Deceptions (Ascendant Book 3)

by Craig Alanson

  When the army column had continued southwest along the relatively new channel of the Lillefasse toward the lake, rather than climbing out of the river valley and striking out due west to intersect the roads used by the supply wagons, Regin had smiled inwardly, knowing he now understood what Magrane intended to do. The smile had been because Regin was pleased at his own cleverness for figuring out what Magrane had tried to conceal for him. The smile was also admiration for the bold and imaginative plan of the Royal Army commander, a plan Regin wished he had thought of. And finally, the smile had been because Regin heartily approved of breaching the dam, because it would suit his own, secret plan.

  Regin had agreed to betray his country, to assist in removing Ariana Trehayme from the throne. After the crown princess was dead and he assumed rule of Tarador through control of the Regency Council, he would be in a better position to negotiate with the demon if the invading force of Acedor could not move far because their supplies had been washed away.

  Thus it was that Regin anxiously watched the thin jets of water spraying out from the face of the dam. If the attempt to breach the dam failed, the demon would be angry that Regin had not warned it about Magrane’s true plan, and the huge mountain of supplies down the old river valley would still be ready to provision a massive invasion all the way to the gates of the royal castle in Linden.

  He turned to Magrane and was about to speak when a soldier on horseback called out. “Look!” The man pointed to where a section of the dam’s front face was slumping between two of the cracks made by wizards. As Regin watched, transfixed, the slumping soil became a slide, then suddenly the ground beneath Duke Falco’s feet trembled and a gap a dozen or more feet wide was opened in the dam, water cascading outward, forcing the gap ever wider. The shaking ground made the dam between the other two cracks also slump, this time the shifting soil on the dam’s face only had time to fall a couple feet before water exploded through.

  The royal party, Regin included, looked at each other with alarm as the ground they were standing on shook. Was that land, too, about to slide, Regin wondered with fear, remembering too late that a slide in that area had created the dam long ago. Ariana made an exclamation of alarm and Regin instinctively reached out to steady the girl. “Highness, we should step back,” he advised, pulling her shoulder gently.

  Magrane stood his ground, standing proud and tall, exulting in the sight of his plan coming to fruition. Half the dam was washed away already, with the gap widening every second. A wall of water, foaming brown as it scoured the dry ground of the old riverbed, surged downward toward the enemy’s main store of supplies. Magrane knew the enemy’s wizards surely knew of the impending disaster rushing down the river’s former channel, he also knew there was no way the enemy could move a significant amount of supplies out of the way before the water hit. “Madame Chu assured me the ground beneath this position is secure, Duke Falco,” he looked at the man with a hint of disdain. “I would not risk the life of Her Highness.”

  Regin stiffened and a flash of anger and hatred washed across his face before he got control of himself. “Of course,” he said with a bow to the general. “My congratulations to you, General Magrane. This plan was bold, a masterstroke. The enemy will now be unable to cross the River Fasse in force before next spring,” he lied, knowing the enemy intended to invade regardless of the supply situation, for the demon cared nothing about the lives of its own soldiers.

  “The idea to attack the enemy’s supply dump was Her Highness’ idea,” Magrane bowed tactfully to his future queen. “A general’s duty is to find a way to do as my liege lord requires.”

  Ariana blushed. “Oh, general, you give me too much credit.”

  “Then credit must go to Madame Chu and her fellow wizards,” Magrane pointed above on the hill, where the wizards had gathered to watch the results of their unnatural handiwork.

  “Yes!” Ariana clapped her hands. “I must go express my gratitude to Madame Chu. General, Your Grace, please excuse me.”

  With the princess walking away, Duke Falco was alone with the general, except for a ring of soldiers and guards at a discrete distance, just out of earshot if voices were kept low. “What would we do without wizards?” Regin regretted the inane comment as he said it. “It has not escaped my attention, general, that you deceived me about the true purpose of us crossing the river.”

  “It was necessary to keep the truth to a small number of people, Your Grace.”

  “I am a senior member of the Regency Council,” Regin retorted hotly. “I am not trusted?”

  No, you are not trusted, you snake, Magrane thought to himself. “It was not only a matter of trust, Your Grace,” Magrane lied, not caring whether the duke caught the lie or not. “Wizards tell me the enemy might have the ability to read our minds, to some extent. Madame Chu and her wizards are able to shield the minds of a small number of people, but the effort saps the energy of the wizards involved. That is why the information was restricted to myself and the princess. And the wizards knew, of course; they are able to shield their own minds from attempts to pry out their secrets.”

  “Hmm,” Regin was not happy. He did not like the idea the demon might be reading his mind and would know of the duke being less than fully honest. “No matter, you were successful. Again, I commend you for being both clever and bold,” he said with full honesty. “What now?”

  “Now?” Magrane frowned, irritated at already having to consider the future, his moment of savoring a victory all too brief. “Now we retreat quickly back across the Fasse, and await the enemy’s next move.”

  “Of course,” Regin concurred. To himself he thought, the enemy’s next move will fall on Magrane before the raiding could cross the river back into Tarador.

  “Bjorn, get ready,” Koren whispered.

  Bjorn tensed, trying to appear exhausted while sitting slack on the ground. “For what?”

  “To run,” Koren answered, keeping his eyes staring down at his boots and barely moving his lips. “I picked up a flake of rock when those wizards were going to kill me, or whatever they were doing.”

  Bjorn risked a sideways glance to his companion, who held a sharp chip of rock between thumb and forefinger. Seeing that Bjorn was watching, Koren flexed his arms apart, showing that he was no longer bound. Cutting the rope around his wrists had taken days, working a little at a time. He had to be patient, to avoid the orcs seeing what he was doing, and to avoid nicking himself with the sharp rock. Blood would have caused the orcs to check the rope and he could not have that, nor could he allow them to notice the rope was loose. The worst part of the past four hours had been holding the severed rope together with his fingers, so to the orcs the bonds appeared intact.

  Bjorn’s eyebrows twitched upward in surprise before he resumed a neutral, exhausted expression. He had looked for a way to cut the bonds on his wrists, but there had been no opportunity for him. The orcs treated Bjorn more roughly, kicking him and jabbing him the with handle of their axes. Koren was not to be harmed, and Bjorn was not to be severely mistreated, but that left a lot of room for orcs to take out their hatred and anger when their wizard was not looking. The wizard could not have missed the bruises and minor cuts on Bjorn’s face but he did nothing to stop it, Bjorn had even caught the wizard giving him an evil smirk of pleasure when Bjorn had blood dripping from a cut on his forehead.

  What was Koren planning? Bjorn’s eyes flicked side to side as he kept his head down, assessing what he would do when Koren gave the signal. The boy could have picked a much better spot to try escaping, for the terrain around them was largely flat and open, with few trees or streambeds in which to hide. Though it was dark and the cloud cover allowed only a thin glow of moonlight, Bjorn was not optimistic about their chances to get away. On foot, they would have to run relentlessly, quickly get far enough away and change direction before the orcs could mount their few horses and pursue. He wondered whether Koren appreciated how orcs could track by scent, for despite their gnarled legs and aw
kward, shuffling gait, they could move quickly. Bjorn and Koren should be able to stay ahead of the orcs at a dead run, but they would be running through the dark while the orcs would have the advantage of torches. One bad stumble in the dark, a twisted ankle, would ruin any plans for escape.

  The orc band would make escape difficult enough, then there was their wizard to contend with. A wizard could surely track them in the dark, might even cast some spell to freeze them in place or render them unable to move. Had Koren thought of that? Bjorn feared their escape plan was from the imagination of a young teenaged boy, a type of person not known for sound judgment and-

  No. Koren was a wizard. Of course he had considered the orc wizard, and Koren must have a plan to deal with that threat, although Bjorn knew he could not count on Koren himself using magic to aid their escape. Even before they had been captured, Koren had not been able to conjure any magic, whispering to Bjorn how very frustrated he was that he could not do, or feel, anything related to the spirit world. Koren said he feared his uncontrolled use of magic to destroy the orc army in the mountain meadow had damaged him somehow, that he might be unable to use magic at all.

  No matter, Bjorn decided with grim determination. This was the only possibility they had for escape, so he was going to follow Koren’s lead.

  The single orc guarding them sniffed hungrily at whatever was cooking on the campfire, and even Bjorn thought it smelled good. The orc shifted from one side to the other while seated, then turned to face the campfire, eager not to miss his food ration. As soon as the orc turned his back, Koren’s hands came around and he began sawing at the ropes binding his legs. He did not have to cut through where the ropes were wrapped many times around each ankle, only through the single strand connecting them. The orcs had left a rope two feet long between Koren’s feet, allowing him to shuffle slowly but hobbling him from running. Whenever the orc sniffed and shifted, Koren swiftly tucked his hands behind his back. Once, the guard glanced back, glaring at the two prisoners who were keeping him from feasting on whatever was roasting over the fire. Koren avoided the orc’s eye while Bjorn pretended to be asleep, head slumped over his knees. The orc looked away and got up, walking closer to the fire. When the guard sat down again, he did not bother to look back at the captives.

  Not needing to be as quiet with the orc farther away, Koren hacked through the tough, slippery rope, then risked reaching over with one hand to cut Bjorn’s hands free. “Careful,” Bjorn whispered, “they’re handing out whatever they cooked.” One orc at the fire was cutting off chunks of the animal they roasted. Soon, their guard would be replaced by someone who had already eaten and would be less distracted.

  “I know,” Koren grunted from the strain then gave up trying to cut with one hand, crawling behind Bjorn to hold the rock chip with both hands.

  “They’ll see you!” The former King’s Guard hissed. “Go! Run, I’ll distract them if I can.”

  “I’m not going without you.”

  “You fool, don’t-”

  “I won’t survive out here alone,” Koren explained as the rope around the man’s wrists parted. He handed the rock chip to Bjorn and sat back down, pretending his bonds were intact while Bjorn furiously and silently cut his own legs free. There was no dramatic announcement to launch the escape, no shouting or words at all, not even a gesture. Bjorn simply looked around to see if any orcs were looking directly at them, then he crouched and slipped away quietly as he could.

  “You lead,” he said and Koren went ahead, keeping low.

  Luck was not with them that night, they were still casting faint shadows from the firelight behind them when a cry of alarm rose in the camp. “Run!” Bjorn urged. Despite not having gotten more than fifty yards before the orcs noticed their captives were missing, Bjorn thought they could at least lead the orcs on a merry chase, so he was startled when an orc who had been sleeping rose up right in front of him. He bowled the orc over, falling onto another of the creatures, and suddenly orcs were everywhere. They had the bad luck to stumble directly into where a dozen or more orcs had laid their filthy bedrolls on the ground to sleep and the orcs were awake in a flash, grabbing for weapons and scratching at the intruders with their claws.

  Koren went down under two orcs, kicking them away before three others tackled him.

  Bjorn swung a fist at an orc, catching it in the throat and snatching away a knife he then used to slash at orcs circling around him, both sides uncertain what to do next. The orcs by then knew they were fighting the captives and that those two were not to be harmed, Bjorn hesitated because with Koren held firmly by three orcs he did not see the point in continuing to fight.

  “Kill me!” Koren screamed, struggling against the orcs, bashing one of the creatures in the nose with his forehead. “Please! Kill me!” He pleaded woozily, blood running down into his eyes.

  Bjorn had the knife in his right hand, his throwing hand. He had only a second to act before he too was overwhelmed by orcs. For a split second he hesitated, stunned into inaction by the boy’s shocking plea. Koren had surrendered to the orcs in the ravine, cutting the rope bridge to remove his only escape route. At the time, he had told Bjorn he knew what he needed to do, and mere moments later he had asked Captain Raddick to trust him rather than kill him as Raddick had been ordered.

  Now Koren wanted to die, was pleading for Bjorn to kill him. The sudden turnaround was so unexpected that Bjorn’s mind froze for a critical moment. His mind was frozen into inaction but his muscles, reacting on their own from years of training and combat, flipped the knife in his hand so he was holding it in a throwing position before he recovered from shock and saw the blade held ready. An orc launched itself through the air, forcing the taller Bjorn to duck and roll awkwardly the side. With no time left and Koren nearly buried under a swarm of orcs, Bjorn pushed aside all doubts, drew back his arm and threw-

  Something hard crashed into his head and right shoulder, sending the knife spinning off course into the night.

  Bjorn awoke to find himself draped over a horse, his aching head bobbing painfully as the horse slowly walked along the rough road, his nose bumping against the horse’s mud-caked hide with every step. “Uhhh,” he groaned.

  “Are you awake, Bjorn?” He heard Koren’s voice.

  “No,” Bjorn grunted as tried to get enough moisture in his mouth to speak.

  “You’ve been groaning for the last hour, that’s why I asked,” the voice continued in a chastened tone. “I’m sorry.”

  “No talking!” The harsh voice of an orc interrupted and Bjorn heard a thud and a grunt from Koren.

  The orcs noticed Bjorn was awake, and halted the horse to unstrap him, forcing him to sit upright. He was sore all over and his head ached tremendously from being upside down so long. Mercifully, an orc held a water flask to his lips and Bjorn drank greedily, surprised when the orc refilled the flask and allowed Bjorn to drink more before pulling the flask away abruptly. Spitting in Bjorn’s face, the orc snarled something at him in orc speech, then slapped the horse’s flank and the beast resumed walking slowly down the road.

  It was well on into morning, Bjorn saw, his vision clearing and his headache slowly fading as the water seeped into his tissues and he was no longer hanging facedown over the horse’s back. The horse must have been resentful to have Bjorn’s weight draped awkwardly over it for so long, for the beast seemed to seek out every rut and pothole in the road, jarring Bjorn’s aching back and shoulder with every step.

  Koren’s horse was ahead, as the orcs had not stopped that horse while they had gotten Bjorn upright. He saw the boy’s arms were now bound with metal, and there were metal chains around both ankles. The orcs were taking no chances with Koren escaping again. Bjorn felt behind himself with his fingers, feeling iron around his own wrists but a glance down showed his legs were free. Did the orcs care less about Bjorn escaping? Yes, he concluded, for if he tried running again they would simply drop him with arrows. His position was clear; Bjorn mattered only as assurance
of Koren’s good behavior.

  Bjorn and Koren had no opportunity to speak until mid-afternoon, when the orcs halted for rest and to eat. The two captives were kept apart, this time Bjorn’s legs were tied but only with a rope, so he sat quietly waiting while the orcs built fires and prepared whatever disgusting things they ate for a midday meal. Bjorn was surprised when he was roughly pulled to his feet and made to shuffle over toward Koren, being dumped on the ground next to the boy. Their hands were unbound, then cuffed in front of them with a chain connecting hands to feet. The chain was too short for either of them to stand, there would be no foolish attempt to run that day. An orc brought over bowls of stew that did not smell bad, indeed Bjorn’s stomach rumbled with hunger at the scent. He had no idea what kind of meat was in it but he could see potatoes that appeared to be regular potatoes, plus carrots, onions and some sort of peppers. Were the orcs eating so well because they had stolen supplies from the dwarves? Bjorn found he did not care as he slurped the broth and bit into chunks of potato.

  Next to him, Koren only slowly and haltingly sipped broth.

  “Eat,” Bjorn whispered. An orc sitting nearby looked at him but did not order silence, so Bjorn tested the boundaries by adding “You will need the strength.”

  “For what?” Koren replied, his face completely lost in despair. “We will never escape now,” he tugged at the chain to illustrate his point. “Their wizard put a spell on my chains, that’s what he told me. If I get too far away from their wizard, these bonds,” he shook the thick iron rings around his wrists, “will burn me.”

  Bjorn let out a long breath. “That makes it harder, for sure. We’re not giving up, eh? You’re a wizard, Master Bladewell,” he winked to cheer up his companion. “You’ll think of something, and these orcs will be sorry they ever met you.”

  “Bjorn, I’m sorry,” Koren looked at his bowl, tears streaming down his face, thoroughly miserable.