The two girls leaned forward on their gold-scaled mounts and soon were just dots against the eastern horizon.
“If you hurry, you can get back to Tamloch’s army in time to see your surprise pay off,” said Fercha.
“Aren’t you coming?” asked Eynon.
“No,” said Doethan. He glanced over at Fercha. She seemed deep in thought. “We still have to worry about Verro.”
Chapter 69
On Túathal’s Platform
A bald scout-wizard with a fringe of gray hair landed on the observation platform near the king, Duke Néillen, and Princess Gwýnnett. Uirsé, the dark-haired and earnest young wizard Verro had assigned to King Túathal, stood unobtrusively in a back corner.
“Report,” barked Túathal. “What did you learn?”
Uirsé felt a flash of resentment inside at the king’s tone. Verro’s voice was honey; Túathal’s sour wine. She’d heard the king speak to her that way often enough and felt sorry for the bald scout-wizard. She thought his name was Calvi.
“The ice is more than two feet thick, Sire. Your Grace,” said the scout-wizard. “It’s clearly a product of wizardry and looks strong enough to support an army, should the Roma choose to cross the river.”
“They’re not crossing already?” asked the duke.
“No, Your Grace,” said Calvi. “They’ve locked their shields into a wall on the far bank, but they’re not advancing.”
“What are they up to?” Túathal asked Néillen.
“My guess would be hedging their bets,” said the duke. “Perhaps they’re double-crossing Dâron and intend to wait and see who’s winning before choosing sides?”
Uirsé shook her head, confident none of the others except Calvi could see her. Twisted minds always looked for devious answers.
“Send wizards to break up the ice with fireballs,” said the king to Tairí, the wizard Verro had assigned to Duke Néillen. “I don’t care what Quintillius has in mind, I don’t want him on this side of the river.”
“We don’t have wizards to spare for that, Sire,” said Tairí. “They’re all to the south.”
“Just do it,” Túathal commanded.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Tairí. The wizard jumped over the railing in a rush to get away from the king.
Uirsé was pleased Tairí was holding his flying disk when he leapt.
“Who froze the river?” the king asked the scout-wizard. “Has Ealdamon returned from the dead?”
“Other flying scout-wizards saw an old man fitting Ealdamon’s description landing near the river,” said Calvi. “Of course, I fit that description as well. There’s no guarantee it was Ealdamon.”
“What about the young one who threw that fireball?” asked the duke.
“It could be him as well,” said the bald wizard, “but it’s unlikely.”
“Why so?” asked Princess Gwýnnett. “Don’t underestimate the young. Look at Dârio.”
Túathal didn’t comment. He was thinking about soon being able to educate his son and turn him into a worthy heir, the sort of monarch who would never be underestimated.
“Ealdamon was in his forties when he froze the Abbenoth, princess,” said Calvi. “It’s hard to believe a young wizard would have the knowledge needed to perform such a feat.”
Unless Ealdamon taught him, thought Uirsé. Túathal considers himself astute, but Verro is the wiser brother.
Tairí floated back up to the platform and nodded to King Túathal to indicate his orders were being followed. A pair of less than powerful wizards who enjoyed Verro’s liberal hand with beer and hard cider had been dispatched to try their hand at melting ice. Verro had thought them only fit to run messages, and didn’t have faith in them doing even that well. “Your Magesty,” he said.
The king glared at Tairí. He didn’t like being interrupted during interrogations.
“Wizards have been sent, Sire,” said Tairí. He tried, but failed to disguise a tremor in his voice.
“Hrrumph,” said Túathal. He returned to his previous train of thought, answering Calvi. “I can think of another wizard in Dâron who could do it.”
“Who might that be?” asked Duke Néillen.
“Fercha,” said Princess Gwýnnett, making it sound like a curse.
“Correct,” said the king. “But it doesn’t matter now who did it. The legions aren’t crossing the river…”
For now, said Uirsé silently.
“…and everything is ready for us to crush Dâron on the field.” Túathal turned to Duke Néillen. “Give the order to advance.”
“With pleasure, Your Majesty,” said the duke. He nodded to Tairí, who triggered prearranged signals notifying the other commanders that it was time.
Pipes began to wail, except in the cavalry units. The horses didn’t like them. Drums echoed across the mustering field, calling all units to make ready. Túathal watched with pride as the lances of his heavy armored cavalry snapped up, the green pennants near their tips waving in the early morning breeze.
Beside the king, Princess Gwýnnett heard the drumming grow louder. It came from the west and sounded more like thunder than sticks hitting stretched skins. She looked in that direction, expecting storm clouds, but the sky was clear. The fog had vanished. It was one of those crystal-clear spring days that made you glad to be alive, she thought. Gwýnnett was still puzzled by the thunder and its increasing volume.
Unbidden, Uirsé stepped on her flying disk and rose up to scan the western horizon. If her king wasn’t fast enough to command her, she could take the initiative to report on the phenomenon herself. All she could see to the west was a dark black line and a slowly rising cloud of dust. Could it be a tornado? No, the dust would be higher—a spinning funnel, not close to the ground. Uirsé crafted lenses to help her see better at a distance. It took her a few seconds to focus. When she did, all she saw were churning legs and thick-furred brown bodies splotched with curly black hair—and horns. Large, sharp horns.
Uirsé descended slowly. The king was staring west, along with Tairí, the duke, and the princess. The king noticed her out of the corner of his eye and summoned Uirsé to the front of the platform near the others.
“Report,” barked Túathal. “What did you see?”
Uirsé was uncertain. She wasn’t sure what she’d seen. The only animal remotely like these was one she’d seen in Tamloch’s royal zoo on the palace grounds in Riyas. It was old and mangy, its fur falling out in places, and one of its horns had been sawed off—probably as a trophy, she supposed. She did remember the name of the beast on the side of its enclosure, though.
“Spit it out, you foolish child,” the king insisted. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
Uirsé’s stomach knotted and her throat grew tight, but she managed to squeeze out an answer.
“I’m not sure, Your Majesty. Your Highness. Your Grace,” she said, “but I think it’s wisents. Thousands and thousands of wisents.”
Túathal turned to Tairí. “Get me Verro! I don’t care what you have to do, but tell him to come here immediately. Tell him it’s an emergency.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Tairí. Standing behind the king, he looked like a frightened rabbit.
“Where’s my head?” said Túathal. He reached for a plain gold ring on his right hand and removed it. With a word he commanded it to expand. “Come on, come on,” said the king. “Answer me!”
Túathal glanced up and noticed the others still standing nearby.
“Get away,” he ordered. “I need to talk to my brother in private.”
Everyone gave the king room. Uirsé created a ten-minute privacy bubble around Túathal and shifted her feet to look west again. The front edge of the stampeding herd was colliding with the right flank of the Tamloch army. Like a hand shoving unit markers across a sand table, the soldiers on the right flank pushed against the troops in the center and those in turn ran east, colliding with the left flank. Everywhere, soldiers were dropping their weapons and shields to move fas
ter. The calvary units made the best time. They tossed their lances to the ground and rode east toward the river with tens of thousands of wisents on their heels and hooves.
Tamloch’s knights might have stood to fight, but their steeds would not. The caught the wisents’ panic and sped toward the rising sun. When they reached the frozen river, they couldn’t stop. Horses slid and skidded on the ice, tossing their armored riders and sending them out toward the island in the middle of the river like stones flung by children for their amusement. They were joined by more soldiers and more wisents as the majority of Tamloch’s army moved out onto the ice.
Uirsé adjusted the lenses that let her see farther. She saw wisents smash into soldiers and go down. Some of the big beasts hit the ice and just slid, tossing fighters into the air as they passed. Those fighters landed on other fighters who bounced off wisents until the entire frozen river was a confused, writhing mass of humans, horses, and wisents. The luckiest soldiers had reached the island and climbed trees. A few wisents calmly grazed on new leaves in the undergrowth below them, no longer driven by the urge to stampede.
Looking to the right, at the south edge of the ice, Uirsé noticed that Bifurlander dragonships had anchored their lengths flush against the frozen surface. There’s no escape into the water in that direction, she realized. She shook her head sadly. So many soldiers. So many dead and wounded. So many frightened and injured beasts.
Someone grabbed Uirsé’s arm and slapped her face. It was Túathal. His privacy sphere had ended and he was screaming at her.
“I have to see what’s happening,” said the king. “Make me lenses!”
Uirsé rubbed her cheek and generated a pair of distance lenses for Túathal. She resolved to talk to Verro about a new assignment as soon as possible and stepped away from the king.
Túathal was angry. No, he was furious. Verro hadn’t answered him, so he’d collapsed the golden hoop back into a small ring and returned it to his finger. Where was his brother, blast it?
The king’s temper grew hotter as he watched what was happening on the ice. The Roma were opening gaps in their shield wall and allowing Tamloch soldiers through to safety if they removed their weapons and armor. Hundreds upon hundreds of troops were taking that option. What looked like golden hummingbirds—no, small gold dragons—were plucking men and women out of the chaos on the frozen river and dropping them on the decks of Bifurland dragonships. More fighters lost, thought Túathal. Along with the battle. At least the southern Clan Landers will do the Dâron army damage.
Túathal pushed down his anger and controlled his frustration.
This was a setback. He could still win the war by surrendering and naming his son as his heir.
Uirsé ignored the king for a few minutes. He would be focused on watching what transpired on the ice for some time. Instead, the young dark-haired wizard turned her gaze back to the west. She could see the last of the wisent herd thundering this way. Odd motions above the wisents attracted her. She saw a wizard—a young one, almost a girl—on a flying disk shooting lightning bolts above the herd. Force-beams of tight light from her fingertips kept the beasts moving straight toward where the Tamloch army had been instead of spreading out.
A huge black wyvern flew near the young wizard. It was encouraging the wisents to rush forward by snapping at them. The wyvern’s mouth was wide. Uirsé assumed it was roaring. I’d run away from that if I were a wisent, she thought. Then she realized something was on the wyvern’s back. She increased her magnification and saw a tall young man and a tiny animal resembling a raccoon were riding the wyvern. Could today get any stranger? Uirsé wondered. She laughed to herself. She might not need to ask Verro for a reassignment in the morning. She and the king might both be locked in Dâron prison cells.
Uirsé didn’t notice four creatures with the heads of eagles and the bodies of lions flying behind the wizard and the wyvern. Princess Gwýnnett was pulling on her shoulder, demanding far-seeing lenses of her own.
Chapter 70
Fercha and Doethan
“What is Verro up to?” asked Doethan. “You know his mind as well or better than anyone.”
“I know his body better than anyone,” said Fercha.
Doethan rolled his eyes at hearing more than he wanted to hear.
“Túathal knows Verro’s mind better than anyone,” she continued. “I wish some of Verro would rub off on his brother.”
“Not much chance of that after all these years, I expect,” said Doethan.
“You’re probably right,” said Fercha.
The two of them were side by side on their flying disks heading north toward the Dâron army’s encampment and Dâron’s army itself. They were flying slowly to give Fercha time to think.
“Would it help if I asked questions?” Doethan offered.
“Maybe,” said Fercha. “I’ll let you know if it doesn’t.”
“Very good,” said Doethan. “Let’s go back to the differences between the way the two brothers think. Túathal is as twisted as the Rhuthro winding its way through the marshlands, while Verro is fast and straight, like the river cutting through the gap at Rhuthro Keep.”
“Granted,” said Fercha. “Túathal’s a snake, Verro an arrow.”
“The attack by the southern Clan Landers was straightforward,” said Doethan. “So was the raid on the quarry near the Coombe. Nothing particularly devious about either one, except planning the quarry raid for dawn, and that’s just good strategy.”
“Right,” said Fercha.
“That means we’re looking for something else from Verro that’s equally straightforward. It may be audacious, but it won’t be devious.”
“Keep going,” said Fercha. “You’re helping me think.”
“Where is Dâron most vulnerable?” asked Doethan. “What one thing could Verro do to hurt the kingdom the most?”
“He wouldn’t,” said Fercha.
“Wouldn’t what?” asked Doethan.
“Kidnap Dârio,” said Fercha.
“Hah,” laughed Doethan. “How can he kidnap the king? Dârio’s in armor, in the middle of Dâron’s army, surrounded by soldiers and protected by wizards.”
“Like Hibblig?” asked Fercha.
“We’re in trouble,” said Doethan.
“With luck, Eynon will be with Dârio by now,” said Fercha. “That should help.”
“How do you think Eynon would fare against Verro?” asked Doethan. They’d already begun to accelerate the northward movement of their flying disks.
“If Eynon manages to pull off some naive and creative piece of unexpected magic, he might stand a chance,” said Fercha, “but I’d feel a lot better if I was there, too.”
“I’m not sure if you’d kill Verro or kiss him,” said Doethan.
“Neither am I,” said Fercha, smiling and shaking her head.
“I’m going to summon Damon,” said Doethan. “He can make a direct gate and jump from the Roma camp to Dârio’s side in seconds.”
“I don’t want to run to my father with all my problems,” said Fercha.
Doethan stared at her.
“Summon him,” she said. “This is too big to let my issues with Damon get in the way of the good of the kingdom.”
“I will,” said Doethan. “Lock us together and keep me on course while I do.”
The two wizards sped north, a shared shield keeping them safe from attacks by Tamloch scout-wizards.
“Uh oh,” said Fercha. “We’re too late.”
“No we’re not,” said Doethan. “Damon just said he’ll be on his way.”
“Look up,” said Fercha.
Doethan did. Red streamers were ascending in the sky above the center of Dâron’s army.
“That’s Eynon,” he said. “It has to be. Verro’s already taken Dârio.”
“Maybe not,” said Fercha.
Doethan felt a buzzing from one of his rings.
“You go ahead,” he said. “You can make better time without me. If you a
nd Eynon and Damon can’t handle Verro, nobody can.”
“See you soon,” said Fercha.
Doethan reset his shield for self-guided flight, removed the buzzing ring, and made it grow.
Chapter 71
With Dâron’s Army
“What do you see, Inthíra?” shouted Dârio. “There’s too much dust for me to make anything out.”
Inthíra descended to stand beside Duke Háiddon and the king. Both men wore coats of plates over their gambesons, but hadn’t donned their helms.
“Eynon’s surprise is working perfectly,” Inthíra said as she shifted her flying disk to hang on her shoulders.
Three Tamloch soldiers and a confused wisent strayed close to the front ranks of the Dâron army. The soldiers were taken prisoner and placed under guard, while the wisent was directed at spear point toward a makeshift pen made from confiscated enemy shields reinforced by solidified sound. Wizards enjoyed roasted meat as much as warriors.
A few minutes later a strange-looking giant deer with wide flat antlers trotted by. It stayed far enough away from the soldiers to avoid capture but prompted speculation about its nature up and down the Dâron lines as it passed in review. Some were curious about whether or not it would be good to eat, while others remarked that its sharp front hooves looked dangerous and could probably do a lot of damage to any pack of wolves or squad of fighters who tried to attack it. One archer wondered if the unusual animal could be ridden. Her mates joked that they’d like to see her try. In the end, the great beast turned back west and headed for the forested uplands located in that direction. Young soldiers asked gray-haired veterans if they’d seen anything like the unusual beast before, but none of them had.
Eleven wizards were arrayed around the king and duke in addition to Inthíra. They had multiple roles, from observing the enemy and delivering messages to defending Dârio, Duke Háiddon, and the duke’s senior officers. At present, there wasn’t much need for the wizards’ defensive role. By Princess Gwýnnett’s prior arrangement, Hibblig was one of the wizards attending the king. The belligerent and overbearing mage stared impatiently across the field toward where Tamloch’s army had been before the wisents arrived, looking for someone or something he couldn’t find. Hibblig nervously smoothed his blue-striped robes and shifted unhappily from foot to foot.
The Congruent Wizard (The Congruent Mage Series Book 2) Page 39
