by M. L. Forman
“Then may your luck hold true,” said Rallian. “And may we meet again soon.”
Alex nodded and turned his horse east, galloping off through the tents with Hathnor beside him.
Chapter Seventeen
The First Battle
Alex and Hathnor rode into the darkness, leaving the tents of the army behind. The road from Dunnmara was a good one and they were able to move quickly even in the darkness. Alex wanted to ask where the road led but didn’t want to interrupt Hathnor’s thoughts. He seemed more serious than Alex had seen him before. Alex knew the road would lead them to the gap of Luthan eventually, and that was enough for now. They rode all night, stopping only when the dim light of sunrise began to show the land around them.
“We will rest for a few hours,” said Hathnor, reining in his horse and turning off the road.
“How far will this road take us?” Alex asked.
“All the way to Ossbo if we follow it,” said Hathnor. “We will have to leave it when we reach the eastern edge of our lands. The road turns toward the north there, and we need to go south.”
Alex looked down the road to the east. He considered everything he knew about Nezza. If Rallian got the army moving today, it would take him at least two days to cross the mountains. Once over the mountains, it would take another two days, possibly three, to reach the gap of Luthan. That was a lot of time, and Stonebill had said that Lazar’s army would reach the gap in just over two days.
“We should reach Caftan and Shelnor before Lazar’s army,” said Hathnor, walking up beside Alex. “We will leave this road before nightfall and cross open country to the gap.”
“But will Caftan and Shelnor still be there?” Alex wondered out loud. “If they know Lazar is coming, and if they believe his army to be as big as it appears to be, will they stay?”
“King Rallian sent word for them to hold the gap,” said Hathnor. “They will hold the gap as long as they can, no matter the cost. I know both Caftan and Shelnor. They are brave and stubborn men; they will do all they can.”
“How long before we reach the gap?” Alex asked.
“With luck, we will be there before sunset tomorrow,” answered Hathnor. “Now come, eat a little and rest while there is still some time.”
Alex nodded and followed Hathnor away from the road. The soldiers that rode with them already had a fire burning and were preparing to cook a hurried meal. Alex sat down beside the fire, watching the flames. He tried not to think about the battle that was coming or what might happen if Lazar’s army moved faster than Stonebill predicted.
“Perhaps I should go and see how things stand,” said Stonebill, standing on Alex’s shoulder.
“It would be good to know,” said Alex. “Tempe told me that you know some magic. Do you know enough to slow Lazar’s army?”
“I cannot hold them in place,” said Stonebill.
“No, but can you slow them down? Talk to the horses and ask them to move slower than they normally would. Make wheels fall off carts, things like that.”
“Yes, I can do that,” said Stonebill.
“Then go, my friend,” said Alex. “Slow them as much as you can. We will need at least a day, if you can manage it.”
“I will find you a day and maybe more,” said Stonebill. “Then I will bring you word.”
Stonebill took flight after he finished speaking, causing Hathnor and his men to jump. Alex explained where the raven was going and what he was going to try to do.
The sun had been up for less than two hours when they started off again. Hathnor was more willing to talk as they rode, and Alex questioned him about the lands they were riding into. Because Hathnor had traveled quite a bit, he knew the surrounding lands well.
“My father would take my brother and me with him to visit Lords Caftan and Shelnor,” Hathnor explained. “Our families are related, and there has always been friendship between our three kingdoms.”
“I thought all the royal houses of Nezza were related,” said Alex.
“At some point they are,” said Hathnor. “Though most of those relations are old, and many of the other houses choose to ignore the connections.”
Alex continued to ask Hathnor questions as they traveled, learning a great deal about Nezza and its royal families. When they stopped in the afternoon to rest again, Alex asked the question that puzzled him the most.
“Why is it that your father never claimed to be king?”
“Our family line is far from King Rallian’s,” Hathnor explained. “The outer kingdoms were ruled by distant relatives when the true king left Nezza. None of the lords from the outer kingdoms has ever made a claim on the crown.”
“I see.”
Alex let the subject drop, seeing that Hathnor was reluctant to talk about it in front of his men. He focused instead on the line of mountains they had been following to the east.
“We should ride until sunset,” said Hathnor as they were finishing their meal. “Then we will rest for several hours before continuing.”
Alex nodded his agreement. They moved slower, leaving the road behind them and crossing open ground. The land was a mixture of rolling foothills and heavily wooded areas between the hills. Most of the woods did not have paths through them, and it took some time to work their way through. They were just coming out of a thick wooded area as the last rays of sunlight faded.
“A good spot to rest,” said Hathnor, climbing off his horse. “We are well hidden, though I doubt Lazar’s army has scouts this far from Luthan.”
“We should keep watch,” one of the guards said, his eyes scanning the horizon.
“An hour each,” said Hathnor. “When each of us has watched an hour, we will ride on.”
This seemed like a good plan to Alex, and he put his mark on a stone with the others. Hathnor drew the order of the watch; Alex’s stone was pulled last, so he quickly rolled himself in a blanket to rest. The long ride and his many worries had made both his mind and body tired. The rest would do him good.
Alex was up and moving before Hathnor came to wake him for his watch. He felt anxious, as if waiting for something or perhaps for someone. He stood away from the small fire that was still burning, looking into the darkness around them.
“Do you sense danger?” Hathnor asked, pulling his blanket around his shoulders as he found a spot near the fire to rest.
“I don’t know,” said Alex. He continued to look into the darkness, trying to feel what he could not see. For a long time he felt nothing, and that was good. There was nobody nearby, so they could travel without being troubled.
After an hour, Alex shook Hathnor awake. Hathnor then woke the soldiers that were with them. The fire was still burning, and Hathnor built it up a little as two of the soldiers went to saddle the horses. Alex returned to watching the darkness.
“You do sense something, don’t you?” Hathnor asked.
“No,” said Alex, turning back to the fire. “Or I should say yes and no. I sense no danger close to us, but I feel as if I am waiting for something.”
Hathnor didn’t reply but stood for a time looking into the darkness. Before long, they were eating and preparing for a long night’s ride.
They made good time across the open land, but they lost time having to pick their way through the woods in the dark. Alex’s feeling of expectation increased as they continued to ride, and he began to see movement in the shadows. There was trouble ahead, Alex knew it, but he didn’t know how far ahead or when it would come.
They had been riding for several hours, and the moon had risen, giving them a little light to see by. As they were approaching yet another small wooded area, the sudden twang of bowstrings filled the air. Hathnor cried out in pain, but before Alex could see if he was all right, the bowstrings sounded again.
“Quickly,” yelled Alex. “Away from the woods!”
He didn’t need to say it twice. Hathnor and the other four men turned and galloped back into the open grassland, Alex close behind them. He could see
Hathnor was slumped in his saddle, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.
Alex could hear the sound of horses running not far behind him, and he knew that they could not outrun their pursuers; their own horses were too tired. He glanced over his shoulder to see how far behind the enemy was and saw the glint of moonlight on steel only a few hundred yards behind.
“Lord Hathnor cannot go on,” one of the men called.
“To the hill,” Alex yelled back.
A small hill ahead of them stood out in the moonlight. If they could get there, they would be on high ground. It wasn’t much, but it might help.
The rushing sound of wind and running horses filled the air as Alex and his companions raced for the hill. Alex saw a second group of men coming toward them from the right. He hoped they were friends, but when they called out he knew they were not.
Alex and the soldiers reached the top of the hill just as Hathnor turned and nearly fell from his horse. The four soldiers of the north all leaped from their saddles, helping Hathnor to the ground and then forming a human wall around their injured lord. The situation was impossible, and Alex knew there was only one thing for him to do.
“Stay with Hathnor,” he commanded. “Guard him from the enemy. I will drive them away.”
“Alone?” asked one of the soldiers.
“There is no time to explain,” said Alex, wheeling his horse around. “Remember, you have nothing to fear from me.”
He urged his horse forward, drawing his sword from his side as he went. The heat of the sword’s power flowed into him as he raced back toward the men who were chasing them. Alex’s horse began to glow like pale moonlight as the magic from his sword entered the animal as well. Alex felt the fierce and terrible joy of battle, this time mixed with the power of the dragon. It took some concentration on Alex’s part not to change into a dragon on the spot. He charged forward, letting loose a battle cry as the wind whipped past him.
The pursuers reined in their horses, unsure of their pursuit. Alex didn’t wait for them to decide what to do, charging straight into them. For a moment he felt their fear, but that was nothing to him. His sword flashed like blue fire, and the leader of the attackers fell from his saddle.
Alex checked his charge, turning once more to attack his enemies. The men quickly decided that this was a fight they did not want, and they scattered into the darkness as Alex approached.
They could run, but Alex knew it would do them no good. The heat of battle and the power of his sword drove him on. He followed two of the fleeing men, cutting them down as they tried to escape. He turned to pursue the others but stopped, hearing his name called in the distance.
Another group of men was attacking the hill, trying to finish off his companions while he was away. Alex let the remaining attackers ride away and charged back to his friends.
The attacking men were still on horseback. They urged their mounts up the hill, but the horses reared and turned away from the soldiers standing on the hilltop. The attackers, having trouble controlling their horses, had not seen Alex or the pale light that surrounded him and his horse. When Alex closed in on them, they screamed in terror, scattering like mice.
The combined heat of Moon Slayer and the battle filled Alex, and he did not hesitate to run down the fleeing men. Few escaped him as he turned and slashed in the darkness. His mind was filled with rage and flame, but a part of his mind remembered his wounded friend, Hathnor. He turned around, checking to see that all of his enemies were either dead or running, and then he rode back to the hill and his friends.
The soldiers looked as terrified as his enemies had been, and Alex knew how he must look to them. He had never seen himself when the power of his sword was in him, but he had seen his friend Sindar, who also carried a magic sword.
Alex dismounted before reaching the hilltop, and then he wiped the blood off his sword before putting it away. He felt the sword’s power leave him, but he did not feel as drained as he had the last time he’d used Moon Slayer.
He spoke a few soft words into the horse’s ear, calming the animal from the magic that had filled it just as it had filled him. The guards on the hilltop shifted their feet and formed up as if preparing for another fight.
Alex moved forward, his focus fixed on Hathnor and not on the men who were guarding him. Hearing the unexpected twang of a bowstring, his head jerked up. An arrow raced toward his chest, though it seemed to move slowly in his mind. One of Hathnor’s guards had panicked and let loose an arrow in fear.
With a wave of his hand, Alex dismissed the arrow, and it vanished in a flash of flame.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Alex called.
Hathnor’s men looked terrified and did not reply. Alex moved forward once more, watching the guards. The men backed away from him, their weapons ready. Alex ignored them, dropping down beside Hathnor. A black arrow was sticking out of Hathnor’s shoulder, and his cloak was covered in blood.
“So, Skeld’s stories were true,” said Hathnor in a weak but calm voice. “I am glad I was able to see this magic for myself, before my end.”
“Don’t talk,” said Alex, his voice firm but kind. “You’ve a long way to go before your end, and this little scratch won’t slow you down too much.”
“The wound . . .” one of soldiers began but stopped, looking nervously at Alex. “The wound is deep, and Lord Hathnor has lost a lot of blood.”
“Yes,” said Alex. “Gather branches to make a drag. I will tend to his wound.”
The men hesitated, unsure of themselves and of Alex. Slowly, they did as Alex had instructed, mounting their horses and riding back to the woods.
Alex checked Hathnor’s shoulder, considering the best way to treat the wound.
“I can ride,” said Hathnor softly, his eyes unfocused.
“Rest,” Alex commanded, putting a spell of restful sleep on his friend.
Alex conjured several weir lights so he could see exactly how badly Hathnor was hurt. The guard was right; the arrow was deep, and the wound was still bleeding. Without considering how many of Lazar’s men might still be nearby, Alex conjured a fire and began mixing a potion. While the water heated, he pulled the arrow out of Hathnor’s shoulder, whispering a spell that would slow the loss of blood.
Hathnor’s guards returned to the hilltop with caution. The weir lights were still floating in the air, and it was clear that they frightened the soldiers.
“There is nothing to fear,” said Alex. “The lights are here only to assist me; there is no danger.”
Alex had finished his work on Hathnor. It had been a dangerous wound; if the arrow had been poisoned, Hathnor would have died. Instead, Hathnor lay sleeping under several blankets, his shoulder tightly bandaged, and his arm tied to his side to keep it from moving.
“Lord Hathnor?” one of the guards asked.
“He should rest for a few hours before we move him,” said Alex.
“He will live?” the man asked.
“Yes,” said Alex. “It will take some time for him to heal, but he will live.”
The soldiers seemed satisfied with Alex’s answer, but their eyes nervously returned again and again to the weir lights. They lashed together the branches they had brought back to the hill, making a drag for Hathnor.
Alex sat by the conjured fire, resting his body while searching the countryside with his mind. The few men who had escaped him were still running, terrified by what they had seen. He could feel no one else close by, but he cursed himself for not realizing how close the attackers had been.
“Forgive me, lord,” said one of the men, stepping toward Alex. “I did not mean to let the arrow fly.”
“You meant no harm by it, and none was taken,” said Alex. “I do not blame you for what happened. I know how the sword changes me.”
“I see now that the old stories do not come close to the truth,” said the man, looking at Alex with wide eyes.
Alex motioned for the men to sit down around the fire. They did so, but
they seemed reluctant and unwilling to get too close to the conjured flames or the floating weir lights.
“Magic can be a wonderful thing,” said Alex. “It can do great good when used correctly.”
“And great evil when not,” the man who had shot the arrow added.
“Yes,” said Alex. “There is always a danger that magic will be misused. Magnus has misused his powers, but his days are numbered.”
“Will you destroy Magnus?” asked the youngest looking man.
“I will face him and break his power if I can,” said Alex. “If I prove to be stronger than Magnus, then I will destroy him.”
“These lights,” said the oldest man. “How is it they remain? How is it this fire burns without wood?”
“The lights are called weir lights,” Alex explained. “They remain because I summoned them to help me see Hathnor’s wound. I conjured the fire to help me heat water to treat the wound. This is only simple magic. If time had allowed, I would have used wood for the fire and sunlight to see the wound.”
“And these lights obey your commands?” asked the youngest man.
“Yes,” said Alex. “They go where I go, or where I tell them to go. When I no longer need them, I will put them out, like the fire.”
“They are illusion, then?” asked the oldest man.
“Not exactly. The light and the heat from the fire are real,” said Alex. “Some magic is illusion, some is not. Magnus is using illusion to make Lazar’s army appear larger than it really is. But illusion is just a trick of the eyes. Lazar’s pretend army cannot do anything but appear to be there. Still, he hopes the deception will cause Lords Caftan and Shelnor to surrender, or at least abandon the gap of Luthan.”
“How can a man know what is illusion and what is real?” asked the youngest man.
“It is difficult at times,” Alex answered. “Most illusions have some flaw in them. No illusion can be touched or felt, as you feel the warmth of the fire.”
“This is all strange and new to us,” said the oldest man, poking a stick at the fire Alex had conjured.
