Nature's Master (The Nature Mage Series Book 4)

by Duncan Pile

  Other parties had been sent out too, covering all points of the compass, but Hephistole was most concerned about the north-western approach. With its broad, flat valleys, it was the perfect terrain for an army on the move. Any other route would force Sestin’s troops to pass through miles of heavy forest, traversing gullies and fording rivers along the way.

  The first couple of days had been uneventful. The roads were clear and there was no sign of an imminent danger, so they stayed in wayside inns, taking no care to conceal their passage. On the third day they came across a group of refugees, fleeing south. According to the ragged band of villagers, mercenaries had swept through the forest to the north, terrorising hamlets and farmsteads. They had fled their homes before the marauders reached them, and were planning to take refuge in Helioport. Later that day they came across another group of displaced villagers, telling a similar story. The next morning brought a steady stream of fugitives across their path, and by the fifth day they were witnessing an Exodus. Clearly, the mercenary gangs were organised, moving steadily and purposefully southward.

  At Voltan’s suggestion, they left the roads behind after that and took to the wilds, which Talmo much preferred. They’d fallen into a routine, rising with the sun and travelling through the fringes of the forest during the day, and moving deeper into the trees when night began to fall, leaving Talmo time to hunt before they lost the light. Voltan prepared the fire and cooked the game, after which they’d take to their blankets and fall asleep.

  Among the many villagers fleeing the forest were groups of desert men, dark-skinned and lean, leading great braying beasts with humped backs and enormous teeth, hidden behind rubbery, mobile lips. Voltan had called them camels. They’d left the safety of the forest to speak with several of the desert dwellers, all of whom said the same thing – a force, many thousands strong was sweeping across the continent. They’d skirted the northern edge of the Berrian Desert, and were heading south-east, driving hundreds if not thousands of people before them.

  There could no longer be any doubt that they had found Sestin’s army. Voltan wanted to return to Helioport straight away and pass on what they’d learned, but Talmo had talked him out of it. Voltan carried an enchanted amulet, which could transport them back to the city whenever they chose. Their escape route assured, Talmo thought they should learn as much as they could about their enemy before using it. Voltan had seen the sense in that, and they were moving northwest once again. The warrior mage was convinced they would come across the army in the next couple of days. Talmo suspected he was right, but as he tied the carcass to his belt and set off towards the camp, he found himself hoping that Voltan was wrong. The further away the army, the longer Helioport would have to prepare.

  …

  Talmo reached the campsite – a concealed hollow overhung by a thatch of intertwining branches that dispersed the smoke from the fire.

  “Good work,” Voltan said, seeing the pheasant dangling from Talmo’s belt.

  “I’ll prepare it,” Talmo said, walking to a nearby stream, barely a dozen paces from the camp. He gutted, plucked and cleaned the bird, and returned the gleaming carcass to Voltan, who skewered it and set it over the flames. Soon, the smell of roasting bird filled the hollow, and they sat back, watching the meat blacken and crisp. Hot juices dripped, sizzling, into the fire below.

  They ate in silence, supplementing the pheasant with greens Talmo had foraged during the day and washing it down with water from the stream.

  “We need to take a prisoner,” Voltan said, breaking the silence.

  Talmo nodded. The same thought had occurred to him earlier that day. “You think we’ll come across the raiders tomorrow?”

  “There’s a good chance,” Voltan said. “If we do, we’ll separate a man from the group and find out what he knows.”

  “Agreed,” Talmo said, finishing off the last mouthful of pheasant.

  …

  Voltan ducked his head below the ridge and beckoned for Talmo to join him. The tribesman crawled up the slope and stopped at his side, staying low to the ground.

  “What do you see?” Talmo whispered.

  “Raiding parties, three of them.”

  “Size?”

  “Twelve men in each,” Voltan said. “One group is heading this way.”

  “I need to take a look,” Talmo said, lifting his head fractionally above the ridgeline and ducking back down again. “Okay.”

  With a jerk of his head, Voltan indicated they should move back within the safety of the trees. He slid the first few feet and Talmo followed him, slithering backwards on his belly until it was safe to stand.

  “What’s the plan?” Talmo asked as they passed beneath the canopy.

  “We hide ourselves and capture the man at the rear.”

  The rumble of hoof beats sounded from over the ridge, growing steadily louder as they approached.

  “Can you climb that tree?” Voltan whispered, eyeing a hoary old oak that spread its branches over the game trail.

  “I can,” Talmo said.

  Voltan nodded. “Then that’s your position. They’ll be forced to move in single file along the trail. I’ll take out the man at the rear and you keep your bow trained in case it goes wrong. I’m hoping they won’t even notice.”

  “And if they do?”

  “Then we’ll kill them,” Voltan said. The sound of hoof beats grew louder still. The raiders would be on them in moments. “Go!” he urged. Talmo shouldered his bow and scrambled up the tree, disappearing among the branches. Voltan ducked into the bushes at the side of the trail.

  Moments later, the raiding party crested the ridge and came to a stop, milling about on the open ground. The leader, a slab-faced mercenary in ragged leathers, turned full circle on his mount. Seeing nothing but scrub, he pointed at the game trail leading into the trees.

  “This way,” he said, digging his heels into his horse’s flanks and trotting into the forest. The rest followed one by one, weaving their way through the trees. The line stretched out, each man giving his mount plenty of room to move, which Voltan had been counting on – horses tend to panic if hemmed in. He watched as they passed, coiled as a spring in case they saw him, but their eyes were fixed on the trail. He waited, barely breathing, until the last man had passed before sliding from the bushes and creeping up on his target.

  He reached the horse’s flank and bound forward, clamping a hand over the mercenary’s mouth and pulling him from the saddle. The man tried to keep his seat but Voltan jabbed a pressure point in his thigh, turning that leg to jelly. The man hit the ground with a soft thud and was rendered unconscious by a sharp blow to the temple. Voltan’s gaze shifted to the man in front, but he was some distance into the trees and didn’t even look over his shoulder. The riderless horse whickered nervously. Voltan soothed it, running a hand over its nose and speaking quietly into its ear. Talmo shimmied down the tree and joined him, just as the warrior mage patted the horse on its rump and sent it on its way.

  “Let’s get him out of here. It won’t be long before they realise he’s missing,” Voltan said.

  Talmo nodded, taking hold of the unconscious man by the ankles while Voltan grabbed his wrists. They hoisted the man off the ground and carried him from the trail. Talmo was breathing heavily by the time they stopped, dropping him to the ground.

  “This will do,” Voltan said.

  The mercenary began to stir, moaning and shifting on the ground. Voltan took a length of rope from his belt and tied the prisoner hand and foot, before shoving a wad of cloth into his mouth to gag him.

  The mercenary came to, looking at his captors with bulging eyes. Voltan withdrew a wicked-looking dagger and dropped into a crouch, its point inches from the bridge of the man’s nose. “I’m going to take the gag out, and you’re not going to call for help. Understood?”

  The man nodded, his eyes never leaving the blade.

  Voltan pulled out the gag and dropped it to the ground. “All we need from you is informat
ion. If you don’t answer quickly and truthfully, I’ll do whatever it takes to loosen your tongue. Look at me. I am not lying.”

  Reluctantly, the man wrenched his eyes from the blade and met Voltan’s gaze, blanching at what he saw there. “What do you want to know?” he asked hoarsely.

  “The army you’re a part of – where’s it going and who is leading it?”

  The man licked his lips. “Army? There’s no army. Just me and my friends.”

  Voltan pressed his free hand against the man’s mouth to silence him and slashed him across the forehead with his dagger. Blood welled from the long, thin cut and sheeted down his face, pooling around his eyes.

  “Lie to me again and you’ll lose an ear,” Voltan hissed.

  “Please!” the man begged, blinking through the blood. “I’m telling the truth.”

  Voltan grabbed his ear by the fleshy part of the lobe and raised his knife.

  “Alright, alright! The army’s heading for Helioport. The leader’s called Antoine but he reports to a magician called Ferast. If that one finds out I talked, I’m worse than dead.”

  “You’re already dead,” Voltan said, ramming his blade into the mercenary’s skull, right below the ear. Voltan retrieved the knife and wiped it clean on the man’s cloak.

  “We need to get back to Helioport,” Voltan said.

  Talmo shook his head. “Not until we’ve seen this army. We need to know what we’re facing.”

  Voltan paused, thinking it through. “You’re right. We need to glean as much information as possible. But Talmo, you need to stay close. If they discover us we use the amulet, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Twenty

  Talmo crept through the fringe of the forest at Voltan’s side, moving soundlessly through the brush. The warrior mage raised a closed fist. Talmo froze.

  “We’re there,” the warrior mage whispered. The ridge was just yards ahead. “Let’s take a look.”

  Talmo lowered himself silently to the ground and inched his way forward. They stopped just short of the ridge.

  “Ready?” Voltan said.

  “Ready,” Talmo said. Together they lifted their heads, getting a view of the broad, flat valley below.

  “Mother of all…” Talmo cursed. The valley floor was cluttered with thousands of tents and hundreds of cook fires.

  “Not good,” Voltan said.

  Talmo shook his head in dismay. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Good idea,” Voltan said, reaching inside his robes for the amulet.

  “Not so fast, boy,” a voice said.

  Voltan reached for the amulet, trying to yank it from within his shirt, but it snagged on the cloth. He froze, a sword levelled at his throat.

  “Give that ’ere,” the same voice growled. Rough hands relieved him of the amulet, snatching it from around his neck.

  Talmo glanced at Voltan. The warrior mage was tense, ready to attack, but Talmo didn’t see how they could escape. Voltan was a formidable foe, but there were twelve of them, all armed, and all standing over them. They’d never make it to their feet. Voltan returned the glance, his eyes asking the question, but Talmo shook his head. After a long, frozen moment the tension eased from Voltan’s shoulders.

  “What’s this you’ve got?” the rough-voiced mercenary asked, eyeing the amulet shrewdly. “Doesn’t look like much, but then again, you were awful keen to get ’old of it.” He looked Voltan up and down, taking in his cloak. “You a magician, boy?”

  Voltan shook his head.

  “Maybe you are and maybe you ain’t, but the captain said to keep an eye out for anythin’ unusual. I reckon he’ll want to take a look at you, and this too,” the mercenary said, slipping the amulet into his pocket. “Let’s pay ’im a visit.”

  Talmo’s thoughts were racing as they were jostled towards camp. They had to break free! Every step took them nearer to the main body of the camp, and to Ferast. Once he had them in his clutches, there’d be no escape.

  “Talmo…” Voltan said, his voice ragged. Talmo glanced at their captors, waiting for the inevitable cuff around the head, but they didn’t react. He looked at Voltan.

  “Talmo…”

  Talmo started in amazement. Voltan’s lips hadn’t moved.

  Someone smacked him with the flat of a sword. “Eyes in front. You can look at your girlfriend later.”

  “I’m speaking mind to mind,” Voltan said, sounding even more ragged than before. “It’s exhausting. Just listen and do what I say.”

  Talmo nodded fractionally.

  “I’m going to cause a distraction. When I do, get out of here and return to Helioport. Cough once if you understand.”

  Talmo was horrified. He couldn’t leave Voltan in Ferast’s hands.

  “Reaching Hephistole is the only thing that matters,” Voltan said, sounding strained to the limit. Talmo risked a sidelong glance and saw the warrior mage’s skin was ashen. Beads of sweat were breaking out on his forehead.

  “Please Talmo, do as I ask.”

  Talmo made up his mind. He respected Voltan as a warrior and a leader, and couldn’t ignore his plea. He gave the slightest cough.

  Voltan sprang to his feet, throwing out spheres of power. Mercenaries were smashed aside like leaves in a hailstorm and Talmo found himself free, his captor lying on the ground with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Every man still standing closed on the warrior mage.

  Ignoring his misgivings, Talmo scrambled away from the fight and broke into a run. A glance over his shoulder told him that no-one was pursuing him. He rounded a wagon and slowed to a walk, straightening his clothes and doing his best to look nonchalant.

  Men passed him, running towards the disturbance, but none of them spared him so much as a glance. Talmo concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, fearing discovery with every step. He moved away from the encampment as quickly as he dared, until at last he passed the final row of tents and headed for the ridge. Every step was an agony of temptation, but he resisted the urge to run. Several men stood between him and safety, any one of whom would cry for help if they recognised him as an outsider. With his tanned skin and distinctive features, Talmo knew he stood out, but he also looked like a fighting man and might pass muster from a distance. He passed one man, ferreting around in the ground for tubers, and another, who glanced at him without concern. The way ahead was clear. Talmo walked on until he reached the bottom of the slope, fifty paces short of the ridge. He started to climb.

  “Where are you going?”

  Talmo quashed his first instinct, which was to flee. He turned around and found himself face to face with a suspicious-looking stranger – young but already bald, with a clever face and shrewd eyes. His hand was on the hilt of his sword.

  “Just off to do my business,” Talmo said, throwing a glance at the ridgeline above.

  “There are plenty of pits in camp,” the sharp young man said.

  “I like my privacy,” Talmo responded with a shrug. “What’s it to you?”

  The young man’s eyes narrowed, his sword-arm tensing.

  Talmo launched himself at the mercenary, who stepped back with a yelp, and punched him hard in the throat, crushing his windpipe. He dragged the dying man into the long grass as he choked on his last breath, and stood up, glancing around surreptitiously. There was no outcry.

  Taking the mercenary’s sword, he climbed towards the ridge in long, loping strides until he reached level ground. He moved beneath the safety of the canopy and took a moment to gather his thoughts. Leaving Voltan in enemy hands felt unconscionable. Ferast had a penchant for torture and had long nursed a grudge against the warrior mage, but Voltan had made his choice. The warrior mage had placed Helioport’s defence above his own freedom; something Talmo felt compelled to honour.

  With a heavy heart, he returned to the copse where they’d hidden the horses, and found them munching contentedly on the long grass. He untied both beasts and led them back to the main trail, where he moun
ted the first and began to ride, leading the other by the reins. He’d leave Voltan’s horse at the first village he came across, and press on towards Helioport as fast as his mount could carry him.

  Twenty-one

  Gaspi couldn’t believe what he was hearing; the invincible Voltan, captured by the enemy. Hephistole paced back and forth behind his desk in the Observatory, while Trask absorbed the news in grim silence.

  “And you’re sure he didn’t make it out?” the chancellor said.

  Talmo hesitated. “It’s possible, but if he did, why isn’t he here?”

  “He might’ve run into trouble on the way,” Trask suggested, but he didn’t sound like he believed it.

  “More trouble than escaping an army of mercenaries?” Hephistole said. “Talmo is right. If he’d fought his way free, he’d be here by now.”

  Gaspi couldn’t bear to think of Voltan in the hands of…“Ferast!” he spat.

  “I know,” Hephistole said, sinking into a chair and dropping his head into his hands. “God only knows what that monster is doing to him.”

  “Don’t!” Trask said, shaking his grizzled head.

  “So let’s rescue him!” Gaspi said.

  Hephistole shook his head. “You know we can’t. If Ferast has him, he’ll be right at the heart of the camp. The only way to rescue him would be to take on the whole army.”

  Gaspi hated to admit it, but Hephistole was right.

  “The responsibility for his capture is mine,” Talmo said. “I should never have left him.”

  “Talk sense man!” Trask barked, fixing Talmo with a glare. “Leaving him behind was the only way to get back here and tell us what you’d seen. This battle is more important than any of us, including Voltan. He knew it and so should you.”