The Charmed Sphere

by Catherine Asaro

  That evening, Jarid doubled the sentries on guard. Chime couldn’t sleep. She turned over and over, futilely seeking a comfortable position. Finally she gave up and lay on her back staring at the tent overhead.

  A tap came at her tent. “Lady Chime?” Jarid’s voice rumbled.

  She sat up, startled. A man shouldn’t visit her tent at night, but she couldn’t forbid the king, particularly not after the way she had insulted him a few days ago. Their interactions had been strained since then.

  Chime yanked on her robe, clutching the collar around her neck. Then she raised her voice. “Come in, Your Majesty.”

  Jarid pushed aside the entrance flap. “I’m sorry to disturb you.” Ducking his head, he came inside and fastened up the flap so he and Chime were in view of the sentry on patrol outside. He sat by the opening, giving her plenty of space. He gave her a look of apology. “I would have brought Iris, but she finally fell asleep. And she hasn’t slept in so long.”

  “I understand,” Chime said. As mages, they had to rest. They could do little for the army if they were too exhausted to perform their craft.

  “I would ask your help,” Jarid began.

  “Anything I can do.”

  He rubbed his eyes, his motions slowed with fatigue. “Are you certain you cannot estimate the size of the Harsdown force? Anything you can tell us might help.”

  “My spell was stretched too thin to distinguish individual minds.” Chime thought back to this afternoon. “Would a comparison to help?”

  He smiled dryly. “At this point, any mote of information would be more than we have.”

  “You have about eighty men here now, yes?”

  He nodded. “Seventy-six, plus you and Iris.”

  Chime considered for a moment. “I think Varqelle’s force has more than twice our numbers.”

  He tensed. “That many?”

  She spoke with reluctance. “Yes, I think at least.”

  “Can we take them?”

  “Your Majesty, I couldn’t say. I’m no strategist.”

  “I would just like your opinion.”

  Chime forced out her answer. “No. I don’t think so.”

  His gaze darkened. “What about our spells?”

  “Iris and I discussed an idea.” She suspected Iris had already told Jarid, but he would want to hear it from Chime, to verify she consented. “We can probably affect Varqelle’s men in a manner similar to how the dark mage discourages us.”

  “Hurt their morale.”

  “Yes. Or make them feel sick.”

  “Won’t these spells hurt you?”

  Her hands felt clammy. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Chime, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  His face contorted. “I hate this.”

  Softly she said, “I also.”

  “I will help you and Iris in your spells.”

  “You are king. You must lead the army.”

  He snorted. “Fieldson is better fit for that job.”

  “Your Majesty, you are a great—”

  “No, I’m not.” He spoke tiredly. “I’m a good fighter with my fists and a fast learner with a sword, but I can’t spend most of my life with no experience and expect to command after a few months. Fieldson trained this army. Muller has spent the past fourteen years learning to take command. I hid in the mountains.”

  “You mustn’t condemn yourself.”

  He shook his head as if banishing the subject. “Were you able to contact Muller at all?”

  Chime let it go. “Not yet. I should have sensed him by now.” It had troubled her all day. His moods always came to her with buttery warmth, even when he was grumpy or upset. “I would know if he was near.”

  Jarid rubbed the back of his neck, massaging the muscles. “We need the Hexagons.”

  “Yes.” Chime didn’t know what else to say.

  “I cannot ask this of you or Iris.”

  Chime understood what he meant; without the Hexagons, they would need other methods to prevail over Harsdown. Spells. She dreaded using her gifts that way, but if Aronsdale needed it to survive, she would do what she could to help.

  “I pray it doesn’t come to that,” she said. “We need to defeat this dark mage. If he falls, his warriors will lose heart.”

  “We can hope.” Jarid stood slowly, bending so his head didn’t push the top of the tent. “I will see you in the morning. Sleep well.”

  “And you, Your Majesty.”

  He departed them, leaving the flap swinging behind him. Chime lay back down and closed her eyes, knowing that somehow, someway, she had to sleep, to build her strength.

  Tomorrow they would engage their enemy.

  The Tallwalk Cliffs sheered into the sky. A trail switch-backed up them, narrow enough to make the Hexagon Unit ride single file. Muller sat on Windstrider, the reins limp in his hands, his head falling forward, his back bent. He kept going by sheer force of will, drained by lack of sleep and his headaches.

  Muller avoided looking down. He didn’t want to know how high they had climbed. Thoughts of Chime supported him; she was sunlight and warmth, safe at Suncroft. He had known he loved her, but he hadn’t realized how much until he became mired in this gruesome trek and feared he would never see her again.

  He straightened his back, battling the fatigue that dragged at him. His unit finally reached the top of the cliffs, coming out onto a level area. Gigantic crystal formations jutted up, towering over them—and offering many places for enemies to hide. The crystals drew Muller, all those imperfect six-sided spears. He spontaneously created a spell, frayed and unsteady. The moods of his men came to him in jagged spikes, nothing clear except their tension, which was obvious anyway. But he sensed only his men; the outcroppings hid no other warriors.

  So they crossed the plain, making their way among the eerie formations under an overcast sky. Muller focused his spell forward, toward the Boxer-Mage Mountains. He should stop using his gifts, lest the dark mage find him, but he feared walking into peril even more.

  Muller knew when he touched Wareman. The dark mage tried to warp Muller’s spell, but it had started out twisted. So when Wareman reversed it, he fixed the twist and the spell worked as it should have in the first place, revealing Wareman’s mood to Muller. So it was that Muller learned a hard truth: Wareman had tricked him. The Harsdown army had gone through the Tallwalk Pass, not the Boxer-Mage Mountains. They were halfway down the mountains now, into Aronsdale, well to the east.

  Muller swore at this new knowledge. But it didn’t end there. Slowly, inexorably, the dark mage focused on him. Sweat ran down Muller’s neck and he wanted to rub his palms on the leather that protected his legs. He kept his focus on his nemesis. Pain stabbed his temples, but he held his mental ground, gritting his teeth. He had spent a lifetime learning to subdue his warped spells. Now he turned that knowledge outward to the mage attacking him.

  Wareman’s rage flared, blazing, firing Muller’s head with pain. Muller responded as he did when his spells of warmth backfired; he imagined water cascading over the blaze. It receded, then leapt again, fighting him. Muller envisioned an indigo sphere enclosing the fire, smothering it the way a bell smothered a candle flame. The fury dimmed, faltered—and withdrew.

  Muller gulped in a breath, opening his eyes. Saints almighty. He had to go east and find the Pentagons fast.

  He just hoped they weren’t too late.

  “The Harsdown forces are north of us,” Chime said. She rode with Fieldson through the foothills of the Tallwalks. “Our scouts should sight them soon.”

  “And their numbers?” Fieldson asked.

  “Almost three hundred, I would guess.”

  He nodded, rubbing his chin. “Now that we have a better idea of their route, we must think on where we will engage them. Do you detect anything about the territory around their company?”

  She thought back to her last mage search. “A little. I can develop a sense of the surrounding land based on
how they feel about their travels. It’s difficult now from this far away, but I can do more as we get closer.”

  “Excellent.” He looked up the mountains rearing before them, no longer distant. “They’re already through the pass, so they will be descending toward us.”

  “Does that make a difference?”

  He turned to her with a grimace. “If we fight them on an ascending slope, they have advantage. Our best scenario would be to split up, sneak around from either side, and ambush them from above.”

  Chime had her doubts. “I don’t think their path takes them through land where that would work. Travelers in valleys or sheltered areas have different moods than those who ride exposed. They are on cliffs or open slopes, I think. We might have no place to hide.”

  His expression darkened. “If they went east after coming through the pass, instead of straight down the Tallwalks, it would put them in that kind of terrain. It’s all cliffs and wide, rocky slopes, no low or protected areas. An ambush wouldn’t work there.”

  “We could wait for them down here.” Chime indicated the foothills. “An ambush might work better.”

  “People live here.” Fieldson motioned to the west. A cottage showed in the distance, smoke curling out of its chimney, with a barn and stables beyond it. “If we let Harsdown down this far, they could easily sack the farms and kill the families that tend them.”

  Chime hated the thought. A chill went through her; if the invaders made it as far as southern Aronsdale, her family could lose their orchards, home, and lives.

  “If we can’t get around them in the mountains,” she said, “what else would work up there?”

  “Engage them in a flat region.” He pulled his hair back from his widow’s peak. “Can you affect their decisions about their route? Nudge them a bit more eastward? We could aim for the Tallwalk Plateau.”

  Chime held back her shudder. “If I try to influence them, their mage might take notice of me.”

  He motioned to where Iris rode with Jarid up ahead. “Can they shield your efforts?”

  Although normally Chime would never speak in less than positive terms of the king, she had to give Fieldson the truth if they were to survive. “His Majesty doesn’t have the training or subtlety to do it. But Queen Iris might.”

  “Very well. If they agree, let us try that plan.”

  “General Fieldson—?”

  “Yes?”

  “The men are tired. I feel their moods. We’ve come so fast and pushed so hard.”

  “Yes. I know. It isn’t the way to approach battle.” He lifted his hand, then let it drop onto his saddle. “But we have no choice.”

  Fatigue weighed on her as well. “If it makes any difference to know, the Harsdown warriors are also tired. They have come fast, too, I think hoping for the advantage of surprise.”

  His face gentled. “Aye, Lady, it makes a difference.”

  As the general went on ahead to speak with Jarid and Iris Chime continued on with the company, the Pentagons, Heptagons, and archers riding onward, lines of horses wreathed in fog.

  Iris soon came back to join her. With the queen shielding her mage work, Chime sent bad-mood spells to the Harsdown army. If she thought they were veering eastward, she eased up her spells; if they veered west, she redoubled her efforts. Being an irritant to them made her head hurt, but she kept at it, refusing to quit even as it drained her resources.

  Suddenly energy flooded her, light, support. Jarid.

  Thank you, she thought.

  A sense of welcome came from him.

  Chime detected three groups: the Aronsdale company; the Harsdown army descending from the pass; and a group in the west. The third company felt like Aronsdale warriors, possibly the Hexagons, but even now she caught no trace of Muller. Surely if he rode with them, she would know.

  A band seemed to constrict her chest, making it hard to breathe. She picked up nothing of Muller. Distance would make it difficult, true, but she touched other minds. Surely she should be even better able to sense her husband, a mage.

  Unless someone had injured him. Or worse.

  “The groups come from different directions.” Crouched next to Anvil, Stonehammer drew a map in the pebbly dirt. He tapped the arcs he had made for the mountains. “The Hexagons are here.” Then he set several rocks to the east. “Two units here, possibly Pentagon and Heptagon, plus the archers.”

  Anvil studied the diagram. “I have felt no mages for the past two days. It makes me suspicious.”

  Stonehammer glanced at him. “Perhaps they disguise themselves.”

  “Neither Muller nor Chime has the experience to do such. I studied Chime while I was in Croft’s Vale.”

  “And Muller Dawnfield?”

  Anvil thought of the prince. “No one knew he was a mage. I didn’t until these last few days. I doubt he has tutoring in the use of his gifts.”

  Stonehammer rose to his feet, lifting his head, his hard face thoughtful. He and Anvil had paused in an open area while the army rode on down a wide, rocky trial, led by officers under Stonehammer’s command. “Why else wouldn’t you feel the Aronsdale mages?”

  Anvil stood up next to him. “Fieldson may have left Lady Chime in a village. With Muller, I’m less certain. He is unlike any other mage I’ve encountered.”

  Stonehammer smiled slightly. “It is hard to take the idea seriously, given his reputation.”

  “Ah, well.” Anvil spoke with reluctance. “He may have more to him than we realized.”

  The general walked with him to their horses. “Could he be hiding Lady Chime somehow?”

  “I doubt it.”

  They mounted their horses and set off, soon catching up with the army. In this rocky territory, they had to go slow, enough to let the mounted warriors talk among themselves. Arguments sparked and sputtered.

  Stonehammer’s gaze darkened. “This irritability seems unnatural.”

  “It may be.” Anvil knew all too well how spells could be turned to such purposes, given the way he had haunted the Aronsdale army. He found it hard to imagine their mages would try a similar ploy, though; they were adamant about never using spells for harm, crippled by their ingrained tendency to remorse. Only he had the superiority to rise above such weakness.

  They might try, though, if Aronsdale became desperate. It made him suspect Chime; the dim-witted beauty liked mood spells. But that would mean she still rode with Aronsdale and had somehow hidden from him. His anger sparked; she would pay for trying to evade him.

  He should have felt it, though, if the pall hanging over the men came from mage-meddling. Although he couldn’t make such spells, he could sense their presence. The puzzle intrigued as much as annoyed him. He had spent his life using his spells for his own survival. Anvil liked having a bigger purpose. He was part of a great undertaking, the making of an empire. This year Varqelle would take Aronsdale; in the future, who knew. Shazire, Jazid, Taka Mal, maybe someday the land of his wife, the Misted Peaks.

  Anvil closed his hand around his mage ball, a heavy metal sphere with an indigo sheen that hung by a chain from his leather belt. He sent out a spell, seeking the Aronsdale forces. It didn’t tax him at all now, with the groups so close. He searched for Chime, but again he found no trace of her. When he turned his attention to the Aronsdale warriors, he easily distinguished individual minds. It gratified him to verify they had less than half the number of men that rode with Stonehammer.

  Gradually Anvil became aware of another spell. It covered the land like the iridescent sheen of a bubble. He had trouble gaining purchase on it and couldn’t associate it with a color. Odd.

  Tiring, he let his spell fade. Although he had continued to ride, he hadn’t been aware of the countryside. Now he saw they had descended below the tree line, into hills with stunted woods and stubby grasses. Stonehammer had drawn ahead and was speaking with a major as their horses picked their way across the uneven terrain, which had many shelves of rock and loose stones.

  Anvil nudged the g
eneral with a spell, and Stonehammer glanced back. He beckoned to Anvil, then returned to his conference, probably thinking it had been his idea to summon his mage. Hiding his smile, Anvil rode closer until he could overhear the general and major. He already knew the plans they were discussing. However, the major had an alarming suggestion; he wanted to offer the outnumbered Aronsdale forces a chance to surrender in return for their lives.

  Anvil gritted his teeth. He loathed the idea. No one in Aronsdale had ever shown him mercy. Why should he do so for them?

  Eventually the discussion finished. After the major rode on ahead, Anvil spurred his horse forward and caught up with Stonehammer. When the general glanced at him, Anvil frowned.

  “You disapprove of something?” Stonehammer asked.

  “Yes. Negotiation.”

  “If we can avoid bloodshed, we should.” Stonehammer seemed more at ease now that they knew how much they outnumbered their opponents. “War is a last resort, Anvil. It destroys the lands we seek to annex and builds resentment in the population. We must consider every alternative.”

  It was all Anvil could do to keep his voice calm. “As the people of Stonce gave alternatives to my family?”

  The general scrutinized him. “I doubt these people were involved in those deaths.”

  “‘These people’ rule the country.” It didn’t matter that they weren’t the ones who had tortured or murdered his family. They were all part of the same breed.

  “Perhaps,” Stonehammer said. “But nevertheless, we will offer them the chance to surrender.”

  Anvil knew the general well enough to recognize the finality of his decision. He schooled himself to calm until he had control of his rage. “Very well.” If they didn’t engage the Aronsdale army here, he would find other ways to destroy the figures of power in that country. For now, perhaps it was time to broach a related concern. “The Aronsdale mages may be playing with unusual spells.”

  Stonehammer cocked his head. “You have detected this?”

  “I detect a lack. A sphere of blankness. I suspect one mage shields the other.”