Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen

by Scott Rhine

  Baran fell to one knee and looked the man in the eye. In a booming voice that silenced every conversation in the room, the smith shouted, “Hear me, son of the mountains. I have not forsaken thee even in the hour of my own greatest need. I’ve sent this man with a Sword of Miracles formed of my own sweat and pain to take you to your stolen legacy. The Obsidian Throne is being held in a village just south of our border—the Crystal Grotto. You’ll find it deep in a closed mine. Make haste, show me the steel of your bloodline, and we shall restore both your kingdom and my might.” So saying, the sword-bearer ripped free the Defender of the Realm and held it high for all to see. The silvery surface shone with an inner light, and runes danced half-visible on the sides. Before the retinue could react, Baran offered the sword to the Prince, palms up and head bowed.

  “Bugger me,” mumbled Legato.

  “So much for state secrets and careful planning,” sighed the ambassador.

  Chapter

  3 – Scout versus Scout

  The Prefect was fuming when he got them alone, bristling with barely restrained anger. “When were you planning on telling me?”

  The smith was a bit dazed from the event. “The message wasn’t for you. There’s no way I could have.”

  The Prefect opened his mouth and snapped it shut again. He turned to Ambassador Sajika and asked, “Is he having me on?”

  She shook her head sadly. “No. He’s not bright enough to make this stuff up. It’s a common restriction placed on messengers. He may not have even known the words himself until the trigger condition happened. I should’ve set the initial meeting up in a more private place, General. I bear the blame.”

  After allowing a brief period for the information to be digested, Sajika added, “But there are upsides to this situation.”

  The Prefect stared at her stonily. “Go on.”

  The ambassador began listing positive ramifications on her fingers. “The morale effect on our own troops was significant. Word that we hold the Defender spread like wildfire. The men are convinced that this is a sign that the gods are siding with us in this matter: that moral right will strengthen our hand.”

  The Prefect shook his head. “Nice try, but victories do more for morale than a hundred rumors. A rumor just shows that the average soldier will believe anything. That’s hardly encouraging. Worse, it will eventually beg the question of who the true emperor should be. What person is the Defender protecting? We don’t have a decent Imperial candidate anywhere in the south. Even if we did, I rather like things the w they are now without an emperor to interfere.”

  Sajika moved on to her second finger. “It helps our image with the public at large. The natives are now more likely to accept the reasons for our invasion and support us. We’re liberators, endorsed by all rightful rulers as well as tradition and the gods.”

  The Prefect shrugged. “Nice for our bellies perhaps, but what does it buy my offensive?”

  Pinetto whispered in the ambassador’s ear. She nodded and relayed the information to the general. “Without Prince Legato, our claims would stop at the border of Semenos. Baran is the best bodyguard imaginable for the Prince. Legato’s number-one problem has always been assassins, the Glass Daggers. Our friend here eats them for breakfast. He almost single-handedly routed two cells of Daggers that reached the Great Library.”

  The Prefect ran a hand over his closely shaved head and said, “What good’s one sword, no matter how pretty, in battle?”

  Sajika took a deep breath. “The Defender was recently reforged by the fallen god Kiateros and contains drops of his blood. While holding this magic blade, Baran Togg is almost impossible to hit with a normal sword. Combined with the bold fury of his attacks, he causes even the most dedicated foes to flee in terror.”

  The Prefect raised an eyebrow. “If it weren’t for archers, that might be enough.”

  Pinetto whispered again. Sajika quickly added. “We can get him proper chainmail if you authorize that, sir. We’re just traveling light because of the sea voyage. He’s also an expert in wizards and anti-spirit tactics.”

  This caused a smile to blossom on the Prefect’s face. “Just the volunteer I’ve been looking for. If he can prove himself against a certain wizard who has been a pain in my side, I’ll give you carte blanche to lead the Kiaterans and the Mandibosians on a campaign to recover the Obsidian Throne. Ever hunted a man on a death warrant before?”

  “Twenty-seven times, sir,” the smith replied.

  His companions were speechless, but the Prefect put a pensive finger to his lips. “Indeed. I believe that’s only three short of retirement. I underestimated you. Tell my paymaster that you need to be outfitted for operation Weed Puller this afternoon. All three of you’ll need real armor; you’re going along to help him. Togg, do you have any other surprises for me today?”

  “No, sir!”

  The Prefect nodded and grinned at Sajika. “Good. I like him. This gentleman scares the ever-living shit out of our annoying little friend Legato. Since he pulled his voice-of-the-gods act, the prince has been a good boy. Removing another boil from my butt will help more than a dozen magic swords. Questions?”

  “The target and location?” asked Sajika.

  “Azalar Wind Thane watches my army’s every movement with magical devices and spirit birds. If I can catch him, I can pluck out the enemy’s eyes. He usually sits on a hillside nearby for the best view. The first scout or two that finds him always ends up dead. That’s how we know where to send the strike team. But any time we approach with more than a hand of men, he vanishes before we arrive.”

  “A little bird whispers in his ear?” suggested Sajika.

  “Actually, chipmunks are recommended in those situations,” said Pinetto. “They attract less attention, and they’re easier to get control stones for. Mammal spirits also stay more focused.”

  “Wizard?” asked the Prefect raising an eyebrow.

  “Astronomer and mathematician, sir,” corrected Pinetto.

  “Who just happens to be very thorough with runes and wards,” clarified Sajika.

  “Permission to speak, sir?” asked Pinetto. Sajika’s eyes flashed warning, but he ignored her. The Prefect grunted approval. “Is it absolutely necessary to risk the ambassador in this test? Beg your pardon, sir, but it seems to be a colossal waste as well as a loss of face if she gets killed.”

  The Prefect shrugged. “She’s the military officer in charge of the mission, but there’s no reason for her to be on the front lines. You two and a few experts should be able to handle it.”

  Pinetto gave a poor copy of a salute, and the interview was over. Once outside, Sajika hissed in his ear, “How dare you undermine me in there?”

  The smith answered a bit more harshly than he intended. “He wasn’t lowering you; he was helping you play your role properly. Officers of your rank are too important to risk. Besides, you can’t make the walk; you’d only endanger the rest of us. This is my job, Ambassador. Let me do it right.”

  The ambassador reacted as if slapped. Ignoring the smith, she turned to Pinetto and asked, “Is that what you meant?”

  The astronomer sighed. “I was a little concerned about giving your feet a proper rest period; otherwise, the blisters won’t heal. But mainly, I couldn’t take it if you were ripped apart by spirits. I’d rather they take me instead.”

  Sajika stood with her mouth open. The smith walked another five paces further and kept guard with his back to the pair, pretending he couldn’t hear. “What are you saying?” she asked.

  Pinetto moved his eyes from the ground until they met hers. “I don’t want to lose you, ever.”

  Sternly, she said, “In my tent, now.”

  He followed her, and the smith stood outside for about an hour, getting wet and steering people away from the tent. When he came back out, Pinetto announced, “She’s agreed to stay behind this time, but only so she can plan the campaign for the Obsidian Throne.”

  The smith nodded and grinned. “I take it y
ou were very persuasive?”

  Pinetto stared at the ground, not responding. However, the smith allowed him his silence as they found the armory.

  The smith had no trouble picking out the best and lightest gear for each of them. The supply master balked at first. “That chainmail was supposed to go to Lord Fezziwig.”

  Baran Togg replied without hesitation. “The Prefect says that armor is going to fight a wizard in a few hours. Does Lord Fezziwig plan to go in it?”

  The supply master replied, “It fits your friend better. I’ll just get the rest of those things on your list for you.”

  When they were alone, Pinetto said quietly, “I meant what I said.”

  Baran handed his friend a container of boot polish and said, “Smear this on your mail to get rid of the shiny-new glare. It also helps prevent it from rusting. Grab one of those quilted vests to keep your nipples from getting rubbed raw.”

  Pinetto looked him in the face and said, “I’d die for her.”

  “Your dying is the farthest possible thing from what she wants, you fool. Try to do everything I tell you and neither of us is going to die today, not if I can help it. Just do all the practicing with that bolo you can between now and the time we leave. She’ll help you.” That would help keep both of them busy while he collected specialists and equipment for an execution.

  ****

  At just before sundown, the rest of the camp staged a distraction for the benefit of their watchers, an inter-unit brawl in the mess line. Baran, Pinetto, and three of the stealthiest knifemen available snuck over the most likely hill. The whole region was heavily wooded, so they stuck to deer paths to avoid making too much noise on their approach. Pinetto spotted the spirit sentry before the rest of them. “Ground squirrel. Run! We’ve got to follow it to the wizard before he knows we’re here.”

  The five ran pell-mell through the brush. Baran slipped on damp, broad-leafed vegetation on the steep slope and fell behind. Before he could do more than stand back up and check for sprains, he heard an eagle scream. Diving out of the sky was the largest bird he’d ever seen, with huge claws poised to rake his face. The Blade of Miracles streaked out of its scabbard and raced upward to block his foe. The resulting shock sent him back to his knees. Ectoplasm flew everywhere, and the remaining chunks of spirit form melted in the rain. A cry of anger came from a clearing ahead. The smith rushed to aid his companions.

  They were outnumbered by the two enemy archers and four swordsmen guarding the summoner.

  The first bolo Pinetto threw missed the wizard, but foiled an attempt at conjuring. Enemy archers downed one of the knifemen before a single southern dagger could be thrown. A second raider was wounded in the hindquarters while darting from one narrow tree trunk to the next. The third knifeman reached the archers’ nest and ended the quarrel abruptly.

  Meanwhile, the wizard managed to summon a huge bear, which materialized three paces away. Pinetto threw his second bolo around the Wind Thane’s throat before the bear could be given orders. The wizard fell just outside the magic protective circle. With no one to control it, the horrible spirit went wild. The four swordsmen guarding the wizard scattered.

  Two fled past Pinetto and tried to take a little revenge on their way. One blade skittered along his new chain mail, taking off a clump of the astronomer’s hair as he ducked. Baran’s sword blocked the other blade and sheared it in two. The smith bellowed as he sliced the disarmed swordsman’s throat. “None shall stand before the fury of Kiateros!”

  The other enemies fled.

  The wind wizard was having a hard time talking while clawing the cord from his throat. The bear remembered past injuries inflicted by the summoner, hauled him completely out of the magic circle, and mauled him ferociously. Soon, the bear’s life-stone dangled from a detached arm on the ground several feet away.

  Assessing the situation, the smith made sure Pinetto still had all his body parts intact and then charged the bear. At the last momenild. the bear raised its head to sniff the air, the smith swung at the life-stone, smashing it. The apparition of the bear vanished quickly; the final look it gave him seemed almost grateful.

  Pinetto bound the wounds of the injured man while the healthy knifeman pillaged coins and goods from the dead. As expedition leader, the smith got first rights to the wizard’s personal belongings, or at least everything that hadn’t been destroyed by the bear. After crushing all the summoning artifacts he could find, the smith selected a spyglass to appease Sajika, a cloak embroidered with Sesterina thread to help protect Pinetto, and an odd ring for himself. The ring had a large gem in the center that resembled the glow globes of the Great Library. When turned outward, the gem shone like a torch; turned inward it resembled a fire-eye opal. The smith suspected he’d be able to use this in the mine.

  After the others took their loot, Pinetto collected the fragments of wizard’s glass littering the corpse and ground. Even broken, the rare substance was valuable. He mourned the loss of the life-stones but understood his friend’s viewpoint. As he pocketed dust and fragments, the astronomer made a discovery and had to hide his excitement. One of the shards, though broken in half, still held the entire print of a small burrowing mammal in its depths, a large squirrel or perhaps even a small raccoon. This Pinetto wrapped in a handkerchief for later experimentation.

  When the four survivors came back to camp with the wizard’s head and the spoils, the smith was greeted with wild cheering, given claps on the back, and eventually hoisted over the troops’ shoulders to be paraded around the camp. Pinetto disappeared, no doubt to issue his report to Sajika personally.

  Chapter 4

  Pandemonium

  In the Vale of Somber Reflection, the High Gardener and General Garad argued in the pre-dawn. Garad had grown impatient with the wait and ordered the Gardener’s forces to go out and sting the enemy into rash action.

  “Why must my men pay the bill for your impatience?” countered the Gardener in his wooden armor. “We’re close enough for you to send your own peasants.”

  His face as bristly as a boar’s, Garad shook his head. “They can’t see well enough in this downpour.”

  “What about the Imperials? The Compass Star shines even in this foul weather, giving us the upper hand day and night.”

  At first General Garad resisted. Then the Gardener snapped, “How long can your men go on eating cold, soggy rations? Send Vinspar; he’s expendable. If you work it right, he’ll even volunteer. The sooner this battle starts, the sooner we can all go home to our estates.”

  Garad considered and eventually nodded. He delegated his assistant to issue the necessary orders to put his armies on their feet and ready for action by midday.

  ****

  In the southeastern alliance camp, they celebrated having dashed the enemy’s eyes out and the end of the rain, although they were swathed in a heavy mist. Then Legato and his commandos suggested a surprise offensive. Normally, no one would suggest moving an army in this fog, but the Queen assured them, “If you stay between the road and the river, you’ll run straight into the Gardener’s unsuspecting camp.”

  The Prefect of Bablios paced. “It’s n going to get dry enough for a proper march for days, but the High Gardener has his loincloth around his ankles now. He’ll replace the spies within a day. I agree; we strike now.”

  As fate would have it, the Imperial raiders and the alliance vanguard troops chose opposite sides of the road and passed each other in the fog. Before the exchange completed, the barometric pressure changed. In minutes, the fog lifted and the two passing armies could see each other. The muddy battleground neither side wanted had been chosen for them. Each army lunged for exposed flanks, each with its own jugular exposed. The massacre would continue till nightfall with no clear winner emerging except the crows.

  ****

  Pinetto hid behind the army pack animals that were carrying the tents. Hugging the canvas, he tried to blot out the chaos and death running rampant around him. This battle wasn’t like t
he descriptions in history class. There were no lines of men, few uniforms, and no oratory before a hushed crowd. The poor astronomer had no idea that people could bleed so easily or so much. No one knew where the generals were or what the objective was.

  Chaos was too clean a word for it.

  The third standard bearer for the Babliosian contingent of the vanguard dropped to his knees. One of the Pretender’s Imperial guards chopped him down like a sapling tree. The burgundy and gold banner fell from his limp hands and fluttered into the mud. Pinetto choked back the urge to vomit because his stomach no longer had anything left to offer.

  Despite the stench, Pinetto had been content hiding until he saw Sajika. His lady had witnessed the colors fall and decided to make things right. Her bolo streaked through the air and snared the beefy Imperial around the throat. As the soldier choked and clawed at his throat, Sajika moved in with her staff and inflicted a terrible punishment. She shouted with effort and rage with every strike. Eventually, her opponent tumbled face forward into the shallow waters, finished by the terrain itself.

  Rustic spearmen saw Sajika raise the banner of Bablios and charged her from all sides. Pinetto wanted to warn her, but another enemy Imperial stalked nearby, a few paces from his hiding place. Arrows and sling stones splashed around their position like hail, pelting friend and foe alike. Afraid to move, he closed his eyes tightly and prayed. “Save her. Save her, Bablios. Sajika is one of your truest faithful. Save her, and I’ll do anything you ask.”

  A voice he knew well bellowed above the din, and northern peasants were plowed aside. Behind the smith, Kiateran scouts poured into the breach. They formed a small, protective core around the banner and, for the moment, the center held. Just as the smith raised the magical sesterina blade over his head in a victory yell, the clouds let a ray of sunlight through to kiss the crown of his head. The crazed gleam in the sword-bearer’s eye made even his friend shiver.