Deceptions (Ascendant Book 3)

by Craig Alanson

  “She is not involved,” Koren’s face turned red as he misunderstood Bjorn’s remark, and his reaction was more convincing than if he had caught onto Bjorn’s play-acting. “She-”

  “Save it,” Bjorn chuckled with a disgusted wave of a hand, and a wink toward Renhelm.

  The dwarf chuckled, and took his hand away from the axe hilt. “The young are foolish no matter where they came from. Fair enough. You wish to get back to Tarador, eh? You’ll not get there by going down this hill, that’s where we came from.” As he told his tale, Raddick’s men collected their belongings and followed the dwarf at the rear of the refugee column.

  The story Renhelm told was sad and discouraging. He had been part of a cavalry troop, riding through the valley to warn of the invading host of orcs. Six days prior, they had been rounding up stragglers when they were ambushed by an advance force of orcs, this group having surprisingly come from the west. “They set upon us at night,” Renhelm shook his head. “We are supposed to get warnings when the enemy crosses the border, there is a river running through a ravine that forms our border with Acedor. We have sentry posts all along the river, yet somehow the group that hit us snuck through. They have a wizard with them, that may explain it somewhat. Our captain rallied us and we pushed them back, aye,” Renhelm smacked a fist into a palm, “they didn’t expect us to fight back so fiercely. We cut a hole through their lines and got most of us out, then it was a desperate race to get away. Our captain reasoned we were too few to do much good roaming around the valley, and if the orcs were coming at us from both sides we were needed to reinforce our lines in the mountains. But the orcs were ahead of us, they cut or burned bridges and were waiting for us where the rivers could be forded. There was no choice, we had to abandoned our wagons, our mounts and most of our supplies and swim across. It’s been a running fight since then, like I said, our captain was killed four days ago. Of the sixty who set out, there are twenty two remaining and not all of us able to wield an axe in combat. We picked up scattered groups of survivors, and,” Renhelm shrugged, “we couldn’t leave them.”

  Raddick’s expression was sympathetic. “I had eighteen men when we came across the border. Now, I have these seven with me. Renhelm, how can I get to Tarador? My need is most urgent.”

  “Urgent, eh?” Renhelm asked with suspicion. “You found the boy, what does the girl have to do with it?”

  Raddick’s mind was quick and sharp and he had a ready reply. “Right now, I do not care about two young fools who think they are in love. I must return to my homeland; we are at war and that is where I belong, where my duty lies.”

  “Aye,” Renhelm was satisfied with that answer. “I would seek to do the same if I were you. But, Captain, behind us in the valley, you will find only death. If you wish to do some good in this war, come with us to the fortress of Magross. That is where we are bound. There, I can slip responsibility for these refugees and rejoin a fighting unit. I fear you will be trapped in these mountains through the winter.”

  “That cannot be,” Raddick’s jaw set in determination. “We must return to Tarador, no matter the cost.”

  “The cost will be all your lives,” Renhelm’s grave expression invited no argument. “Captain, if you are determined to meet an unhappy end, then first help me get these civilians up to Magross. I’ll not tell you our secret paths, but there is a deep and narrow ravine, part of it goes under the ground, that can bring you down almost to the base of the foothills. From there?” Renhelm shrugged with fatal resignation. “You will at least emerge behind the orc frontlines, and perhaps if you can remain concealed for a time, you might just live long enough to regret your decision.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Raddick nodded, turning back to his men and rolling his eyes wearily. Escorting civilian refugees was a familiar and unwelcome task for most soldiers. As they once again checked their gear and fell in with the dwarf guards on the rear of the column, Koren strode closer to Raddick. “Captain, the lives of your men are at risk because of me. It might be best for me to make the attempt to cross the border by myself. I could-”

  “Master Bladewell,” Raddick cut the boy off, speaking at first through clenched teeth. He had enough headaches without worrying about an adventurous, untrained young wizard. “While I appreciate your courage and concern for my men, you will not be running off by yourself, is that clear? I was given the duty to return you to Linden and I will not shirk my duty, nor will I fail. Remember Lord Salva’s words; if you are captured by the enemy, all is lost. You see these refugees? They fear for their lives, but they think the greatest threat is a band of orcs on their trail. If they walk hard and are lucky, they might live to reach the safety of the fortress. But if you fall into the enemy’s hands, these refugees, all of us, will be consumed by demon fire.”

  “Oh,” Koren cast his eyes downward, chastened.

  “Again, I do not question your courage. Because I also recall that following orders of a Royal Army captain is something you treat as a mere trifle,” he forced a smile, “do not think of sneaking away from us at night. If need be, I can bind your hands an assign someone to watch you. Someone other than Bjorn, who seems to enable your adventurous spirit. Now, Koren Bladewell, promise me you will not run off. Promise you will not hinder me in my sacred duty, a duty given to me directly by our Regent.”

  “I promise,” Koren still was looking at his boots. Looking up to meet Raddick’s eyes, he added “I promise! Really! I,” he swept a hand across the vista of forbidding mountains, “wouldn’t know where to go anyway!”

  Renhelm and Raddick wished to walk through the night, if that had been possible. Because they were tasked with herding along over a hundred refugees, and because it was too dangerous to walk through the tricky mountain paths in total darkness, they agreed to call a halt just after sunset. That far north, twilight lingered for nearly an hour, allowing time for finding or setting up shelters. Since they could not risk artificial light giving away their position, they did not allow torches or fires. A few of the refugees grumbled about the lack of hot food, but those malcontents were silenced by their fellows, who were grateful for the protection of soldiers. The civilians knew the sacrifices the dwarf army had already made for them, and knew the surviving soldiers would prefer to race ahead to the safety behind the thick, grim ancient stone walls of Magross.

  Despite of most refugees expressing their gratitude, both Renhelm and Raddick chafed at how slowly the civilians were walking. Renhelm, concerned about how poorly the refugees climbed one moderate ridge on their journey, went so far as ordering the refugees drop anything not absolutely necessary, which caused arguments until Renhelm took the packs civilians were carrying one by one and rummaging through the contents himself, tossing out any items he considered to be not needed on the climb up to the fortress of Magross. In Renhelm’s experienced opinion, that was almost everything. One dwarf argued when Renhelm tossed a pretty ceramic teapot onto a rock, shattering it. “That has been in my family for five generations!” The dwarf shouted angrily, needing to be restrained from striking the military leader.

  “Aye, and if you wish there to be a sixth generation, you will toss aside anything that burdens you on this climb. You think these foothills are steep? Ha! You should see the mountain in front of us! The likes of you will be gasping for breath in the first hundred yards,” he spat on the shattered teapot in disgust. Many mountain dwarves did not consider their cousins who lived in the relative flatlands of the valley just north of Tarador to be ‘true’ dwarves, even though the valley folk brought their livestock and harvested crops up to mountain villages for sale several times each year.

  “Renhelm,” Raddick whispered with a hand on the dwarf’s arm, “a word, please.”

  When the dwarf stepped aside, he confronted Raddick. “This is no concern of yours.”

  “It is my concern, if arguments and discord slow us further. Most of these people are carrying oilcloth cloaks and extra blankets. It is, what, four days up to Magross?”<
br />
  “Six or more, with us dragging this lot along,” Renhelm grumbled sourly.

  “The weather holds fine, and even up here will not likely snow so early,” Raddick spoke from experience. “If these people wish to keep their precious possessions, tell them to wrap them in blankets and oilcloths to keep them dry, and we will stash everything under cover.”

  “Hmm,” Renhelm considered the idea, not likely that a dwarf had to listen to a man from Tarador.

  “And that means they will not be carrying heavy oilcloths and blankets they do not need,” Raddick winked.

  “Ah!” Renhelm chuckled. “Have it your way, but I want to get moving again in half a glass.”

  “Half a glass, no more,” Raddick agreed, then hopped on a rock to be seen, and told the refugees what they needed to do to keep their precious possessions safe. Because one way or another, the civilians were not slowing down the entire column by dragging useless keepsakes with them, no matter the sentimental or monetary value. To the surprise of Renhelm but not Raddick, most people decided to keep their oilcloths in case of rain, and blankets to ward off nighttime cold, and discarded just about everything else.

  Renhelm had to admit he was impressed. “You have a way with people,” he offered as grudging praise to the Royal Army captain.

  “Renhelm,” Raddick replied with a sad shake of his head, “we in Tarador have all too much experience with moving frightened refugees,” he said truthfully. He also said that because he wanted the dwarf leader to save face. It never paid to make enemies of allies, Tarador had enough enemies already.

  “Aye,” Renhelm puffed out his chest. “We have not suffered an invasion since, mmm, my great-great-grandfather’s time? An invasion like this?” He pondered. “Never.”

  Raddick nodded, and waved for his men to resume climbing the ridge, prodding the refugees along. “That was a clever strategy by the enemy; they thrust into the lowlands between our peoples from east and west, cutting us off from each other. They knew your strategy would be to retreat up to your mountain strongholds as you have done since ancient times.” Seeing as sideways look from Renhelm, Raddick added, “Wisely mustered your strength in mountain strongholds. The enemy knew the dukes in our northern provinces would not venture north of their borders to challenge the orcs. By invading and occupying only the lowland valleys, the orcs have effectively prevented our two peoples from aiding each other.”

  Renhelm considered that observation, scratching his beard. “Divide and conquer, eh? That is a good strategy. No such thought came from the mind of an orc!”

  “I suspect the demon instructed the orcs to do its bidding,” Raddick explained. “No matter. We are divided, now the enemy may conquer us each separately. Your ancient redoubts in the mountains are formidable, I know. I do not think even they will hold long after Tarador falls.”

  “This is so unfair,” Olivia complained in shear exasperation, throwing up her hands. She knew her remark would be viewed by adults as overly dramatic and overly emotional, and typical of a young person who was not ready in terms of experience for adult responsibilities. Most people her age would be insulted by disparaging adult remarks about her lack of maturity, but to Olivia, such a response would not be an insult. It would be the whole point!

  It was unfair. She was not ready for the crushing responsibility being dumped, being forced on her by wizards who should have been experienced and wise enough to know better. Olivia was in the very odd circumstance of arguing that she was indeed too young and inexperienced, too inadequately trained, too unready to be entrusted with such an important task. Most children her age were chafing at restrictions imposed on them by adults, and were eager to be treated as young adults rather than untrusted little girls and boys. “Go ahead,” she said defiantly, jutting her chin forward, hands on her hips. “Say it. I’m a silly, weak little girl, and I should do as I’m told by the adults who know better.”

  “No,” Madame Chu replied with a slight shake of her head and the barest of smiles. “You are not silly, or weak, or too immature for what we are asking you to do.”

  “But,” Olivia’s hands slipped and she pulled them back onto her hips. The master wizard had just thrown out Olivia’s entire argument, and now she stood deflated. “But,” she didn’t know what to say. “I am not ready. You,” having no idea where to take her argument, she crossed her arms silently and glared at Madame Chu.

  “Olivia, you think we are giving you this responsibility because all the adult wizards have better things to do, and are desperately needed on the front lines of the battle? We,” she caught herself, “they, are desperately needed, that is true. The enemy has more wizards arrayed against us than we can counter by sheer numbers, and the enemy trains their wizards only in the arts of destruction and deception. You know the enemy has more wizards than we because the demon forces power into its candidates. Anyone who shows the slightest ability to use magic is brought before the demon, so it can plant a spark of its essence inside them. Hundreds of candidates die in the process to create a single wizard and the demon does not care about the lives lost, it cares only for the destructive power at its command. The enemy has no wizards with the power to heal, none who are skilled in working with the natural world. Those few wizards we have who can wield magical fire are sorely needed on the front lines. We need you here.”

  “But,” Olivia blinked back a tear. It was so frustrating, not being able to find the right words to make the master wizard see the truth that was right in front of her face. “Ariana is alive by the barest sliver of time. If I had been one second too late, if she had not been standing in front of that window-” Olivia shuddered. “If that servant boy had not been taking a shortcut through the courtyard at just the right time-”

  “She is alive,” Wing said gently.

  “By luck!” Olivia protested. “I was nearly killed, very nearly killed by that assassin! An assassin with no magical powers, and I came within a hairsbreadth of being killed by a poisoned dagger. If that silly chief of protocol had not insisted the princess be served tea on a special, ancient tea set, I-”

  “You were not killed, were you? That assassin was not totally without magical assistance; the enemy always equips his agents of evil with talismans and spells to enhance physical reactions, to block pain and fear, to remove all thought other than striking their targets. You are correct, Olivia, you were in very grave danger, more than you know. Yet,” she smiled, “here you are. And the princess is alive and well to lead us today.”

  “By luck,” Olivia insisted, arms across her chest, lower lip stuck out in defiance and dismay.

  Madam Chu lowered her voice and glanced around to ensure no one could overhear her words. The four soldiers assigned to guard the master wizard knew when she wanted privacy and were standing a respectful distance away. One of them nodded when he met the wizard’s eyes, gripping the hilt of his sword as if to say she could relax, for she was surrounded by the Royal Army. Wing flashed a brief smile back to the man, wishing to herself that she could feel safe enough to relax, but she could not. There were so many threats a dozen, or a hundred or more soldiers could not protect her from, no matter their fortitude and dedication. “For the past six days, we have been tracking a group of enemy wizards to the west of us. There are now a dozen of them, perhaps more,” she bit her lower lip in concern. “We can’t be certain of their exact numbers without giving away our own numbers, and our strength.”

  “They will attack us?” Olivia felt a chill despite the afternoon sunshine.

  “Yes.” Seeing Olivia’s questioning, fearful look, Wing repeated the word, forcefully. “Yes. We know they will, we don’t yet know when, or how. The unhappy truth is we cannot fight them with power against power. The enemy are concentrating their strength here to destroy our leadership with one blow, while our wizards are scattered across our frontier.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the Royal Army of Tarador, even with help from allies,” she gestured to the south, where
the flag of the Indus Empire flew over an encampment holding almost a thousand soldiers from that distant land. “Cannot match the numbers the enemy has just across the river. Acedor’s entire population is enslaved and dedicated to war, and their numbers are bolstered by orcs.”

  “We have the dwarves on our side,” Oliva noted hopefully.

  “We do,” Wing flashed a sad smile. It was not the fault of Olivia that she did not know the full political situation; she was as yet too young to have learned everything an adult wizard had to know. “The dwarves are fully engaged in defending their own lands against the orcs. Because of the sacrifices the dwarves have made over centuries, the orc host we face across the River Fasse is much weaker than the full strength the orcs could throw at us. We have heard from our wizard counterparts amongst the dwarves; their army is hard-pressed and giving ground, retreating back through high mountain passes to their strongholds in the higher elevations. Even now, orcs are sweeping down from the north, crossing the border there and into Tarador’s northern provinces.”

  “Can we stop them?”

  “Yes,” Wing sighed. “Part of the Royal Army is up north, fighting with the ducal armies to slow the orcs’ advance, and working to evacuate civilians. Olivia, the enemy knows we will not stand by while orcs and foul men slaughter innocent people, so we must disperse our strength to protect Tarador’s borders to the north, west and south. While we bleed away our strength all along our border,” she stabbed the soil beneath her feet with her staff, “the enemy concentrates their strength to hit us with one massive blow. The demon cares only about crushing Tarador’s army, and the easiest way to do that is to remove Ariana as our leader. Without her, the dukes and duchesses of Tarador’s seven provinces would fall to fighting amongst themselves, and the Royal Army would be divided and weak.”