by James Wyatt
One other problem nagged at Kauth’s mind—how to tell the others they were turning back. He had told them their mission was to scout the Demon Wastes for sign of an imminent invasion of the Eldeen Reaches. Something told him that Sevren and Zandar would want to complete that mission to honor Vor’s sacrifice. He considered telling them the truth—that their true mission was to stir up an invasion and lose their lives in the process. He wasn’t confident they’d be understanding. Somehow, he had to figure out how to prevent the rest of them from meeting the same fate as Vor.
Zandar and Sevren finished their work before he came near a solution to that problem. With some hesitation, Sevren took up the sword Vor had carried, the one they’d found in the serpent’s lair, surrounded by the words of Prophecy. It was more fitting, Zandar had argued, to lay Vor’s greataxe over his chest, the weapon he’d wielded in battle for years. Sevren initially handled the sword as though it were tainted by Vor’s death, but after giving it a few trial swings he clenched it more tightly, evidently pleased with its heft. Then he looked between Kauth and Zandar.
“Onward?” the shifter said. “Vor said we should clear the Labyrinth today.”
Kauth looked at Zandar, hoping he would be the first to suggest they turn back. The warlock was staring at the ground. No help from that quarter.
“Do you think you can get us the rest of the way through the Labyrinth?” Kauth asked Sevren.
“I have about as much chance to get us out on the far side as to take us back the way we came.”
“Couldn’t you follow our tracks back to the mountains?” Zandar asked. Good—the warlock was considering turning back.
“It’s possible. This gravel doesn’t show much sign of our passing, though. And the ground here has a tendency to change. Kauth, what do you think? This is your job, after all.”
“My job got Vor killed. I’m about ready to damn it.” And Kelas, he thought.
“I can see that,” the shifter said, scratching his head. “On the other hand, if we turn back now we don’t even get paid for our trouble.”
“Five thousand galifars split three ways,” Zandar said. “That’s what? Sixteen sixty-something? I suppose that’s the upside of Vor’s death—an extra four hundred gold.”
Kauth stared at the ground. Zandar was making a valiant effort at regaining his cynical mask, but no one believed it.
“If we survive,” Zandar added.
“I think we need to find our way out of here,” Kauth said at last.
“Zandar?” Sevren asked.
The warlock nodded, staring at Vor’s cairn.
“I don’t know how well I can follow our tracks,” Sevren said, “but at least I know we start going that way.” The shifter pointed a sharp claw in the direction they’d come.
For a moment, no one seemed willing to move. Zandar’s eyes were wet, and Sevren watched him. Finally Kauth took the first step, and the others trailed behind. Zandar kept looking back at the cairn until the canyon turned and shut it off from his view.
Each time they reached a branch in the canyon, Sevren examined the ground, sometimes ranging a hundred yards in both directions in search of any sign of their prior passing. More and more each time, it seemed to Kauth that his final decision was little more than his best guess. Kauth kept turning around, hoping the canyon would look familiar from the other direction, but there were no clear landmarks, the canyon all looked more or less the same, and he hadn’t really been paying close attention the first time around. He began to wonder if they might not end up on the far side of the Labyrinth after all, in a cruelly ironic trick of the Traveler.
They made camp early, to ensure that Sevren had enough light to look for their tracks. His hope was that sometime the next morning he’d find some sign of the camp they’d made the previous night, indicating they were still on the right track. But Kauth couldn’t help noticing the uncertain tone in his voice.
The night passed in deathly silence, their third night in the Labyrinth. Kauth wondered how many travelers had survived three nights in the Labyrinth before. Perhaps it was many—travelers who managed to avoid the Ghaash’kala and any monsters that haunted the Labyrinth, only to die of starvation, hopelessly lost in the maze.
The next morning was slow going. Sevren stopped more than usual, looking for signs of their previous camp, and spent longer at each branch. As the day wore on, the shifter grew increasingly tense, snarling at any interruption of his concentration. He was beginning to believe he’d led them astray. Shortly after the sun passed its zenith, he threw himself on the ground.
“What was it Vor said?” Sevren said. “Something about abandoning hope?”
“Abandon all hope for your body or your soul,” Zandar said, crouching near the shifter.
“We should have done that days ago.”
Kauth sat to rest his legs, a little away from the others, and stared at the ground. Days ago, he thought, I should have realized that I couldn’t lead these men to their deaths. Now it’s too late.
Wrapped in his thoughts, it took a moment for his mind to register what his eyes had seen. In a tiny spot beside him, there was a disturbance in the sea of gravelly ground. Larger pebbles cleared away to the sandy soil below. And in the soil, the faint memory of a pattern—a pattern traced by Vor’s finger!
“We’re here!” he shouted, startling Sevren to his feet.
“We’re where?” Zandar said, looking around the canyon walls.
“This is where we camped the night before last. Look—Vor was tracing his finger on the ground while we talked that night.”
Sevren crouched beside him and examined the ground. He threw his head back and laughed. “Well,” he said, “it’s taken the better part of a day’s travel, but I’ve finally managed to retrace a half-day of our journey. Only a day and a half to go!”
“Excellent,” Zandar said, his old grin returning to his face. “We should be out of here by the middle of next month.”
Despite Zandar’s affected gloom, their mood was high as they continued their journey. Sevren chose their path with more confidence, and from time to time pointed out other signs he remembered from their earlier course—a place where Zandar’s foot had slid in the gravel, a particularly large boulder Sevren had scrambled on top of to get a sense of the land. Kauth almost dared to believe they might all get out of the Demon Wastes alive—and he could carry the guilt of only this one last death, Vor’s death, back into the Eldeen Reaches.
As Sevren pointed out what might have been one of Vor’s heavy footprints, though, a terrible ululating cry arose from the cliffs around and above them, gripping Kauth’s heart with icy fear. By the time he could pull his mace from his belt, warriors were running down the steep canyon walls like a swarm of insects, continuing their eerie wailing.
“The Carrion Tribes,” Sevren said.
They were filthy and wild, matted hair jutting from beneath their battered helms and old blood staining their leather armor. They swung their weapons—clubs and spiked chains—in whirling arcs as they charged. Their rush was so chaotic that many tumbled down the steep canyon walls, only to be trampled under the feet of the barbarians behind them. They numbered in the dozens.
“Back to back,” Sevren said.
Zandar took his position close to the shifter, each of them facing out to the onrushing horde. Kauth completed the triangle, glad to feel his companions so close, but acutely aware of Vor’s absence.
CHAPTER
20
Haldren pulled Cart aside while the soldiers broke camp. “What’s your assessment of our position?” he said. Cart thought a moment. “We’re making an assault into an enemy territory we haven’t scouted, trying to secure an objective we haven’t identified. We have no idea of our enemy’s numbers, and very little sense of their capabilities. And we have eight soldiers, in addition to ourselves, Ash—Lady d’Cannith, and the wizard from Arcanix. We’ve already lost one-seventh of our original force.”
Haldren listened and
nodded. “And in our favor?” Cart thought longer. “Very little. Your spells seemed effective against them, so your magic is a strong weapon in our arsenal. Lady d’Cannith is able to keep wounded soldiers alive. I didn’t see what the wizard—”
“Caylen.” Haldren said, a note of disdain in his voice. “What Caylen accomplished during the attack, but I assume he’s competent.”
Haldren snorted.
“Perhaps not,” Cart continued. “But I count him as a mark in our favor, however small.”
“Anything else?”
Cart shook his head. Put in those terms, their situation seemed grim indeed.
“We’ll begin, then, by rectifying our weaknesses,” Haldren said. “We need to scout the land, determine our objective, and assess the strength of our foes.”
Cart ticked off the problems he’d listed for Haldren. “And reinforcements?” he said.
“We avoid any further engagements with the enemy until the soldiers marching from Fairhaven arrive,” Haldren said. “Pick two of our soldiers and scout ahead. Take Caylen with you,” he added, almost an afterthought. “He should at least be able to help you find the canyon we’re looking for.”
Cart gave a sharp nod.
“Don’t let the worgs catch you,” Haldren said. “And keep those two soldiers alive. Dismissed.”
Those two soldiers, Cart thought, striding away from the Lord General. He evidently doesn’t care if Caylen survives.
He summoned the two sergeants and conveyed Haldren’s orders. He asked them to select his scouts, then went to find Caylen. He found the young wizard perched on a rock, flipping the illuminated pages of a slender tome. Caylen looked up as he approached.
He wasn’t sure how to address a wizard of Arcanix, so he got directly to the point. “The Lord General has requested that you assist me on a scouting mission.” Based on Caylen’s earlier outburst, Cart thought it best to present Haldren’s orders as a request.
The wizard raised his eyebrows—surprise, Cart thought. “Scouting? I’m no scout.”
“He believed your magic would be able to locate our destination.”
“Surely his magic is sufficient—”
Cart interrupted him. “The Lord General is in command of this operation and cannot be spared for a scouting mission.” Not surprise—Caylen’s eyes were wide with fear. Cart began to understand Haldren’s disdain of this wizard. “Therefore you are the only one available with the particular skills we require. Skills that, I was led to believe, were the primary reason for your inclusion in the operation.”
Caylen glanced around as though looking for an avenue of escape. “How many … ah, how many of us will there be?”
“Four. You and I, and the two best soldiers we can spare.”
“Will that be enough?”
“It will have to be,” Cart said. “We have been instructed to avoid any engagement with the enemy, so I plan to return as a party of four.”
Caylen slumped, resigned to his fate. “When do we leave?” “Immediately.”
The mission was not Cart’s area of expertise any more than it was Caylen’s, but the sergeants had chosen two fine scouts for the task. Verren and Tesh were more than able to compensate for Caylen’s weakness. They made their way south into the foothills of the Blackcaps with Verren watching for tracks or other signs of the worgs, Tesh taking note of the lay of the land, and Caylen scanning for any great concentration of magical power in the area. Cart actually began to feel extraneous, but he kept his senses alert for any approaching danger, figuring that he was along on the mission primarily to keep the others alive, as Haldren had said. And he intended to keep Caylen alive as well, annoying as the wizard was.
Tesh led them along high ground that provided good vantage points over the valleys below, crawling along the crests of hills and creeping along narrow paths cut into canyon walls. At one point, Verren steered them off-course in order to make a wide circle around an area he said the worgs traveled heavily. Cart couldn’t say whether he was right, but in any case they didn’t encounter any of the demon-wolves. Finally, lying flat on a high bluff with a commanding view, Caylen proved his worth.
“That way,” he said, pointing southeast, toward a narrow canyon.
Tesh looked to Cart, who nodded. “If Caylen says our destination is down there,” Cart said, “that’s the way we go.”
“Captain?” Verren said. “I can’t be sure, but I believe that will lead us into the thick of the worgs.”
Of course it will, Cart thought. Sovereigns forbid this should actually be easy.
“Tesh,” he said, “find us a place where we can see into that canyon without being seen. Verren, stop watching the ground and keep your eyes and ears open for any sign of approaching worgs. Caylen …” He shrugged. “Keep doing what you’re doing, unless you have a better suggestion.”
The wizard looked pale and shook his head.
Tesh found them a path down to the canyon. Motioning for the others to stay back, the scout crawled to the edge and peered down.
“This is definitely the place,” Caylen whispered. “It’s ablaze with magic.”
“Holy Host,” Tesh breathed, scampering back from the canyon’s rim. He got shakily to his feet, white as chalk. “What is it?” Cart demanded.
“They’re everywhere. It’s like a temple down there, all laid out around the canyon wall right below us.”
Cart dropped to the ground and crept forward to see for himself. As his eyes cleared the ledge, he saw what had so disturbed Tesh.
The canyon was indeed alive with worgs. More commanding from this vantage point, though, was what the scout had described as a temple—more like a mosaic laid out as a maze radiating out from the canyon floor directly below him. The lines of the maze were bones, neatly piled, sometimes driven into the ground like stakes. Colored rock marked the pathways between them, clearly distinct from the ground outside the maze.
Shaking his head in bewilderment, he tried counting the worgs. Five, ten, perhaps twenty—
He lost count when the worgs began to howl.
There was no place to flee except back to the camp, even though Cart was certain the worgs were pursuing them. He sent Verren ahead on the most direct route to warn Haldren of a possible attack and give him some idea of the worgs’ numbers, though he had no idea how many worgs were wandering or patrolling outside the canyon when he did his quick count. While they fled at top speed, Tesh covered their tracks as well as he could and led them along routes he thought the worgs would have trouble following. The worgs kept up their unearthly howl, and though it never sounded any more distant, it also didn’t seem to be getting closer.
Sending Verren ahead was a risk, Cart knew. It meant the worgs would find branching tracks, one of their number splitting off from the other three. He hoped they would follow the larger party, but it was certainly possible that the worgs would split their group as well. He wasn’t sure how smart the demon-wolves were. There was some chance they would follow Verren as a group, reasoning that he would lead them more directly to the new camp.
On the other hand, the worgs probably didn’t need Verren’s help to find the camp. In all likelihood, they were only giving chase because of the thrill of the hunt—and because a small group of scouts seemed like easy prey. Perhaps they were also trying to prevent the scouts’ report from getting back to Haldren.
Cart tried to remain mindful of that mission, even in the midst of their headlong flight. He had a vague sense of the mouth of the canyon, but his attention had been focused on the nearer end, with its strange labyrinth of bones. He knew their objective and had some idea of the strength of their foes, but didn’t yet have a clear sense of the defenses they faced. Haldren would be angrier about an incomplete report than about a renewed worg attack.
Tesh led him and Caylen along a high ridge that afforded some view into the canyon. The valley opened toward a wide mouth, which would make its defense difficult. The worgs would have to spread their defenses thin
across the canyon mouth—although their speed meant reinforcements would arrive quickly. And the worgs might make their defense farther up the valley, where it was narrower.
Their path took them out of view of the valley for a while, and then Cart saw the mouth of the valley. He immediately revised his assessment of the worg’s defenses—and their intelligence. Enormous piles of boulders blocked almost the entire canyon mouth, leaving only a narrow gap against the far wall. A gap easily narrow enough to hold with only a few worgs.
He was trying to formulate plans, anticipating Haldren’s questions, when they crested a hill and found their path blocked by three of the enormous demon-wolves. As soon as the wolves saw them, they raised a howl—a howl that was quickly answered from close behind Cart’s party. Cart saw Tesh pale and Caylen jump in alarm, fear written large on both their faces.
“Hold it together,” Cart said. “We need quick thinking, not panic.”
Fear was not so much a physical sensation for Cart as it was for humans, though he felt a slight clenching in his chest. He was incapable of blanching the way Tesh had done, and the phrase “spine-tingling” had always struck him as odd. But he knew fear—the raw, abject terror of the battlefield that makes a soldier swing his weapon in a wild frenzy, trying above all to keep the foe away, as well as the panic that makes him drop his sword and run for his life. Good soldiers learn to control their fear, to rein it in and channel its power into skilled ferocity. Soldiers who couldn’t marshal their fear, who let it control them, ended up dead.
Tesh was a good soldier. Cart saw the way he drew his sword and held it, the determination he hammered out of his fear. Caylen, though, was not a soldier at all. As soon as the foremost worg stepped forward, Caylen yelped a word of arcane power and sent a bolt of flame hurtling toward the creature. It yowled in pain as fire licked across its hide, and then all three worgs sprang to attack.
