The Covenant Rising

by Stan Nicholls

  A small group of insurgents, using a customised bootleg enchantment, managed to conjure an enormous flying pig. Hovering above the city, it spewed a multicoloured alphabet that arranged itself into a coarse limerick featuring a local official. Sorcerers had to be brought in to neutralise the pig with anti-glamour bolts. But not before the anatomically impossible feat described in the limerick had amused a wide swathe of the population.

  An obscure member of the Bhealfan royal family was attacked in the street by a man with a grievance. The man was downed by bodyguards wielding glamoured shock sticks.

  A district organiser with the Resistance disappeared, presumed captured or dead, and there was talk of betrayal. A mid-ranking military chief was assassinated on his own doorstep by an archer hiding on a rooftop opposite. A magical brawl between groups of licensed and unlicensed sorcerers started a fire that gutted half a dozen riverside houses and an inn.

  And Reeth Caldason and Serrah Ardacris prepared to commit a robbery.

  The United Revolutionary Council had ordered the formation of a special operations unit, similar to the one Serrah had commanded in Merakasa. But Serrah wasn’t made its leader. That role was pressed on a reluctant Caldason, for reasons best known to the council. If Serrah resented demotion to second-in-command, she didn’t show it. Perhaps because she allowed herself to reveal little in the way of emotions. Or because, in practice, she and Caldason led the group jointly.

  Beneath them in the band’s command structure were two “subalterns’, with eight “privates’ forming the pyramid’s base. Half the membership was drawn from the ranks of the Resistance. The other half came from the Fellowship of the Righteous Blade, hand-picked by Quinn Disgleirio. All were seasoned fighters. But the unit lacked a thirteenth member, due to the scarcity of combat sorcerers.

  At the end of a hard day’s training in a small wood beyond the city limits, Reeth and Serrah were summoned to Karr’s hideaway. No one else was present at the meeting. It took place in a cellar whose entrance was concealed by a glamour that mimicked a solid wall. Used for planning and briefing sessions, the cellar was brightly lit and well appointed.

  They sat at one of several large benches, taking refreshments. For Serrah and Caldason, who shared frugal appetites, that meant light fare and plain water. Karr allowed himself a goblet of diluted brandy.

  He swallowed a mouthful and said, “Is everything going well with the band?”

  “Seems to be,” Caldason replied. “They work together and take orders. No problems so far.”

  “You being a Qalochian isn’t an issue? I should hope it isn’t, of course, but prejudice can exist even in our ranks.”

  “No more an issue than Serrah being a Gath Tampoorian, I’d say.”

  “Good. So, you think the band’s ready to be put to the test?”

  “Ready as it’ll ever be.”

  “Serrah?”

  She nodded. Her eyes were less hollow, there was more colour in her face. Rest, nourishment and having a purpose had begun to revive her. “Ready and eager. Particularly if there’s a chance of doing some damage to my old masters.”

  “Then I think you’ll approve of what we have in mind.” Karr took another drink. “It’s no secret that one of the ways we finance ourselves is through stealing. Not from the common people, of course. We take from the masters, the imperialists who squeeze their vassals dry. You might call it ethical robbery. It’s something of that kind I’m proposing for your unit.”

  “A politician involved in criminal enterprises?” Caldason gently mocked. “Whatever next?”

  Karr laughed. “Does beggar belief, doesn’t it?” More soberly, he added, “But there’s a real contradiction, of course. No decent public servant should be forced into illegality, no matter how deserving the cause. There comes a time when the disparities are too difficult to balance. I think that’s where I am now.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Serrah asked.

  “The day’s close when I’m going to have to give up so-called legitimate politics. To do what I urged Kinsel to do and get out. Things have gone too far for lawful opposition to make much difference now. Direct action’s the only path I can see.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve stuck it out this long,” Caldason said.

  “You hold on to your illusions, you know? Once, politics seemed to make a difference. Somehow you lose sight of the fact that it doesn’t anymore. You don’t see the piecrust promises and downright lies, and go on believing that the platitudes matter.”

  “You’ve changed your tune. Not that long ago you were saying politics still had a value.”

  “Partly it was seeing Kinsel come so near to grief. That was sobering. But mostly it’s the general situation. The more we kick out at the state, the more they ratchet up their oppression. That’s only to be expected, but it makes it harder to achieve anything through official channels. It certainly makes it more difficult for me to live two lives.”

  “So you’re going underground.”

  “Probably. But I’ve not officially made the decision, so keep it to yourselves, will you?”

  They nodded.

  “I’ve got us away from the subject,” Karr went on, businesslike. “First priority is your mission. And it’s the sort we particularly favour; a redistribution of some of the taxes leeched from the provinces.”

  “Redistribution,” Serrah repeated, quietly pleased with the word.

  “Yes. It doesn’t all go back to the people, but we pass on as much as we can after our needs.”

  Caldason raised an eyebrow. “So you’re taxing them.”

  “They give it willingly, Reeth, believe me. Look at it as the state collecting donations on the Resistance’s behalf. And the collection we’re concerned with happens once every three months. That’s how often they bring in the tithes from outlying districts. In this case, from quite a wide area to the east of the city. That’s rich farming land, several good-sized towns and a lot of villages, as you know. Should be a hefty take.” He produced a large rolled parchment and nodded at the bench. “Clear that, would you?”

  They swept aside the food and drink. Karr unravelled the parchment, which they weighted at the corners.

  “A paper map,” Serrah muttered. “Quaint.”

  It showed an edge of Valdarr where a hamlet was being absorbed by the spreading city. The effect was like the profile of a face with an absurdly long nose. A smattering of buildings thrust out from the urban mass into virgin countryside. The farthest end of the captured hamlet, the tip of the nose, met a small river, with a few buildings on its far side. At that point there was a bridge. When the road it carried reached the city side, it turned sharply and narrowed, threading its way through a cluster of houses and tree-lined lanes.

  “That’s the only bridge for miles,” Karr informed them. He didn’t have to spell out the potential for ambush.

  Caldason pointed at the map. “You’re sure they’ll go that way?”

  “They vary the route every time, but we have good intelligence that it’s going to be along here.”

  “When?”

  “That’s the thing. This evening. In about four hours.”

  “Gods, Karr,” Serrah exclaimed, “that’s cutting it a bit fine, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But the tip-off just reached us. It’s tonight or in another three months, and next time we might not know the route.”

  “What sort of numbers are we talking about?” Caldason said. “How’s it protected?”

  “One or two wagons for the load. Escort party of between twelve and twenty, going on past form. Certain to be paladins among them.”

  “They outnumber us.”

  “I’m sure you can be inventive on that score. And maybe we can bleed their number with a few diversions.”

  “Hmmm,” Serrah mused. “They’re going to be well glamoured, aren’t they?”

  “Chances are they’ll have standard magical ordnance. But so will you. Only you won’t have a trained sorc
erer on hand to work it properly. This is a dangerous mission, I won’t pretend it isn’t. Which is why I have to be sure your band’s up to scratch.”

  “It is,” Caldason assured him. “We can deal with this.”

  “I wouldn’t be quite so hasty,” Serrah said. “This is all last minute, we’re going to be outnumbered, the band’s untested, and –’

  “Oh, come on. You know we can do it.”

  “Planning, Reeth. It’s the key to any successful operation. How much preparation can we do in four hours? What’s our strategy if things go wrong?”

  “It looks pretty straightforward to me. It’s perfect terrain for waylaying a convoy and we’ll have the element of surprise.”

  “Rushing in blindly’s a lot worse than not doing it at all, believe me. Remember, I’ve had experience running units like this. The least we should do is give the rest of the band the choice of coming along or not.”

  “This isn’t a temple picnic, Serrah. We’re supposed to be a disciplined unit. We can’t give people the option of backing out. You’re worrying about the band too much; they’ll be all right.”

  “You’ll be all right, you mean.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You’ve got this invulnerability thing, haven’t you? Well, the rest of us don’t have that luxury. You might keep that in mind when the lives of our band are on the line and you feel like behaving recklessly.”

  “I’d trade what I’ve got with you any time,” Caldason replied icily. “And I’m not invulnerable. I can still be killed, or maimed if the wound’s bad enough.”

  “So you say. I’m just thinking about the safety of the group.”

  “Oh yes, that’s something you know all about, isn’t it?”

  She glared at him. “What?”

  “They say you got a rich kid killed over in Merakasa. One of your band, wasn’t he?”

  “They say you’re a murderer of innocent women and children.”

  “That’s horse shit.”

  “Right.”

  Karr watched them as though they were a game of pass the ball.

  “I’m not careless with lives,” Caldason rumbled.

  “And I am?” Serrah returned.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “When are you respectful of other people’s lives? When you’re having one of your uncontrolled berserks, maybe?”

  “That’s not fair. I have no –’

  “Excuse me,” Karr grated. “Can I have your attention, please? Thank you. If you two can’t work together I’ll have to disband your unit. Which would be a shame because we see this mission as a rehearsal for more ambitious assignments. And not only will it increase our funds, it’ll get you that bit nearer to the Clepsydra, Reeth. So why don’t you both turn your little creative tensions towards the job at hand?” He beamed at them. “What do you say?”

  They looked at each other. Serrah shrugged.

  “Fine,” they chorused.

  It was dusk by the time they got to the site and in position. That left about a quarter of an hour before the convoy arrived.

  The point they chose was on a tight lane. One side was lined with outbuildings and abandoned properties. The other fronted the boundary of a wood, where a pair of cottages stood in a small roadside clearing.

  Caldason and Serrah, on horseback, had hidden themselves on the wooded side. The bridge was to their right, but couldn’t be seen. What they could see was a lookout, stationed at a bend in the road, who had a clear view of the approach.

  To their left was the city, sparkling with its usual dizzy magic. Light bursts, lancing beams, glamours born and dying like a million swarming fireflies. The distant urban roar.

  Out here on Valdarr’s hinterland there was little in the way of magical discharge. Hardly anybody was about. A mild breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle, and grass after a recent shower. It was quiet, except for the sound of axes biting timber.

  The sky was turning the colour of lemons and blood as the sun sank. Stars glinted against spreading purple velvet.

  Serrah took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as though savouring a fine tobacco. The distraction of the mission seemed to have lightened her earlier testy mood.

  “At least the air’s better in these parts,” Caldason remarked.

  “It’s not something I’m usually aware of.” She added by way of explanation, “I’m a city girl.”

  It was the first time he’d known her volunteer any kind of personal detail. “I prefer the reality of the countryside,” he confided.

  “That’s an odd choice of word; reality.”

  “It’s the Qalochian way of seeing the world. To us, cities seem an unnatural way to live. Unreal.”

  “You’ve never got used to them? Even after all your…’

  “Years? No, it gets worse. More people buzzing pointlessly about more buildings. More self-deluding magic. None of it’s restful to the spirit.”

  She glanced in the direction of the lookout. “Change happens. You can’t fight it.”

  “Live as long as I have and you realise that, believe me. But some things never change. People don’t, not really. They wallow in ignorance and always have an appetite for cruelty.”

  “I’d like to think there was some kindness and wisdom, too.”

  “So would I.” His tone didn’t allow for any.

  For a moment it looked like Serrah was going to take issue. Instead she steered him back to the mission. “It can’t be much longer now,” she said, checking with the lookout again.

  Two of their band appeared on low rooftops opposite. They lugged coils of rope.

  There was a sudden absence of noise as the axes fell silent.

  “At least they got that done in time,” Serrah muttered.

  Late birdsong swelled to fill the void.

  She dug into her saddlebag and brought out a cylindrical glamour. It was barely longer than the fist she clutched it in.

  “I don’t know why you need a wailer,” Caldason grumbled. “A blast from a horn should serve.”

  “Do you have a horn?” she came back acerbically. “Could you play one if you did?”

  “You don’t play it, you blow it.”

  “I’d rather not put that much reliance on your lungs. This is surer. Nobody’s going to miss hearing it.”

  He had a finger to his lips. “Listen.”

  The sound of a drawn out, unbirdlike whistle reached them. They turned to the lookout. He was waving frantically.

  “They’re on their way.” Serrah wrapped her horse’s reins around one hand. She held the glamour ready in the other.

  The men on the roofs ducked out of sight.

  Caldason drew his broadsword. “Everybody should be in place by now. Sit tight.”

  Several minutes dragged by. Then the lookout signalled again before concealing himself.

  The clip-clop of hooves could be heard, and wagon wheels rattling on the bridge’s planks. Then the head of the convoy appeared: two mounted paladins, followed by a quartet of militia. An enclosed wagon came next, a four-hander, with driver and bowman guard. Another pair of militia rode behind, ahead of the second wagon. The caravan rounded off as it began, with the four militia–two paladin combination.

  “What do you think?” Serrah whispered. “Eighteen, maybe twenty?”

  “About twice our strength, yes. Could be worse.”

  The whole convoy was on the straight now. Alert to the danger of a narrowing road with cover on either side, it began upping its pace to get through quicker. Soon it would reach Serrah and Reeth’s hiding place.

  “Easy,” he cautioned, eyeing the glamour she clutched. “Watch the timing.”

  “All right,” she hissed. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “And plug your ears.” He offered her a small ball of wax. She had to slide the glamour into her armpit to free a hand.

  The escort was scanning both sides of the road, wary and nervous. Caldason worried that the convoy’s gathering speed might
just get it through before his men could do what had to be done.

  A second later the two lead paladins hit the trigger point.

  “Now!” he yelled.

  Serrah struck the base of the glamour hard against her thigh, setting it off. The wailer gave out an ear-splitting scream, a note so shrill and intense it cut to the bone. Reeth and Serrah had to restrain their horses from bolting. From all around, flocks of screeching birds took flight.

  The convoy’s mounts shied and faltered, too, slowing progress. Their shocked riders struggled to control them in the confusion. Several had the presence of mind to draw weapons, and the bowmen nocked arrows.

  Serrah’s glamour expired and she tossed it away. The abrupt silence was almost as painful as the din itself. She aped Reeth and gouged out the earplugs.

  The wailer was supposed to act as both a distraction and a signal to the rest of the band. But nothing seemed to be happening, and the convoy was still moving, though in disarray. It was almost level with Reeth and Serrah’s hide.

  “Damn it!” she snapped. “What the hell’s keeping –’

  A new sound rent the air. The crack of splintering wood and a growling creak as something ponderous slowly toppled.

  Ahead of the convoy a massive tree crashed down and blocked its path. Taller than the road was wide, the tree’s upper third smashed through a barn on the far side, completely demolishing it. Branches bounced as they struck the road and swirling clouds of dust were liberated from the crushed building.

  The charging convoy struggled to rein in, drawing up just short of the roadblock. The sudden stop made the first wagon slew to one side, finishing at an angle across the lane. One of the militiamen following on was unsaddled.

  At the rear of the convoy the riders tried turning their horses about. But they were still churning and shouting when there was another thunderous crash. The band had felled a second tree, cutting off retreat and boxing in the convoy.

  “Let’s go!” Caldason spurred his ride and burst out of cover.

  Serrah was right behind him, whipping her blade free.

  If they’d been privy to each other’s thoughts, they would have known they shared a similar feeling at that moment. It was as though their senses were as keen as blades.