Transcendent (Ascendant Book 2)

by Craig Alanson

  For their part, the men of the enemy rushed forward to stop the sneak attack by orcs, and more and more men joined the battle, pulling in units from deep inside the encampment. In less than half an hour, a full-scale battle raged within the enemy camp, involving thousands. No amount of effort by commanders and wizards could stop the fighting. It was not until mid-morning of the following day that the fighting came under control, with only small groups that found themselves outside of their designated camp areas still actively attacking. The damage had been done; thousands of the enemy lay dead, with more injured, and all the effort their commanders had put into organizing units for the invasion was squandered. It would take several days simply to get men and orcs back with their units. In the confusion of the battle, many of the collapsible boats had been damaged or burned; boats would need to be constructed to replace the ones lost, requiring materials to be brought in from elsewhere inside Acedor. Because the invasion could not be delayed long enough to replace all the boats, Acedor would cross the river with far less men and orcs than had been planned. This smaller force would leave their flanks open for counterattack by the Royal Army of Tarador but there was no choice. The demon at the heart of Acedor would allow no significant delay.

  For her part, Madame Chu sent a message of success to the other side of the river, to prevent Magrane from launching his planned raid. She then slipped back through the warring camp unseen, down to the river. Once there, the sounds of the battle provided cover as she donned her outer leather clothing again and dove into the water, swimming strongly, no longer caring much that she might be seen.

  She was eating the finest breakfast General Magrane’s cooks could provide, when the general himself came in to congratulate her. Magrane had spent the last hour atop a hill, observing the utter chaos on the enemy’s side through a spyglass, and enjoying himself immensely. “Madame Chu,” he bowed deeply in respect. Then, a twinkle in his eyes, he plopped himself in a chair across from the wizard of Ching-Do, and plucked a crisp piece of bacon from her plate. “Would you care to tell me how one wizard, who I believe I could lift with one arm,” he referenced Chu Wing’s willowy frame, “destroyed a good portion of the enemy’s army?”

  “It was,” Wing pulled her plate into her lap protectively, “a wizard trick,” she winked in good nature.

  “Ah,” Magrane nodded. “You will tell me, someday?”

  “Someday,” Wing winked back, a twinkle of mirth in her own eyes. “It is not difficult to get two poisonous snakes to fight each other; you only need to put them together.”

  “How much time have you gained for us, do you think?” Magrane asked, while holding up a mug for coffee. “I know I am asking you to make an educated guess.”

  “A few days, no more,” She replied. Seeing the look of disappointment that flashed across the general’s face, she hastened to reassure him. “The enemy commanders know their demon lord will not accept excuses for any delay. They will come across the river, within four days at the most, I judge. They will come across with far fewer numbers, and much less ability to reinforce their gains after they land.”

  Magrane stroked his beard. “Madame Chu, I am greatly in your debt. That is a better result, a result far more advantageous to us that a mere delay. A weak enemy force coming across the river soon is better for us than a strong force later.” He stood up and bowed deeply again. “Forgive my abruptness, Madame Chu, I must discuss this development with my captains.” Already, possibilities were swirling in his head. Possibilities of victory. The greatest difficulty facing him was not the weakness or unreadiness of his army, nor the power of the vast host across the river.

  The greatest obstacle to victory was the current Regent of Tarador. Grand General Magrane could not let this incredible opportunity pass by. He may need to do something about his nation’s leadership.

  Even if such action could be considered treason.

  Walking through the woods was indeed a good idea, at first. It wasn’t the first time Koren had been on his own, making his way through a trackless wilderness, and this time he had with him everything needed to assure his survival. Skills acquired as a boy around Crebbs Ford had not faded, and he now had experience to guide him. As he had done the first time, he sought to avoid contact with any other people. The first time he had walked alone, he had skirted farm field and villages, and his purpose in avoiding people was his fear that they would recognize him as a dangerous jinx. Now he was in a wilderness that had no farms, no villages; no areas of peaceable habitation he could easily find and walk around. Here, the only inhabitants of the forest would be wild animals, bandits and perhaps roving bands of orcs. Bandits and orcs would seek to conceal their presence, making it difficult for Koren to avoid what he could not see. He carefully chose places to sleep each night; well-hidden but with escape routes so he would not be trapped. He ate his food cold, because he could not afford to light a fire and have drifting wood smoke attract unwanted attention. And he paused often to listen for unnatural sounds in the deep, quiet woods. Twice, he saw signs that a small group had camped in the wilderness; old firepits, flattened underbrush, bones of animals that had been cooked and eaten. And, next to a log near one of the campsites, he found a small gold ring. Bandits, he thought with unexpected relief. While bandits were trouble, they were much to be preferred to orcs. A gang of bandits could be discouraged by a few well-aimed arrows; they would decide that attempting to rob a well-armed lone traveler was not worth risking their lives. Orcs, on the other hand, would likely be enraged if Koren hit a couple of their band with arrows. If he encountered orcs, he would need to run for his life; they would not give up their pursuit until they were certain they had lost his trail. Seeing that the old campsite belonged to mere bandits made Koren shudder with relief.

  Bandits in the area had robbed travelers, and a sleepy or drunk or simply careless bandit had likely dropped a stolen ring. Koen examined the ring, it had no markings to identify the previous owner. He put the ring in his pocket; it did no good to anyone buried under a pile of decaying leaves in the wilderness, and he could use the money he could get from selling it. His journey to and through the dwarf lands might use up all the coins in his pouch. He might even need to pay a dwarf wizard to remove the spells Paedris had cast on him. And, whether he received help from the dwarves or not, he would later need to-

  To what? What was he going to do after he left the dwarves? Where was he going to go? He could not stay there in the forbidding mountains of the north; not without permission from the dwarves, and they guarded their borders dearly. The realization that he had not given any thought to what he should do after visiting the dwarves saddened him, and he sat on a log by the cold firepit for a long time. Nothing had changed, really. He still did not belong anywhere. He was still hunted by the Royal Army. He was still a dangerous jinx; the pirate ship finding the Lady Hildegard after a stormy night had proven that.

  Then, he heard his father’s voice in his head, chiding him, and he got to his feet. There was no point to feeling sorry for himself, he needed to move on. Not having future plans at the time was not a problem; he could not make plans until he knew whether a dwarf wizard could or would help him. If a dwarf wizard could remove his jinx curse, then he could seek to live a normal life among people, somewhere. He would have a future, and make plans for it. He left the old bandit campsite behind and resumed walking northwest.

  For a short time, he resumed walking northwest. The trouble with deciding to walk through an uninhabited, trackless wilderness is that there was a reason those woods had few roads, and no farms or villages. And a reason why the people of Tunbridge had advised him against what he was doing. The woods ahead of him were becoming a swamp. At first, he had carefully picked his way through, trying to stay on the patchy high ground, but then the ground became more water than land. The trees became a mass of tangled branches, with many fallen trees blocking his path. After two frustrating hours, he gave up, and turned back, cursing his own arrogance. The people in T
unbridge had known that the old royal road was the only route to the west from their village; yet he had foolishly assumed he was such a skilled backwoodsman that he could find a way through.

  He followed the eastern edge of the swamp south, wary of encountering bandits. The area was not, in fact, entirely trackless; he found many paths created by deer or other wild inhabitants, and even though some of the led in the direction he wanted to go, he avoided walking along them. Bandits walking in the area were likely to choose the easiest path, so Koren must find his own way through the woods. Which became increasingly difficult; the trees were becoming gnarled and grew thickly together, their low-growing branches tangled together so that he had to bend them aside, or hack at them with his sword. Walking though the damp ground was so slow that the sun had nearly set when he saw the road ahead of him. At first, the road was merely a faint line of spotty gaps in dense tree canopy. Cautiously, he stepped out into the road, which he saw was more of an overgrown farm track than the well-maintained royal roads he was accustomed to. Grass, weeds and even small sapling grew where the road had been cut; only two muddy lines of flattened grass marked where wagon wheels had passed by. From the eroded edges of the wheel marks, Koren guessed no wagon had traveled the road in a week, perhaps more if rain had fallen recently. Seeing the neglected condition of the road made Koren fear that he was truly alone in the wilderness, and that no guards from the Duke, nor sheriff of the local baron were providing any trace of security for travelers in the lonely woods. But seeing signs that few wagons dared use the road gave Koren hope that the road ahead was unlikely to be closely watched by bandits. Thieves who lurked by roads relied on a steady traffic of cargo and travelers they could rob; no bandits were going to wait long in an area that was devoid of targets for their predations.

  Satisfied, Koren walked across the road to check whether the forest there was easier to walk through, but it was just as tangled as the woods to the north. He found a reasonable dry place, and settled in for the night, chewing on hard cheese and bread that was tough as leather. He had eaten worse.

  In the morning, what he had hoped would look better in the light of day was not. The previous evening, the road had appeared forbidding, with dark, gnarled trees overhanging the grassy track. It appeared even worse that morning, for the direct light of the morning sun showed details he had not seen at sunset. Here along the road, not only did entangled tree branches weave a thick barrier on both sides, but also vines seeking sunlight surrounded the gap created by the road cut. Vines that had thorns, or that Koren recognized as having sap that could raise itchy blisters on the skin of anyone who touched the vine or its leaves. He needed to be careful, for if bandits did attack, he would not have the option of dashing off quickly to one side of the road or the other. Fortunately, the woodsman in him recognized that the impassibly thick underbrush also meant bandits could not simply hide behind trees next to the road; they would have needed to cut a path into the woods. He would look for curled or discolored leaves where cut vegetation was being used as concealment.

  Before setting out, he took time to sharpen the sword that had become dull from hacking away branches the day before. And he tucked away his money pouch in a boot, and once again checked his arrows. He would leave the sword on his belt, and carry the bow with an arrow at the ready. Then there was nothing else to do but begin walking. “Aye, Koren,” he mumbled to himself. “If Alfonze could see me now, he’d name me a fool, and be right of it.”

  The morning was lonely walking, which suited Koren just fine. After an hour or so, he began to get numb to his fear, and slightly relaxed his grip on the bow. Then the road became worse; going through a swampy area where parts of the road were submerged up to his ankles in black, stinking, chilly water. When the royal engineers had built the road, ages ago, they had built up the surface, and provided culverts for drainage. Over time, the stone and soil under the road had become compacted, and the formerly neat edges eroded away. Culverts collapsed or were clogged with debris, or choked with the greedy roots of trees. Now parts of the road were barely above the surrounding swamp, and Koren’s boots slipped in the muck. This, he knew, would be an excellent place for bandits to stage an ambush, for heavily-laden wagons would be especially slow and clumsy. Horses pulling wagons could not get firm traction on the mud beneath their hooves, and wagon wheels would sink into the mire, making the wagon difficult to pull. He could see signs that wagon had become stuck at that part of the road; trees cut and split into planks, to be placed under the sinking wheels of wagons.

  And, worse, he found arrowheads embedded in trees. There had been a battle here, likely more than one over the years. None of the arrowheads was fresh; the scars they’d made in the trees had healed, and bark had grown partly over the offending once-sharp steel. His grip on the bow tightened nonetheless when he saw signs of battles with bandits. And his grip tightened again when he saw the broken piece of an orc blade embedded in a tree stump. The crude orc-made metal was rusted, dented and old, but seeing it chilled him. If he were ambushed by orcs, here, he did not know where he could flee, other than into the inhospitable swamp.

  The swamp went on for two miles, during which Koren’s shoes became thoroughly soaked through with filthy water, then the land rose, and boulders appeared scattered amongst the trees. Some of the rocks were gigantic, large enough that the formerly mostly straight road began to weave back and forth to avoid them. The long-ago team of royal engineers had decided not to waste tremendous effort to move rocks that could weigh more than any team of oxen could move. Wizards could have split the rocks, but with so many of them littering the landscape, that effort would also have been wasted.

  Ahead of him, the road went between two particularly large rocks, and Koren could not see a practical way around. Rocks, large and small, choked the land, and trees grew thickly and tangled over and between them

  This, he looked at the gap between rocks, was an excellent place for an ambush! Partly to still his shaking hands, he fitted an arrow to the bow, and held it ready. Taking a moment to calm himself with deep breaths, he listened in between breaths. It would be best, he told himself, to run straight through the gap, hopefully catch any bandits unready for a lone traveler on foot. Koren tensed himself to run, and-

  Froze in place. There was a slow, rhythmic sound. A horse. There was a horse ahead of him, coming toward him. There was only one horse, moving at a trot. Another lone traveler, although one fortunate to have a horse?

  Or bandits, only one of whom rode? Looking behind him, Koren did not see a good place to hide, so he turned and ran back to hide as best he could behind a rock to the north of the road. He had to kneel in muddy water to crouch down enough, and as the unseen horse neared the two rocks ahead, he could hear the hoofbeats slow to a walk. Then stop, then resume a slow walk.

  Knowing he was being foolhardy, Koren could not resist sticking his head up over the rock to see who was coming along the road. He set the bow down and yanked a small bush out of the ground, using it as a screen to cover his face. There was a shadow of a horse on one of the rocks, a shadow of a riderless horse, and-

  “Thunderbolt?” Koren exclaimed, so surprised that he lost his grip on the rock and fell backwards to sit in the chilly mud.

  Thunderbolt was the last thing he expected to see, in the middle of nowhere, so far from Linden. As Koren slipped trying to get up from the mud, the horse snorted with delight, and darted around the rock to nuzzle Koren’s face. “All right! All right!” Koren laughed. “Let me get up, you crazy horse!” As he got to his knees in the mud, Thunderbolt’s uncontained enthusiasm caused the horse’s muzzle to hit Koren under the chin, and he fell backwards. “You crazy horse!” Koren found that he could not be mad at Thunderbolt. The delighted horse was scampering with joy. To forestall being knocked to the ground again, Koren reached up and grabbed hold of the horse’s mane, using it to pull himself up. He hugged the horse fiercely, thumping his great back over and over. Finally, he stepped back and looked at w
hat he still could barely believe; his horse. Thunderbolt’s mane and tail were tangled, with burrs and leaves stuck deeply into the black strands. His coat was dirty, with scratches on his head, chest and flanks; Koren found three rose thorns embedded, and carefully worked the out. And the great horse’s ribs were showing; he had not been fed properly. From his pack, Koren took out the rough travel bread, broke it into pieces and fed it to the hungry animal. “Where have you been?” He asked as the horse gobbled up the last of the bread and stuck his nose in Koren’s pocket. “How did you get here?”

  Koren walked into the middle of the road to peer between the two huge boulders to the west, while Thunderbolt happily ate grass that grew in the roadway. Holding onto the hilt of his sword, he walked between the two giant rocks, and saw that the road beyond was empty. “How did you get here?” He asked again, amazed. When he first saw Thunderbolt, he had assumed the horse was with soldiers. But there was no one in sight, and considering the horse’s condition, no one had cared for Thunderbolt along the journey from, from where? Had the horse come all the way from Linden? On his own? That did not seem possible.