Her plan was detailed. She had even arranged doppelgangers of herself and her betrothed to go to the Academy in their place today with her actual personal guard. She had somehow managed to convince Masters' Stiral and Rema to deny the fact that the deception had even occurred. That was a clear violation of the Academy's neutrality from House War. After she was dealt with, he would use this document to make a clear case against those men. He would not sit idly while Academy Masters' violated the Academy's neutrality.
He may have violated the Academy's neutrality himself, but there was not enough proof it was him to even pose the question without insult. Just as he'd intended.
He had no fear of her. Yes, she had defeated Hanar, but Hanar was not a skilled duelist. He was no fool, but he would not have been worth accepting service from were it not for his earth affinity. The man was not intelligent or imaginative enough to ever become a Master by Quarrel's estimation. All he had was one thing that he did very well: make shields. It was unfortunate that he had fallen. He would have been of great use in the battle today.
The so-called 'Great Lady' was in for a rather big surprise if she thought she could pass the test he was capable of giving her. Once he tore the spirits out of her screaming body, as was a Wizard's right in wartime with an enemy, he would deliver her head to the High Lord and put an end to this war immediately.
He would be ten times as effective at reducing the cost of this war on this battlefield as he would on the other.
As the barber resumed his strokes, he felt a stone touch his mind; it was General Garna.
“Master, we have engaged the enemy,” her thin voice said.
“Good. Proceed as we discussed,” he thought as the barber's familiar strokes continued. Jacon Quarrel intended to look his best when he saw the High Lord today.
* * *
Yukiri surveyed her surroundings in the cistern while keeping an eye on the Quarrel soldier she had spotted. It was rewarding to be practicing her real trade now; she has spied for her Mistress for so long, she had begun to think of herself as a spy. Which she was not: she and the others that had sworn to her Mistress a decade ago now were killers, not spies.
She disliked wearing the mantel of the messenger Kara Torm; the faithful servant of House Dothranan. She served one House, and one House only with every breath of her body, every beat of her heart.
House Fenel.
But she would wear that mantle as long as the Mistress required it of her.
The stench did not touch her: Yukiri was discipline, as Master Fenel had taught her. She heard the rat's squeak nearby. The Guard within two paces of her turned his head and cursed the vermin. She knew that was not a rat that squeaked though. It was one of the others signaling readiness. Throwing her voice to the rancid water's surface ahead of the dead man that walked before her, she signaled her readiness with her own rodent's squeak. He shook his head and muttered again as he reached a crossroad in the walks.
Pulling her short sword she readied herself to strike. Even after all the years she had trained, it still filled her with wonder that she could not see her own hand or blade under the shadow stone's influence.
The shadow stone. She did not know how Master Fenel had come to possess it. But she was there, with the others in this unit, guarding the Wizard that had made the copies of it for him so many years ago.
Then she and Yagi had silenced the Wizard on his orders once he had completed his task. His body would never be found, or identified if it was.
She and the others had been Master Fenel's final gift to his daughter. Once they had observed her for a time and found her worthy to lead them.
They had been prepared when they revealed themselves. They had planned and were ready should she have given the orders they all expected her to give.
The orders to avenge House Fenel. To bathe themselves in the blood of the King and his family. To exterminate the Corwinthius line to the last bastard and erase it from history.
To their surprise, she had not. When Yagi asked her if she wished it, she smiled wanly and told them: “Killing him will not raise our House from the grave. Only a larger change can do that, or at least let it rest in peace. Once that is done, I will take vengeance. But not before.”
The Mistress's sagacity and restraint only further proved they had made the right choice when they swore their lives to her.
Today was the first time in years they had been deployed as a unit. Only two of their number were missing from the cisterns: they had another task to perform. She was eager to punish the enemies that displeased the Mistress.
The Quarrel guard was joined by another, and then she heard Yagi's signal: a Mockingbird's call. It was out of place in the cistern, but his sense of humor wasn't lost on her.
“Was that a fucking bird? Down here?” The man on the left asked the woman beside him. The woman faced Yukiri while the man faced away from her. Good patrol patterns, she thought. The guards met every five minutes so long as they kept pace.
“Sounds..,” the woman's words were cut off by a scream as Yukiri's foot collapsed her knee, the other guard turned to the empty air concealing her, drawing his weapon. She caught his hand and stabbed him beneath his breastplate, impaling his bowels.
She leaped away silently, leaving them both where they lay, moaning and screaming. Her Mistress's commands had been precise. “Kill as few as you can. Leave them wounded to scream and sound the alert. For every one you wound, another soldier is taken out of the fight while they carry their comrades for help.”
Yukiri swung her blade to shake the blood from it, searching for her next victim.
* * *
Lother closed his eyes and cringed when the lightning struck the invisible barrier in front of him. He would have pissed himself if he'd had any left in him. He'd exhausted his reserve when the wall of fire had come up a few minutes ago and charged their lines. It had been snuffed out about ten feet from them.
He was going to buy their Wizard, whoever it was a bottle when this was over. No, he would send the Wizard a bottle with a thank you note. Never get too close to a Wizard unless you have to, was a rule he followed.
“SHIELDS!” The Lieutenant called out. As a unit, the platoon raised their round shields against incoming arrows yet again. Lother heard a few cries of pain nearby as the deadly projectiles rained upon them. Shouts for medics accompanied them.
The rain of pain stopped for now, and he saw one of their trebuchets lob its flaming load over the burnt field before them. It struck an invisible barrier and exploded into several flaming parts, scattering around the shielded area.
Their own archers fired a volley back at them. They did exactly as their own armies had done: turtled up in the standard legion fashion.
The trebuchets constantly fired; one at a time though. Lother wondered why they hadn't just fired them all when the enemy had come into range. Instead of a massive attack, a steady stream of flaming tar flew from the rear of their lines towards the Quarrel formation.
He could see movement in the Quarrel lines: the forward ranks began to advance. Men and women marched with their spears and shields. The round shields bore the sigil of House Quarrel just as his bore the sigil of House Dothranan. It was possible there were people he may have served with in the Legion even. Well, he knew that even if there was someone he knew, they had made their choice to serve Quarrel. He knew they would do their duty to their House, just as he would do his duty for House Dothranan.
Even if that duty included the unpleasantness of stabbing each other. I guess I can buy them an ale as an apology if we both survive...
Lother chuckled out loud at the absurdity of that thought as he watched.
“Steady!” Fekral called out as the enemy advanced at a steady march across the hundred or so yards between them.
He heard a crash in the air above and looked up briefly. He saw the explosion of fire as the ignited tar from one of their own trebuchets blossomed above the center lines of his comrades. Then he heard t
he cry for shields coming from his right: his Lieutenant took up the call as well. He saw no arrows but brought his shield up without question. Then he heard the sickening screams as fire rained down upon his fellows.
From beneath his shield's cover, he saw their own arrows hail onto the advancing enemy. They brought up their shields, but Lother was satisfied to see that some were not in time. They were not as quick as his own people were it seemed. But he would have been slow and tired after the kind of march that they had endured today, too.
The enemy advanced inexorably towards their lines. Then enemy trebuchet fire streaked through the air: he heard calls from behind for formations to spread. But their own Lieutenant cried “Footmen, hold!” That order was repeated down the lines within earshot. He watched the huge chunks of stone sail above them. Fekral called for shields again as he heard thumps and crashes behind him accompanied by blood-curdling cries of pain.
More arrows thumped into his thick wooden shield as Spen went down beside him: it seemed like time slowed to a crawl for this moment. He watched, in disbelief as Spen's round shield went down in his lax arm and his spear dropped from nerveless fingers. The arrow had found its mark just beneath the helmet's lip in his friend's forehead.
His blood ran cold, and his heart felt as if it had been pierced by steel. “MEDIC!” He shouted as Spence Treeil slumped limply to the ground beside him. Master Sergeant Fekral dropped his own spear and grabbed Spen by the shoulder while keeping his shield up. “Get him moved!” He ordered as others grabbed Spen's lifeless body and pulled him from the front.
Fekral took Spen's place in the line beside him, with his shield still up as the deadly rain stopped. Lother stood there in mute astonishment with his shield arm held high.
“Snap out of it, Soldier!” Fekral yelled at him. “We haven't even started killing those bastards yet!” The words barely reached him though as he numbly lowered his shield. He had been prepared to die, but he'd never considered for a moment that one of his friends here might beat him to the grave.
He was shaken out of his stupor when the lightning flashed just to the side of him and struck the Quarrel line advancing towards them. It passed close enough to him that the hair on his arms and neck stood up. The electricity arced to several of the enemy soldiers around the one it struck, producing satisfying screams. The east wind carried the smell of burnt hair and flesh on it.
His awareness returned with the white of the lightning still etched onto his sight. He heard the Corporal scream; “INCOMING! Set and brace, twenty-first hour!” He heard the Lieutenant echo the order as he turned himself to the twenty-first hour position. He automatically dropped to one knee, shielded himself and dug the haft of his ten-foot long, wide bladed spear into the earth beneath his knee.
The ranks behind him set their spears in a standing position until they were an array of deadly blades. He saw the armored cavalry bearing down on them from the left with their lances leveled. Some riders and horses went down with precise arrow fire coming from behind them. Other riders and mounts were tripped up by fallen comrades, but most were not.
The enemy riders collided with them, with a crash of flesh and steel. It was accompanied by the screams of men, women and mounts alike as lances pierced, spears impaled, and people broke under the weight of horse flesh. Lother was spared this: the charge had just missed him. Fekral had caught the nearest horse on his spear, but the momentum of the beast had slammed into him.
Calls for medics went through the line, but Lother ignored them. The rider from the horse on top of the Master Sergeant was drawing steel. He stood quickly and thrust his spear with a shout of rage into the man's groin. Another spear from behind silenced the dying horse as a mighty cry came up from his right.
Sparing a glance, he saw the Quarrel line of foot with their shields up and spears couched charging the Dothranan lines. “Fuck you, you motherless jackals!” He yelled as he threw his spear at them, enraged. The spear split one man's shield and fell to the ground uselessly.
“Swords!” Someone in the lines called out, he couldn't pick out the voice. But he'd beaten that officer to the order and knocked the charging man's spear to the side before throwing his whole weight and shoulder into his shield. The man was unbalanced but pushed forward by his comrades. Lother brought his short blade up to meet the man's throat. It sliced open quite nicely.
He was pushed back by the weight of the Quarrel line and moved his head to avoid a spear thrust from above and behind the man he'd just sliced open. A spear from over his shoulder stabbed the woman in the face and her spear fell. Lother and the others were pushed back. He stabbed at the man to his right, but his attack was blocked with his shield. The man to Lother's right took care of him though.
Lother felt like the weight of a mountain was bearing down on him. He heard someone yell: “Fall back!” Then darkness fell abruptly and the wind picked up. It barely registered to him. He couldn't just break and run, he'd be impaled. He took a step back though, and more spears came for his head from the enemy. More spears came for their heads too though.
“Hold!” A firmer voice called; the order echoed among other officers down the line.
He roared and hacked at their heads, necks, and hands; any soft target that presented itself. He kept his shield up and evaded their thrusts. Every fear he'd felt in the last hours was blown away by the howl of the chill wind and the thunder that began rumbling.
* * *
Thorel sat in his Etiquette class listening to Miss Mazuna lecture. He was surprised that Ari hadn't contacted him yet. He was beginning to think that they may not go on the raid after all. He had seen her just before his Etiquette class, so he knew she was still here. She had done nothing other than greet him and Martin though.
As she'd ordered, Thorel had said nothing about the raid or any of the strategy he had heard last night. He wished he could talk to Martin about it. Martin had asked about the War with House Quarrel just after their first class. “I can't discuss it Martin, I'm sorry,” he told him. Martin had looked disappointed but respected his silence.
Now he sat restlessly with his head propped on his hand barely hearing Miss Mazuna's lecture. He stared out the window idly, wondering about what was going to happen when they went. Wondering if he was going to have to kill again. He hadn't enjoyed killing those soldiers on Saturday night: even when the need to do so had been clear. That feeling wouldn't stop him from killing someone bent on harming those he cared about, or those of his House. He had vowed to do so if needed, but he would be happier if he didn't need to.
Thorel was startled as Miss Mazuna's switch touched his chest. “Mr. Tangarth, how is proper Etiquette related to the foundation of law as I was discussing?”
Thorel floundered for a moment. He honestly had no idea what she had been saying. But he did his best. “Without respect, there is no foundation for Law to sit upon,” that was something his mother often told him, he just hoped it was a good enough answer for her.
“That is not untrue, but I was looking for an answer related to what we were discussing. Which if you would be so kind, was?” Her spectacled eyes bore deeply into him. Thorel could not escape her gaze, nor his guilt for not paying proper attention.
Thorel stood up, and his personal guard stepped out of his way. “I don't know, ma'am. I was distracted, and I have no excuse. Please forgive me,” he ended his apology with a proper bow and remained bowed hoping she was not going to switch him.
He heard her take a breath as the thunder boomed outside unexpectedly. Thorel turned his head to look out the windows, and could see a black disc of clouds to the south. Lightning played along inside them, and he could see bolts falling as more thunder boomed. But that is not what caused him to stand and go to the window.
“Martin! Come look at this!” He called, forgetting Miss Mazuna completely. “Mr. Tangarth, this is not the time to be discussing the weather. If you do not return to your seat..,” Thorel cut her off. “Ma'am, the armies of my House are out there ri
ght now, and those clouds are being made by Wizards!”
Martin came up alongside him and said: “That's incredible! How many Wizards do you think are doing that?”
“I don't know, but I can see several threads of power, even from here,” Thorel said in wonder. Thorel heard chairs squeaking as other students moved away from where Thorel and Martin stood by the windows. Something he had learned since he had been here was the fact that it was best not to remind other students that you were a Wizard student. They were unnerved by it, and would take pains to avoid you. He knew now, that was a big part of the reason Ari was so studiously avoided.
Miss Mazuna stepped up alongside them, looking at the huge disc-shaped cloud with concern. “I understand your House is at war, Mr. Tangarth. I will forgive your lapse if you take your seat now,” she said quietly to him.
“Yes Ma'am,” he turned to return to his seat, but he could not take his attention away from what was happening to the south. Were Masters' Praxis and Phena creating that storm? Or were they fighting against it? Part of him wished he could help, but he knew that what was happening out there right now was well beyond his abilities.
He resumed his seat. Miss Mazuna took a drink of her water at her desk with a thoughtful look on her face.
“Thorel. It is time. Meet me at the carriage now,” he heard Ari's voice in his mind.
“Ari, I'm in Miss Mazuna's class. I don't know how she'll take this,” he replied nervously.
“Tell her that if she tries to delay you, that I will be having a very unpleasant conversation with her and Master Stiral tomorrow morning. I will not have an instructor defy me in this,” Ari replied forcefully. The force of her words was like a knife above his eye. He put his hand on his head.
Spirit of Magik (The Dothranan Chronicles Book 1) Page 53
