by Vance Moore
The leader of the caravan approached. At least Laquatus thought him a leader in his finery. The man was tall and slender, his clothes of sturdy leather dyed in subtle hues with fancy stitching. A sword with a jewel-encrusted handle hung at his side, and in his hand he carried a quirt made of bone or ivory wrapped with many shades of leather. The merman could feel the quiescent magic humming in the tool as the man came closer.
"How may we serve your Excellency," he said, bowing and sweeping his hat low as if at court instead of a dusty camp. The mercenary knew Laquatus as the backer of the caravan, having been hired in Cabal City.
"A valuable bauble has mistakenly come into the possession of the Order," the ambassador said carefully. "Lieutenant Kirtar received a prize that belongs to the Mer Empire. The officer was called west before I could retrieve it."
"Indeed, the Order can be most troublesome about baubles," the man said and nodded to a group of wagons. Laquatus could see the loot of many a rediscovered battlefield. Such expeditions must be hidden lest the Order take offense. The Order routinely fed almost all recovered artifacts into great crushers. The ambassador feared that the prize might be destroyed in the name of such stupidity.
"If you are as determined to reach Lieutenant Kirtar as your earlier communications indicated, you might find this of interest." The mercenary led the aristocrat to a wagon. Chained by the foot to a wheel and lying in the mud was a Knight of the Order. Burns and knife cuts recorded the camp's hospitality. An arm was torn off, the stump wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. He was feverish and mumbling in delirium.
"He's perfect," breathed Laquatus, considering the miserable prisoner. Kirtar would welcome him anyway, but a present always made a guest more popular. This rescue would also diffuse some of the nastier rumors that the lieutenant's men might have heard during their time in the city. With a lot of coaching and an array of false memories, the fallen knight would make a splendid passport. The only question was whether the miserable tool could survive reaching Kirtar's forces.
"How far is the good lieutenant?" asked the ambassador, irritated that he must be dependent on these mercenaries. "I would bring this pitiful wretch to his commander as soon as possible." The mercenary captain looked at Laquatus kneeling down and laying soothing hands on the captive. The merman saw a flash of pity on the mercenary's face as the ambassador opened the shirt and inspected the wounds. His wounds were nasty, but he might survive a hard ride in the saddle with proper incentive.
"Kirtar is at least five days' ride west," the caravan leader said, turning to stare down the road. "In these conditions, I could not guess how long it would take you to reach the aven."
"What do you mean?" said Laquatus, already impatient to continue.
"The creatures of the forest lie in your path," the mercenary explained, gesturing to the ranks of animals captured in the camp.
"Creatures are no threat," Laquatus said with a snort. "You capture the dumb animals wholesale."
"But something disturbs them," the mercenary said worriedly. "We followed in the Order's wake, hoping to capture what remained, but the beasts circle ahead of us. Moving continually, they block the way and sweep across our path. My men and I have hunted for years, and never have I seen the beasts so disturbed save during a fire or sudden storm. The animal world is in upheaval, and I have no explanation. Something west drives the beasts to a frenzy."
"Yet you control your camp," the ambassador said acidly, standing up. If this was an attempt to extract hazard pay, it would go hard for the mercenary. Turg raised his head from a supply wagon he was stealing from at the merman's pique and began to move closer, anticipating violence.
"The spells of the empire close their minds," the captain said, fondling the carved ivory wand. "They move in a paradise that we control and mold. But out there, a continent is on the move, and no one knows who shapes events."
"I need a small band of attendants to bring my knight with me," Laquatus said, nudging the wounded man with his foot.
The ambassador let his silence at the mercenary's wild outpourings show his contempt. If the animals of the wood posed a danger, he would handle it. If only Satas had explored more of the western caves instead of forcing him to deal with these fearful idiots. The mercenary called to an aide and gave orders for a small group of riders to accompany Laquatus and the prisoner.
"Does the Order know you are in this village?" the mer aristocrat asked, looking beyond the camp to the few houses.
There were no signs of the inhabitants save for the smoke from the chimneys. The caravans had a bad reputation. The ambassador knew that on occasion his employees took slaves for use and sale to the pits.
"Kirtar's scouts are oriented west. I doubt they know we are here," the mercenary captain said, looking toward the men selected rousted from eating and sleep.
"This brave member of the Order will be useful in earning the organization's trust," Laquatus said, licking his thin lips. "But the risk of witnesses telling how he chanced into my hospitality… No, I think it best if this village and its inhabitants die now. Unknown and nameless."
Turg leaped toward the houses. The amphibian pushed camp workers out of the way as he raced to the closest cottage.
The stone-and-timber structure was covered in moss. It hunkered down in the plain, the heavy walls stubbornly resisting the elements and those who would attack. The windows were small, and heavy shutters shielded the inside from view.
The door was seasoned wood, thick and hung with care-the builder's attempt to keep the dangers of the world outside. Turg summoned his power, drawing on the ambassador's magic. A thin stream of lightning flared, blinding those foolish enough to run after the amphibian. The jack closed his inner eyelids, cutting the glare as he looked through the thin shield of flesh. The lock and screws holding the door shut glowed as power arced over the door. An agonized scream sounded as someone in the house tried to brace the panel. Rock-hard boards sundered in quick succession, coming free in a series of concussions.
Turg, impatient to get inside, smashed into the door, his hide smoking briefly as it touched the charred wood. Laquatus stood, lost in the rush of violence, savoring each death as the amphibian rampaged through the structure. The mercenary's distaste was plain, but he called to his men.
"Clear them out!" he shouted, pointing to the remaining houses. He drew a short sword to lead squads in the unpleasant task. Animals started at the noise, and the ambassador felt the animal herdsmen increasing the strength of the spells calming and misleading the beasts. Death and deception played out in the caravan and the village, and Laquatus stood in appreciation as the jack and the mercenaries began to kill off anyone who might derail his scheme to lull the Order once again.
An explosion shattered his contentment. What fool was employing such spells in a simple bout of murder?
The merman looked to the perimeter. Bodies popped as flame burned its way free of fighters in his employ. As the mercenaries fell, Laquatus could see two riders charging. No, not riders, but instead a centaur and his mounted companion advanced on the camp. A glimpse of brass-colored skin placed the pair. Seton and the barbarian fell upon the caravan, killing without hesitation as the village was massacred.
"Destroy them," the ambassador bellowed, dragging Turg away from the easy slaughter with a mental command. The guards left off their halfhearted killing to face the attackers entering the camp.
"A rich reward to whoever brings me their heads!" the merman called. Greed and self- preservation sent warrior converging on the pair. The merman laughed, sure that murder would solve most of his problems.
CHAPTER 11
Kamahl closed his eyes as the axe exploded in a ball of flame, the pulse of magic leaving an afterimage even through his eyelids. His horse shied, nearly toppling him despite his precautions in turning the mare's head away from the spell. Seton roared and sprang, his apelike features furious as he raised his mace and swung at a caravan guard. The man shattered under the force of the blow, blood
spraying and spotting the centaur red as he moved toward a new target.
The pair had tracked Kirtar and his forces west for days.
The Order rode hard, and the barbarian and the forest warrior had closed slowly, if at all. Then the tracks were obscured by a caravan. Seton had sworn loudly as wagons and herds of animals obscured the trail. Casting along the road to see if Kirtar had left the western highway consumed even more time. It appeared that the caravan followed the lieutenant, and Kamahl stopped tracking and rode hard, gambling that Kirtar would not change his path until they passed the obscuring travelers. They had hit the outer perimeter, and Seton watched the frog, Turg, break into a building and other guards from the caravan advance on the villagers. Such evil would not go unpunished.
Kamahl hurled flame. The magic congealed into dull red globes that sank into the bodies of the cowardly murderers. The caravan guards laughed at their apparent immunity to his attack. They came a few steps closer, then stopped and gasped as the barbarian's spell began to burn its way out. Kamahl felt a wave of weakness as the mercenaries charred to ash. His anger was drawing too much power into the spell, and he paused to control his rage. His horse shifted under him, and he jabbed his heels, sending the mount into the fight.
Seton rampaged through the camp, his club spraying his opponent's brains each time it landed. The caravan guards tried in vain to corner him, but the centaur's prodigious leaps carried him free. Seton then turned to take mercenaries from behind. He pushed his way through the herd of captive animals to reach their tenders. The barbarian could see his club raising high, then falling again.
Kamahl's horse froze, then began bucking under him. The beast that had stayed controlled through so much tumult went wild and spun. The barbarian could feel the horse dropping and beginning to roll. He threw himself from the saddle, drawing his sword in midair. He landed at a run, turning to see what creature attacked his mount. There was nothing tearing at the beast, though it screamed in rage and fear as it twisted in the dirt.
A leather-clad mercenary charged toward him, an ivory baton raised in the air as he regarded Kamahl and his horse. The leader waved as if in introduction and turned toward the animals closest to the barbarian. A herd of simple cattle stopped chewing their cud as one.
Kamahl knew that magic controlled the animals, for these cows were huge with heavy horns that stretched more than three feet from side to side. These were not dairy cows or animals being driven leisurely to the butcher but animals with fighting spirit. Whatever spell had kept them docile ceased, and he found their attention focused upon him. The cattle bellowed and charged, three bulls forcing their way to the front of the herd in their rush to close with him.
Kamahl spun a pillar of flame around himself, but the maddened animals disregarded it. He threw himself to the side as a long horn hooked through his shield and scored his armored belt. He gasped, his air knocked out by the impact. The barbarian did not want to play the butcher to livestock, and he ran under a wagon as the rest of the herd closed. The cows collided with the freight wagon, and he hobbled farther into the camp, gaining new strength as he shook off the bull's blow. A mercenary considered him an easy target as he struck from the rear. Kamahl's sword sheared through the falling club and cut the man's arm free. The stricken guard could not even scream as Kamahl's return stroke set his head free as well. Guards closing with the barbarian slowed, waiting for others to converge on the mountain warrior.
Seton broke into the ring of guardsman, trailing his own clump of pursuers. The centaur's club was covered in gore, and every swing sprayed blood wide. He moistened the club's head anew using Kamahl's opponents, smashing men down in three quick strokes before leaping. The barbarian could see the forest fighter's fangs clearly.
"Too slow!" the centaur shouted, raising his club like a standard. Blood ran down it and drenched his arm. "Where are your nets and snares now, hunters?"
He swung and knocked the wheel off a wagon, the oak and iron flying away in pieces. The centaur's arms fell again and wretched the other wheel free. Seton jumped to the side as the heavy freight bed tipped over and spilled a load of furs and hides over the ground. A heavy skin reminded the barbarian of the centaur's own hide.
"Murderers!" The cry was bestial in its fury. The giant dropped his club and leaped upon a guard, grabbing him up in two hands. Seton tore the man apart, hurling limbs.
Kamahl threw fiery knives into the stunned guards, reaping a deadly harvest before they turned to respond to this new attack. The outmatched mercenaries were caught between the barbarian and the crazed centaur, and Kamahl thought they stood no chance. Then they seemed to disappear, sidling into nonexistence. The mountain warrior shook his head violently and loosed a barrage of darts. Wails of pain sounded, and a guard faded back into existence, screaming as the projectile burned its way to his heart. Then silence fell again.
Kamahl threw more darts as he dove for cover, scrabbling behind an overturned wagon as he considered what was happening. Malign magic pulsed in the encampment. A mage was clouding his senses, hiding his enemies from him.
An opponent might be running to stab him from behind at this very moment. Kamahl hurled more darts behind him, but there were no screams. That meant nothing. Wild sprays of weaponry could not long protect the barbarian, and Kamahl focused, trying to see past the spell. He shoved his sword into the ground, taking strength from its solidity. He must see his enemy before he was struck down.
His vision wavered, images fading in and out of focus like a mirage. For a moment, everything was clear, and he could see the mercenary in the fancy clothes stepping carefully over the corpses of his men. The ivory wand was raised, and Kamahl focused on that as he willed the magical tool to combust, to explode into flame. The barbarian reached into the center of his own innate magic and brought it forth. The mountain warrior had to prop himself up with his sword as the ivory began to char. The panicked captain threw it away, and it blossomed into flame as it left his hand. The force of the magic took the man's arm, the fancy leather shrinking under the fierce heat and closing off the amputated limb. A fire elemental rose from the wand's remains.
The summoning grew greater; the inferno seemed to float a few feet off the ground, its colors pulsing. Shafts of ruby red flame danced in the heart of the creature. The center of the elemental was in constant motion, and a tendril of fire dipped down to the earth. The dirt fountained up as it burned, throwing off ash and clinkers. The soil had sand, and glass began to form. Obsidian began to solidify and merge with the debris orbiting the flame. The barbarian could feel his creature and its appetite. The elemental existed to burn, to devour substance. His hate, rage, and even fear had called with uncommon strength, and the fire creature crouched, ready to sweep away the enemy. Kamahl watched it drift, and a lick of flame reached out to a guard. Before he could make a sound, the elemental was on him. Flesh shrank away, and bones flared as the mountain warrior's summoning grew a little larger. Within seconds only ash remained to merge with the volcanic glass that hissed and popped as it fell away from the creature.
The cattle that chased Kamahl still followed the caravan's leader commands, and they charged from the wagon they had reduced to splinters. The elemental jumped to the herd, and the smell of cooking beef filled the air. There was only the sound of searing fat as tendrils of the creation pierced the thick hides and destroyed internal organs in an instant. The elemental grew larger still as it rendered the animals down and sucked up their bones and horns. These danced inside the flame as hunger temporarily gave way to curiosity. The remains of the bulls dwindled away, shards of hoof and bone becoming encased in glass as the fire weakened, then strengthened in new hunger.
"Such a marvel," Kamahl said and groaned in frustration. It was too strong! A creation to fight armies, and he had called this chaos. The barbarian looked around. Seton still bellowed, now some distance away, his club turning mercenaries into clumps of broken bones. The caravan animals were waking from their spells, and they voiced the
ir confusion. A few houses in the village still appeared intact, but who knew how much longer that would be the case. His creature was hungry, and there were too few meals for its appetite. He caged it in its current place, ready to send it away. Regret at banishing so fine a creature filled his heart.
Turg jumped from a crowd of animals, his fist drawn back as he swung at Kamahl's head. This time the barbarian was not mired in spell, and he dodged. The mountain warrior's sword swung as he dropped, and only the amphibian's wild contortions in the air kept the monster from spilling blood onto the ground. The jack seemed to vanish as it landed in a pack of wolves. The beasts circled uncertainly, giving confused cries. Throughout the camp animals vented their confusion, and Kamahl vaulted to the top of the freight wagon to see if perhaps Seton was responsible.
There were few living guards anywhere nearby. Kamahl and the centaur had cut a bloody swathe, and no one seemed brave enough to close with the pair. Seton was standing amongst stacks of cages. The barbarian could see him ripping locks off to release the confused animals inside. He looked for signs of Turg, wondering where the treacherous frog lay hiding. As his eyes swung back to the village, he saw the ambassador and a group of mounted mercenaries.
Laquatus smiled. The merman waved, and Kamahl looked around, trying to see whom he was signaling. Mounted next the ambassador was a knight of the Order. The figure swayed, and the barbarian could see the man was missing a limb. He wondered why Laquatus would include such a wounded man in his party.
"I see you and your companion decided to join our little expedition," the aristocrat called mockingly, his horse shying as more and more of the captured animals vented their distress. "It appears the centaur has found one of his relatives," he called. Kamahl turned to see Seton back at the wagon reverently lifting the pelt of one of his people from the dirt.
