“I ate meat tonight—rabbit, beef, mutton. It doesn’t help.”
“But you cooked it first, and the animal was probably long dead even then. The life energy would have long since disappeared. An imp or a carrion demon might manage to feed off such food. You are not as weak as that—you have a soul. With greater power comes greater hunger, and the more you feed, the greater your power will become.”
“Do you mean I need to eat people? Or hunt for souls?” he asked, aghast.
“Only if you want to, Mister Skeg. Any living animal should suffice. You can kill it before you eat it, or just drain some blood from it. The heart is the seat of the soul and is the choicest meal. We haven’t hunted yet tonight. If you like, we can bring our prey here and let you eat your fill once we’ve finished. Even a cup of fresh blood should make you feel better.” If Skeg looked uncomfortable before, he now looked positively horrified listening to Zuly.
“Thank you, girls, but I’d rather avoid that.”
“We’ll find you an animal before we hunt then. Maybe you’ll feel well enough for a lesson when we get back,” Nial said.
The promised blood helped. Skeg sipped at it tentatively at first, then drank it down with relish. He was still hungry, but his mind was clearing; he could think past the hunger at least. Then he realized that he hadn’t asked where the blood came from before drinking it. I’m probably better off not knowing.
After that, their routine changed. Nial and Zuly would turn up a little later in the evening than before, with a large cup of warm blood for Skeg. Animal, they insisted. Skeg would gulp it down, and then they would move on to weaving practice. Skeg’s initial excitement over his change faded further when he found that his magical skills had not changed. He certainly had more power to draw on, but he was still maddeningly limited in his ability to manipulate and shape that power.
There was no stopping the girls on the other hand. They had a thirst for knowledge that put Skeg to shame, and the drive to practice for hours on end. It only took them a few days to master all three parts of Shade’s weave. Their skills had progressed so far in the past days that it took them no more than thirty minutes now to reproduce the entire weave.
“All right, girls, careful now, let’s see what it does. Bind it to the stool.” Skeg watched with apprehension and amazement as the stool became indistinct, faded, and vanished from sight.
Nial looked at him in triumph while moving over to sit on the invisible stool. “We did it!”
Skeg smiled. “I knew you could. It’s a pretty impressive piece of work.” Skeg looked at it and said, as if speaking to himself, “I can’t even see it when I’m looking for magic. In all my time at the Arcanum, I never heard of anyone who could do that. Make something hard to see, sure, but vanish completely? All with so little power the weaving of it would pass unnoticed in almost any situation. Whatever complaints we might have about Shade, he’s certainly keeping up his side of the deal. I could sell that spell anchor to the Arcanum for my weight in gold. Not that I would, mind you; spreading around a secret like this just makes it more likely that someone else will find a way to counter it.” He came back to himself with a start and looked at the girls. “We’ll keep the anchor until you’re absolutely sure you can do it perfectly without looking at it. Then we’ll destroy it.” They nodded at him distractedly. “Girls? Are you listening to me?”
Nial looked up at him, gave him a big smile, and vanished. Skeg was dumbstruck. So fast! They reappeared a moment later, clearly trying to tiptoe behind him. They seemed unaware that the spell had been broken. Skeg scooped them off the ground and lifted them into his arms. Zuly stiffened instantly and let out a hiss of anger, her eyes glowing red. Then Nial broke into a fit of girlish giggles. I’ll have to remember not to surprise Zuly like that anymore, thought Skeg, wiping off the cold sweat that had broken out over his brow at her reaction.
“It looks like your new spell won’t work if you move. Let’s try it again and see if we can figure out its limitations.”
“But Shade came into the shop without us seeing him. We didn’t even see him open the door!” Nial said.
Skeg smiled. “Shade agreed to teach you useful things. He never said he’d share all his secrets with you. The weave he gave you is amazing. Just think what you could do with it. Besides, he might have something more to show you after you take out the next target.”
Nial grinned back at him as she moved to the door. “You’re right, Mister Skeg. We’re going to go try it out.”
“Have fun, girls, and be careful.”
Nial just rolled her eyes at him and walked out.
Jenus spat out a mouthful of ash and looked around. They had come clear of the damned forests at last. But the fires had spread ahead of them to the grasslands. Ash still swirled in the air and rose up after every step. I would kill for a good rain.They had been fighting the Gling’Ar for the better part of a month already. Though chasing was closer to the truth. The savages had set fires to the trees and seemed content to pick off the Sacral soldiers a few at a time in small ambushes. The Sacral army had been choking on the smoke and ashes ever since, and the fodder for their animals was running dangerously low.
As ever, he walked alone at the head of the army. His own men held him in superstitious awe that bordered on reverence. Even the mages and other Warchosen who accompanied him were little better. All of them were exhausted. They had been tested again and again by their enemy, but Jenus himself was the only one who had successfully killed even one of the monsters. They fled from him now. It was, he decided, satisfying to be feared by an enemy. But now his own men would scarcely look him in the eye. The guilt of their own vulnerability and their need for him to bring them to victory were heavy chains.
Jenus, like most of his countrymen, had disbelieved the stories the Abolians told of the savage raiders. Though tales remained, no nonhuman had been seen in Sacral since before their city had been pulled away by the White Mother a thousand years ago. Jenus had expected tall humans in strange garb, little else.
Their first skirmish had taught him the errors of his thinking. The Gling’Ar stood half again as tall as any Sacral man, and they were just as broad. Their eyes were strange, with elongated yellow or orange pupils. Their teeth were longer and sharper than any man’s, often protruding from between closed lips. But what truly left the soldiers of Sacral gaping in disbelief was their second pair of arms.
In their first clash, the Gling’Ar had ambushed Jenus’s rear guard. Twenty savages had killed sixty-three of his brave soldiers, not to mention three priests of the White Mother, and twelve noncombatants, before being driven off. Only one Gling’Ar was killed in that engagement. Jenus had killed it himself. The Lightbringer had cut through its bronze shield and the two arms holding it like a sharp blade through grass. Its helm had provided no greater protection. Jenus had stood over the body for a long time, trying to grasp the reality of the thing he had killed. Many of the soldiers and the workers accompanying them had come for a look at the monstrous enemy. The Gling’Ar had wielded a huge, oddly shaped two-handed sword, the hilt sharply bent in the middle, with the two hands on its right side. The second set of arms had held a large, sharp-edged shield of polished bronze. Its body was encased in a heavy suit of bronze scales that it had seemed to wear as effortlessly as a human might wear silk. A simple open-faced bronze helm covered its head.
That first night had had a terrible impact on the army’s morale. The soldiers of Sacral were as brave as any in the face of combat. But they were all shocked by the number of dead. Barely a handful of the men and women who fell in the ambush had survived. The strength of the raiders was daunting. Their strength and skill made the Sacral soldiers feel like children playing at war, their superior weaponry little better than toys. What use was a runed shield when the power of the blow it blocked shattered the arm that held it? What use was a runed sword when the enemy’s reach advantage and speed were so great that they never had a chance to do anything but attempt
frantic parries?
The Abolians that had guarded the city of Sariah had all carried heavy metal crossbows. Jenus had sneered at them. The weapons of cowards. True warriors did not need such things. . . . Now he was starting to wonder. He was honor bound to finish his task, but there was no improvising such weapons or learning their use on the march. They would have to make do. Jenus needed to change tactics. All their training involved fighting other companies from their own city. This enemy was totally outside that experience. They needed to change or they would be wiped out. Jenus started by reorganizing his troops. He formed as many phalanxes of pikes and shields as he could. They were short on timbers long enough to make the unwieldy weapons, and the constant fires ensured there was no easy way to find more. Every fighter carried the longest spear he could find and tried to make the best of it.
The second skirmish went far better for the humans. They didn’t manage to kill any more Gling’Ar outright, but they seriously wounded at least six of them. Jenus lost eight men that night, one of them a priest. Another two dozen were wounded to various degrees. Not nearly good enough, thought Jenus. Still, it was an improvement. The static phalanxes had held surprisingly well. But he needed a more mobile force to pin the monsters onto them. The savages run from me. But I can’t hold them against the phalanxes alone. Starting tomorrow, I’ll send the Warchosen out. They are wasted inside the formations. They can fight free, and together we can push the giants onto the spears.
The next attack came four days later. Jenus and his Warchosen were ready. The troops were confident that this newest strategy would get them some Gling’Ar bodies. Morale is better today. But it’s hanging by a thread. If this doesn’t work . . .
An arrow as thick as a spear shaft and nearly as long as a man was tall flew out of the forest and smashed a hole in the Sacral troop formation marching on the left flank. Two men were killed by the same arrow. Then Jenus saw the Gling’Ar; a dozen of them stood on a hill more than two hundred paces away. They clutched huge, thick bows that they wielded with all four hands. Five more arrows flashed into the human ranks. These flew higher and fell among the noncombatants behind the spearmen. Jenus saw a priest impaled by one of the oversized shafts, his body pinned to a nearby cart. Jenus signaled for his cavalry unit to attack the archers, but after loosing one volley, the giant archers had scattered into the burning underbrush and were lost.
The phalanxes were ready to repel a charge, but no further attack came. Even with their clear advantage, the Gling’Ar seemed reluctant to engage with them. They fought furiously when they were forced, but they seemed content to lead the Sacral force deeper and deeper into the wilderness. A sudden thought occurred to Jenus. What if they are going home? What if we are being led into an ambush? The five hundred or so raiders they had counted would prove tough enough opposition if they managed to close with them. But if there were thousands more, this hunt would turn into a massacre.
He turned to the nearest soldier. “Call the order to halt and make camp. I want all the Warchosen, mages, company commanders, and the senior priests in my pavilion within the hour.” The soldier saluted and rushed off to carry out his orders.
If they truly were headed for an ambush, they might have to resort to sorcery to bring down their targets. As much as the idea caught in his throat, the idea of dying in defeat was worse.
We haven’t been confronted with any inhuman magics yet. But something tells me the savages haven’t shown us their full hand yet. No one could stand undefended against sorcery. The need to keep his mages fresh and ready to defend the army was standard practice. Only exceptional arena training had led the mages to unleash their destructive magics on the soldiers. This was always counterbalanced with another mage protecting them.
Jenus had never really concerned himself with the business of mages. He had always left them to their own counsel, assuming they knew their own tasks better than he ever could. It was time to change that. For the first time he had questions for them. What were the limits of their abilities? Could they be called on to attack or slow the fleeing enemy so that they could finally close on them? And if so, could they still be counted on to defend them from sorcerous attack should the Gling’Ar prove to have mages among them? His head felt like it was going to split. His responsibilities in the city had not prepared him for the pressures of leading men in the field. The experience was totally new to him and he was all too aware of how ill prepared he was.
An hour later Jenus sat in his tent. His Warchosen and other officers had responded quickly to his summons. They had all arrived before his tent had been erected. The three mages, Nakok, Marean, and Asar, were a little slower to arrive but still early. And now we wait for the priests. Though nominally the champion of the White Mother, Jenus was not particularly pious. Truth be told, he rarely visited her temple unless he was accompanying the king. When he did, the priests invariably reproached him and found a variety of ways to punish him for his lack of faith. A favorite tactic of theirs was making him wait, wasting his time. Well, this is war, I’m not playing their games now.
“Thank you all for coming so promptly. You do your city honor by taking your duties so seriously in our time of trouble.” No one could miss the implied reproach directed at the priests. Traven, his second in command, gave him a wide-eyed look and fidgeted. Most soldiers knew better than to speak out against the priests or their goddess even in jest. It was a foolish man who insulted those who would be treating him should he take a wound. But Jenus was resolved in this. He would not waste a second more than he had to. The Gling’Ar had to be stopped. They may even now be preparing another ambush. His men’s lives were worth more than the foolish pride of the clergy.
“All of you must know why you have been called here.” There were nods and gruff sounds of agreement all around. “The enemy we face is like nothing we have ever seen before. It is worse by far than any of us could have imagined. Like me, I’m sure you thought the Abolians weak. Like me, I’m sure you sneered at the crossbows they use to defend themselves from the savages.” Every pronouncement met general agreement, given in bitterness, for they too were failing. “It is time to change our tactics. We cannot improvise weapons to fight our enemy on equal terms. Nor would we have time to train in their use. I now believe time is against us. The Gling’Ar are leading us somewhere. They seek only to slow us enough that we do not follow too closely. But always they show themselves if we fall too far behind. This latest attack only proves it: they have been holding back.” Jenus could see fear on the faces of many of his soldiers. Well, I’m certainly helping the morale problem along. . . .
“I believe our only hope of prevailing lies in our mages. Nakok, Marean, Asar? What say you? Can your talents be used to neutralize those bows?”
Asar met the eyes of each of his colleagues before answering. “We can take apart their bows. But such a task would be difficult and time-consuming at the range they shoot from. We certainly wouldn’t be able to stop them shooting a single volley like they did today. If we are close to the point of attack, we could likely protect most of our men from the arrows. We will need time to prepare, though, and there are only three of us. It is unlikely that we would be where we are needed when the time comes.”
“What about more direct attacks on the savages?” The silence that met Jenus’s words was deafening. One of the most basic tenets of the Sacral military was that magic was only to be used in defense. In their contests, it was considered bad form to attack with magic, similar to using bows or thrown weapons. It simply wasn’t done.
“Sir . . . are you certain you wish to pursue this?” asked Traven.
“We have no choice. They use the weapons of cowards and force our hand. We cannot continue to march into the wilds and provide target practice for them!” His words came out somewhat louder than he had intended. And everyone sat staring at him in surprise. Movement at the entrance of the pavilion prevented further comment. Three priests of the White Mother walked in as if they owned the place.
“You haven’t waited for us to start? I must say I expected more courtesy from you, Jenus,” said Serim, the senior priest accompanying the army. “Although I must say, I also expected our great champion could easily deal with a band of subhuman savages.”
Jenus only gritted his teeth as the men worked their way through those present to face him. Somewhat too close for courtesy. Serim stood in silence for several minutes, the other two priests standing a step behind him to either side.
“Another of our brothers lost his life this day, Jenus. What do you intend to do about it?”
“I intend to change our tactics and bring an end to this debacle,” he said.
“And you would do this without holy counsel? We have come to guide this army. To provide healing and comfort. You let our defenseless brothers die unprotected and discuss the matter without us present. Your actions come close to blasphemy, Champion. High Priest Yeltos would be shocked to hear of this.” His tone made it clear that the high priest would indeed hear all about it, and soon.
“I assure you, I place great value on the lives of every priest, as I do on every Sacral life. We were just discussing possible measures we could take to ensure this situation does not continue.”
“None of your ideas have had any lasting effect thus far. You will forgive me if I am not reassured.”
“Nevertheless, I am confident that our new tactics will yield greater results.”
“Your overconfidence does not become you, Champion,” the priest said with a look of disdain. “In the meantime, we demand more significant protection. The soldiers under your command do not seem up to the task. Therefore, all Warchosen, barring yourself, are to be placed under our direct command to act as our bodyguards.”
The Bones of the Past (Books of Dust and Bone) Page 14
