strange look of peace transformed Khara’s face.
Renzo opened his eyes and looked over at us. “She’ll be out for a while. That way, she won’t feel what’s next.”
Tobble gulped. “What’s next?”
“Get me a flat stone that will fit in my hand,” Renzo said, by way of answer.
I knew what was coming. Khara had saved my life after I’d been hit by a poacher’s arrow.
I found a flat stone and hurried back with it.
“Help me prop her up,” Renzo said. Tobble and I heaved Khara into a seated position, and Renzo used her knife to cut off part of the shaft, leaving six inches protruding.
“Listen to me, you two.” We were listening. “Tobble, here, take some of the sorcerer’s ear. Byx, when the arrowhead moves, you grab it carefully and pull it through.”
With that, Renzo took the flat stone and hammered it into the shortened end of the shaft. It took a second blow before the arrowhead cut through Khara’s back and emerged below her shoulder blade. Blood spilled and my hand was slippery, but I pinched the arrowhead with my fingers and drew it out enough to let me grab the shaft itself.
I had to pull hard to get it through. When it came free, I stumbled back. Tobble moved nimbly to stuff the bleeding hole with the green herb.
“Get the blanket under her,” Renzo snapped. “And get a fire going. Now!”
I’ve never struck a flint with more concentration. Thankfully, there was no breeze and my small store of kindling caught flame quickly. Tobble was already dragging fallen branches back. Before long we had a decent fire blazing.
Renzo laid Khara’s knife into the flames. I shuddered. I knew what he was planning.
“She’ll wake from the spell soon,” he said. “I’d rather do this before she does. It’ll be painful.”
Khara shifted. She was already shaking off the dulling effects of the spell. It took several more minutes before the blade was hot enough for Renzo’s purposes.
“Hold her down, you two,” he instructed. “Then, when I say to, heft her up again.”
Tobble and I nodded.
“Almost done,” Renzo said to Khara. He pressed the red-hot blade flat against the entry wound. The sound of burning skin was like bacon in a pan.
Khara jerked rigid and screamed through gritted teeth.
“Lift her!”
We did, and he placed the other side of the knife against the wound in her back. This time Khara’s cry was muffled, her face buried in Renzo’s shoulder.
When he released her, she’d lost consciousness.
Renzo sat back, looking haggard and exhausted. The three of us were covered in Khara’s blood.
“Listen, Byx and Tobble,” said Renzo. “You’ve done well. Now I need you to keep watch so that we’re not surprised. Keep the fire fed. And hobble the horses, we’ll need them. I know I’m asking a lot, but I won’t be able to help.”
I wanted to ask why, but he’d already begun to rock back and forth, whispering his strange incantations.
For six hours, Tobble and I kept our senses sharp. We hauled wood, fed the tired horses, and waited in anxious silence as Renzo chanted without stop.
The sun was falling when Renzo at last collapsed onto his back. I ran to him. “Are you all right?”
“Just exhausted. I’ve given all I have. I just don’t know if it’s enough, Byx.”
His lids dropped and he fell instantly into a deep sleep beside Khara. We covered them both with what blankets we had.
It was all we knew to do.
34
War Approaches
Tobble and I took turns keeping watch all night. We’d seen nothing of concern—no villagers, no bandits, no scouts—but every sound set us on edge.
Renzo woke at dawn. Khara had barely moved. “How do you think she’s doing?” I asked as he felt her forehead for fever.
He took a moment to consider, rubbing his jaw. When he answered, he kept his voice low so that only Tobble and I could hear. “I have the theurgy I picked up as a thief, but healing’s not my specialty. If the wound doesn’t fester, she’ll probably survive. But it will be a while before her sword arm is useful. She may never regain its full strength.”
Tobble passed Renzo a mug of tea. “Is there any chance,” he began, “I mean, with just the four of us, and with Khara wounded . . . is there any chance we could, um, prevail?”
Renzo gave a humorless laugh. “There was never more than the slimmest of chances. And now there’s still less.” He looked over at me. “I can’t lie to a dairne.”
Khara awoke, moaning with pain, a few minutes later. She drank a small amount of water and then, her voice a mere whisper, said, “We must ride.”
“Already you’re giving orders?” Renzo said, but he was clearly overjoyed to hear her voice.
“We’ve no time to lose,” said Khara. Her face was drawn, her clothing stained with her own blood, but her determined gaze told us not to argue. In any case, we knew she was right.
We packed up silently. The night before, Tobble and I had managed to remove the arrow from Achoo’s haunch and sew up the wound. But my poor pony was limping a little, and I switched to one of the packhorses in order to leave Achoo unburdened.
For her part, Khara insisted on riding solo. After some argument, Renzo relented and lifted Khara onto Victory. To our amazement, she managed to stay upright, but just barely. Renzo took the lead, with Khara just behind. Now and then, she drifted off to sleep, so Tobble and I rode alongside Victory to keep an eye on her. We rode hard, even when Khara uttered cries of pain. She hadn’t given up, it seemed, but Renzo’s expression was grim.
The countryside was eerily calm. Humans had long lived in this part of the world, and they’d taken great care of their land. The fields were plowed into perfectly straight lines, surrounded by ditches to carry away heavy rains. I saw well-tended wooden fences, low barns, and paddocks. The villages had no walls. No armed men. This was a land that had been at peace for many years.
Now, war was coming and we were its harbingers. I felt dirty somehow, bringing my sword and shield to this tranquil place.
We rode north, toward the area where we expected the terramant attack to unfold. When we reached the top of one of the infrequent hills, we noticed a dark smudge on the horizon behind us. Renzo, more experienced in such things, frowned.
“That would be the Murdano’s army.”
Khara merely nodded in agreement.
It took all day to reach our goal. “By morning the army will catch up to us, if not sooner,” Renzo said. “We’ll need to lie low. There’ll be no fire tonight.”
We found a knot of thorny bushes beside the river and decided to camp there. As darkness descended, the campfires of the Murdano’s army flickered like fireflies—hundreds of them, maybe more, perhaps a half league distant. Their soldiers would be cooking stew and brewing tea, sleeping in tents after warming themselves by their fires.
We still had plenty of provisions, so we ate well enough, but we spent a damp, cold night with the three of us huddling around Khara to give her what warmth we could.
In the morning I woke to the prodding of a toe in my back.
“Huh?” I said. “What?”
I gla
nced up to see Khara. She looked ghastly. Her face was drained of color. Her cheeks were sunken. Her hair was matted. But she was standing on her own, hands on hips.
We drank water from the river and ate a quick, cold breakfast of parched oats. As we readied to leave, a raptidon floated high overhead. I nudged Renzo and we watched for a moment, afraid the hawk might be a spy for the Murdano. But as he circled lower, Tobble cried, “It’s Sabito!”
Sabito landed on a bush. He took one look at us and demanded, “What has happened?”
“The Lady was attacked by bandits,” I explained. “She was wounded.”
We gave a brief account. We were in a hurry, and so was he. “Even with your inadequate eyes,” said Sabito, “you have seen the Murdano’s army, no doubt?”
“Yes.” Renzo nodded. “We know.”
Sabito cocked his head. “But you continue?”
“We follow the Lady’s orders,” Renzo replied.
“When it suits you,” Khara said, managing the ghost of a smile.
“My lady, forgive me, but this is lunacy,” Sabito exclaimed. “We must get you to a safe village and let you heal.”
“No village is safe now,” Khara said. “If the Murdano’s deprived of battle, he’ll let his men loose to pillage. Yes, even his own people.”
Sabito didn’t argue. “General Varis has driven the Army of Peace hard, without letup, but they are still a day’s travel away.”
“The Murdano hasn’t spotted them yet?” Khara asked.
“No, my lady. The Murdano sent a flock of razorgulls to spy out the countryside but, well, some friends of mine and I took care of those flying rats.”
“Good,” Khara said. Her voice was a hoarse shadow of itself. “That was well done, Sabito. And now I have to ask more from you.”
“What service can I render, my lady?”
“Can you fly on ahead and come straight back at the first sight of terramants emerging?”
“Of course,” Sabito replied. “And happily.”
“Then fly, my friend. Time is short. And hope dwindles.”
Sabito took wing immediately. “Saddle up,” Khara commanded.
“Khara—” Renzo started to argue.
Khara held up a hand. “Don’t make me use what little strength I have left to debate you, Renzo.”
We returned to our mounts and moved on. It was nearing noon when a speck appeared in the sky: Sabito, flying with all his speed. He didn’t even bother to alight, simply screeching over our heads, “The terramants! They’ve broken through! The Kazar’s army is right behind them, cavalry and foot! They’re moving fast.”
We rode at full speed. Behind us, we could clearly see the Murdano’s army. The terramant breakout grew clearer, too, a widening hole in the low slope of the mountain. Dark shapes, like mere ants from this distance, rushed out onto the plains.
The Kazar’s forces and those of the Murdano raced to cover the miles that separated them, two great armies intent on slaughter. The war between Dreyland and Nedarra was about to begin.
35
On the Brink
Sabito continued to take stock of the gloomy situation, hovering alongside Khara to report on everything he found. Behind us, he said, came twenty thousand of the Murdano’s men on foot, along with another three thousand mounted cavalry, platoons of archers, and powerful beasts pulling siege towers, trebuchets, and war wagons.
Rushing toward us from the north were thousands of terramants, an insect swarm devouring crops and farmers alike, destroying all they came near, and behind them, far closer than we had expected, came the mass of the Dreyland forces.
Fleeing refugees began to reach us, many injured and all terrified, carrying what few possessions they’d managed to gather. They drove their animals and bundled their children onto carts, moving as fast as they could. They couldn’t know that they were rushing toward a Nedarran army that might treat them no more gently than the Dreylanders.
This peaceful, bucolic place was about to become a land of horrors.
“Sabito!” Khara called. When he swooped near, she asked, “Do you see the Murdano himself with his army?”
“Judging by the great platform being carried on the backs of a hundred thralls, I’d say yes.”
“Now, Sabito.” Khara winced as she shifted position on Victory. “Go see whether the Kazar is present with his troops.”
Sabito flew off and Renzo asked, “What are you looking for?”
Khara shook her head. “Just curious.”
I heard the lie. But I said nothing.
Sabito soon returned to report that the Kazar was with his army. “Unless,” he added, “there is some other huge gray felivet surrounded by terrified thralls.”
“Can you estimate where the armies will meet?” Renzo asked.
“There is a small village ahead, perhaps a quarter league. I do not know its name, but a blue jay I encountered says the surrounding area is called Soraskivelt. It is an ancient tongue. The name means ‘Field of Slaughter.’”
“So glad I asked,” Renzo muttered.
“Long centuries ago, a great battle was fought there,” Sabito explained, staying perfectly level with us as we galloped. “There are burial mounds to the west, and stone altars closer to the village.”
“Then I know what I must do,” said Khara. She shaded her eyes and peered into the distance. “Let’s hope that by day’s end, this field will have earned a happier name.”
None of us believed that would happen. But we kept going, pushing our poor horses for all the speed they could manage. We were soon met with great burial mounds on our left, some as high as ten humans.
“What an odd way to honor the dead,” Tobble remarked.
“Oh? And how do wobbyks do it?” I asked.
“Why, the sensible way, of course. When we die, we’re dropped into a tar pit.”
In no way did that sound superior to a burial mound, but I kept my mouth shut.
“Look!” Renzo cried, pointing.
The terramant front crested a low hill in the distance, surging like an incoming wave. It wasn’t a line, exactly. More like a disorderly cavalry charge of gigantic insects, all of them many times my size.
The Murdano’s army had spotted them, too. They rushed to form ordered infantry squares, creating a kind of massive, moving chessboard. The squares were perhaps ten warriors on each side, with more on the interior and three officers on horses at the center. Most of the fighters were armed with huge silver spears. A triple line of archers ran behind the first row of squares.
“What are they doing?” Renzo asked, jerking his chin at a group of thralls pounding big wooden stakes into the ground.
“They’ll fire barbed crossbow bolts at the terramants,” said Khara, “with ropes connected to the stakes, hoping to tie the terramants down.”
“Will it work?” I wondered aloud.
Khara gave no answer, instead shifting her gaze to the Dreylander forces. The fighters were forming a line of their own, six or seven terramants deep. Behind this terrifying assault force stood large ranks of spearmen. And behind them was a gaudy, wheeled palanquin drawn by thralls in rough hemp harnesses, on which a huge felivet paced back and forth.
The Kazar. The valtti traitor to his people.
At the far ends of the Nedarran line, I could just make out some Knights of the Fire. I counted only six, but as we all knew from personal experience, these knights were more dangerous than any mortal man. Living fire, sentient and lethal, dripped from their lowered lance points. No doubt it would be used against the terramants, who were difficult to kill with blades but had no defense against fire.
The Nedarran forces began to chant: Murdano! Murdano!
On the other side, an answering howl rose, human voices combined with the bizarre clicking sounds made by the terramants.
Khara drew a deep breath. “Are you ready, boy?” she whispered to Victory, who nickered his response.
To her left was the Dreylander’s line. To her r
ight was the army of the Murdano. The path ahead was clear. And hopeless.
The air seemed to tremble with anticipation and dread. Khara turned Victory away from the battle to face us.
“My friends, this isn’t the final act I’d hoped for. I wanted a chance to speak to the Murdano and the Kazar. With one hand, I meant to threaten them with the Army of Peace, and with the other hand, to offer them a brighter future. But our army is still too far away, so I must take a different path.”
“Khara . . . ,” Renzo said. But he had no argument to make, beyond saying her name.
“Whatever happens, you must look to your own safety. That’s my order to you, and you will obey me.” She put some steel into that command. “You are each very dear to me. I’ll gain courage from believing that you’re . . . alive.”
“Khara,” Renzo said again, pleading. “Your right arm, your sword arm, is too weak.”
“He’s right,” I said.
“No arm is weak,” said Khara, “that wields the Light of Nedarra.”
Renzo closed his eyes. Tobble wiped away a tear.
“My fate is mine alone,” Khara said. “Know that I love each of you.” She added a look that was just for Renzo. “Though in different ways.”
With that, Khara turned her horse to face the coming battle. “Well then, Victory. Let’s see if you live up to your name.”
Victory leapt forward, as the Lady of Nedarra rode alone toward the killing ground.
Or at least she would have been alone, if my packhorse, Doona, hadn’t mistaken the dead branch near his right hoof for a snake. He whinnied in terror and did what any frightened horse would do under the circumstances: he followed the mighty steed galloping away.
Khara rode on. And Tobble and I rode just behind her.
36
Khara’s Challenge
As the two armies neared each other, they slowed, organizing for battle, the opposing generals moving units like toys.
On our right sat the bristling porcupine of Nedarran squares. On our left, the endlessly restive terramants, grinding their enormous jaws. The space between the armies, a muddy patch of land with graying grass, had tightened. A length of perhaps fifty horses separated them.
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