Blademage Adept (The Blademage Saga Book 3)

by Chris Hollaway

  “Rowyn has been leading the spring and autumn hunts,” Ashera threw an arm around her brother. “The greatest Fist in three generations.”

  “Some would disagree,” the Strider grumbled. “The looks some of the Hiders give me…”

  “Meek,” Ashera corrected. “The Seacliff Meek are alive because of you.”

  “We should have joined the others in defense of the walls.”

  “And lost everyone?” Ashera shook her head. “This is not a game we play once we return to the Highplain. Your decision is beyond question.”

  “The law prevents others from questioning, not me.” Rowyn sighed.

  “What would you need to retake the village?” Kevon asked. “We’ll need your help once we reach the Plain, I see no better way to earn it.”

  “If I had a dozen more Striders,” Rowyn chortled. “I could do something with that. Warriors who had faced chimaera before.”

  “I’ll train them.”

  Every head turned to look at Anneliese.

  “I have fought chimaera here, on occasion,” the Huntmistress shrugged. “Give us a week, we will meet you at Stonespire Camp.”

  Chapter 34

  Kevon braced his foot against the spasming corpse of the chimaera, shoving and pulling his blade free from his defeated enemy’s body. He circled the thrashing carcass, staying clear of the powerful forelegs. A carelessly defended swipe had set his training back two days at the beginning of the week, the fever from the infected wound finally yielding to a healing potion.

  “No arrows,” he called, finishing his examination of the creature. “So this one counts?”

  “Expertly done,” Anneliese called from her position near the garrison wall. “Two more, and we’ll all be ready to journey to Stonespire.”

  “Nice move, that,” Reko’s voice whispered in his ear. “Taking a wing and the tail in one slash.”

  “Unintentional,” Kevon whispered, unable to force the Illusion-speech he normally used to converse with Reko at a distance. He took a stoppered wooden vial from his cloak, and splashed the contents on the fallen chimaera, careful to avoid the liquid himself.

  Two more chimaera, two more doses of poison… he thought. Easy, right?

  A telltale ripple in the waving grasses caught Kevon’s eye an instant before the chimaera leapt from cover. He rolled forward and away from his last kill, slashing upward as he regained his feet.

  The beast spread its wings and flapped, checking its momentum enough that Kevon’s attack missed the soft, wooly underbelly and chipped into its right rear hoof.

  “Hah!” Kevon twisted, transferring the momentum from his swing into a tighter arc around his body, slashing again between himself and the chimaera before his foe even touched down.

  The pull of the blade and the roar of pain brought a smile to his face as he arched his back and threw out his free hand to complete the backward roll to his feet, and pivot to face the enemy.

  The chimaera hissed, flicks of what remained of its tail spattering blood on the grass behind and to the side of it.

  You bring it here, Kevon thought, smirking. I can wait until you bleed ou…

  The ground quivered, and Kevon leapt to the side, dodging the tumbling mass that flopped past where he’d just been. He caught a glimpse of feathered shafts protruding from the eye and chest of the newer chimaera, and shuddered as his crouched for another leap.

  “Oh, no, no,” the Warsmith lectured as the remaining chimaera leapt wide, faking a wing strike, and turning, trying to drive Kevon toward the lashing tail-fangs of its fallen companion. Seeing no movement other than the tail spasms from behind him, Kevon dove backward, lopping half of the thrashing appendage from the otherwise still form, and stooping to retrieve the ‘safe’ end with his free hand.

  He swung the whip experimentally, an errant twitch flopping the curved spikes closer to Kevon’s legs than he liked.

  The chimaera stalked closer, the large, human-looking eyes pleading at him from the contorted feline face.

  Kevon backed past the Elven-slain monstrosity, and away from both of the fallen obstacles. He swung the tail-whip slowly, deliberately away from his body.

  The remaining chimaera reached the unpoisoned carcass, and licked the face of its companion.

  Kevon used the pause to swing his gaze around and behind him, checking for more of the beasts.

  The roar that accompanied the lunge was the loudest he’d heard, and it stunned Kevon for a split second. A twirl and a flick of his left arm, and the severed tail-fangs were lunging to intercept the leaping chimaera. Kevon released the makeshift weapon, unable to trust it as he did his sword. He rolled forward and to the right, hoping for the technique to work with the added distraction.

  The chimaera flicked its wing out, batting away the flung tail, but altering its passage through the air.

  Kevon spun as he rolled to his feet, slashing the creature’s abdomen on the side where the goat-wool began the transition to the reptilian scales that covered its back and base of its tail. The drag of the blade’s deep passage slowed Kevon’s turn, and wrenched him back around to the left.

  The creature’s hind hoof lashed out, hammering Kevon below the ear, squarely on the jaw.

  The world spun. The sword pulled free from fingers that were suddenly not answering to Kevon, and the chimaera twisted and flipped, advancing toward him on three legs.

  A jet of flame spewed past Kevon, spraying across the creature’s face and mane, as arrows blossomed from half a dozen points in its head and neck.

  Still… two… more… Kevon thought, as darkness enveloped him.

  * * *

  “Ten more,” Kevon wheezed, falling to his knees as he staggered clear of the quivering, poisoned carcass. “Done.”

  “That was nine,” Anneliese called, strolling out to meet him, eyes sweeping over the terrain. “We shot the second to last one.” She kicked the carcass, turning it to expose the arrow in its neck.

  “Doesn’t count,” Kevon gasped. “It was already dead.”

  The Huntmistress allowed a shadow of a smile to creep onto her face. “Good. It’s late enough we need to stop, regardless.” She poured poison on the latest kill, and helped Kevon to his feet. “The garrison is expecting a new batch of supplies tomorrow. They’re low on poison, we’d have to burn the carcasses if we killed any more this evening. Filthy cannibals.”

  Kevon nodded. The Meek from the garrison were already filtering out, under the guard of the other Griffinsworn, Carlo, and the Dwarven Stoneguard. They worked swiftly, collecting the oversized canine teeth from the mouths, and the venom sacs and spikes from the tails of the carcasses.

  “Just another day for them…” Kevon shook his head. “How do they do it?”

  “It was not always this way,” the elf straightened, stepping away from Kevon. “When I was here last, the chimaera were something to be hunted twice a year, as a rite of passage. The constant press we’ve seen is unheard of. Unnatural. The tribes have hardened into something capable of withstanding it, but only just.”

  Not our first encounter with hordes of unnatural creatures, Kevon thought, pressing on toward the garrison walls without the elf’s help. But eerily similar.

  Kevon walked through the entrance to the garrison wall, staggered, and was caught by Alanna.

  “Hasn’t he done enough?” the assassin asked Anneliese.

  “Quite.” The elf nodded. “Though I expect more from him than anyone else here. He’s dispatched nearly twice as many beasts as even Carlo. We’ll need them all to be in top form before we attempt the crossing to Stonespire Camp.”

  “It’s all right,” Kevon sighed. “I’m just tired, that’s all…”

  “And you need to be more careful.” Alanna touched a scratch near Kevon’s left elbow, smudging the glistening fluid near it away from the crusted-over wound. “You’re lucky we’ve all been drinking that tea.”

  “Luck has nothing to do with it,” Anneliese corrected, stepping aside as th
e Griffinsworn barred the door after closing it behind the last of the Meek to reenter the structure. “Anyone old enough to lift a sword or a bow drinks cups of it a day. The Striders drink nothing else.”

  “I know it is supposed to help you endure the poison better,” Alanna made a face. “But it smells like an outhouse.”

  “A week ago, that scratch would have put him down in under a minute,” Anneliese shrugged. “He got that fighting his second beast of the afternoon.”

  A keening shriek sounded through the layers of wood and stone above.

  “Sounds like Ashera’s back,” Anneliese grinned. “She may be wondering why we haven’t left yet.”

  * * *

  “Attacks are intensifying,” Ashera reported, after drinking two mugs of tea, and appearing to relax somewhat. “We’ve lost a Rider and three Striders this week alone.”

  “Our training has lasted longer than anticipated,” Anneliese frowned. “I’ve been pushing them hard, knowing what lies before us.”

  “We spotted what may be a new den, a day’s march to the east of our camp. We cannot spare the Striders from the fortifications, and do not have enough Riders for a decisive strike.” The hand holding her mug of tea shook noticeably. “We are losing.”

  “We’ll attack the den, before we meet at your camp,” Kevon declared. “We should be able to clear it out, give your people the advantage again.”

  “I’ll take Rhysabeth-Dane to my camp, and meet you there with a Wing of Riders in seven days,” Ashera nodded. She turned to the Dwarven librarian, grinning. “It’s… kind of like riding a horse.”

  Chapter 35

  “Stormclaw! Behave!”

  The Griffin snapped once more at Rhysabeth-Dane, then gave in to Ashera’s demands, bowing its head and relaxing its ruffled neck feathers.

  “Beautiful,” the dwarf murmured, running her hand along the griffin’s beak, curving down under to scratch at the beast’s neck feathers. She startled as Stormclaw opened his beak and uttered a low hiss, but continued scratching, watching the griffin’s closed eye.

  “Oh, well, we don’t have time for that,” Ashera groaned, patting the leonine flanks of her steed. “You, little lady, have made a friend.”

  “I petted housecats in Eastport,” Rhysabeth-Dane giggled, fending off nudges and squawks with quick ruffles of feathers and dodging back to where Ashera waited.

  “Stormclaw! Down.”

  The griffin clicked his front talons against the stone slab atop the garrison-wall, then sat, and leaned forward, spreading his wings as he did.

  “You’ll have to hold on to me,” Ashera beckoned for Rhysabeth-Dane to follow her around the outstretched wing closest them, and slipped a leg over Stormclaw’s back, grabbing on to the wooden handle that was the focal point of the simple rope harness around the griffin’s neck and shoulders. “The transport harness would have been too heavy, not to mention awkward. A combat saddle would have been a little better, but there is not a spare here. You can do this.”

  “May I sketch him when we get there?”

  “I don’t know that he would stand still long enough for that,” Ashera laughed, giving the dwarf a hand up. “You’re welcome to try. Hold on.”

  Ashera whistled a sharp note, and Stormclaw stood, wings flexing. Three practice flaps, a half-second crouch…

  Rhysabeth-Dane squeaked and buried her face in Ashera’s hair, fingers digging at the armor-plates on the Rider’s sides. There was a momentary feeling of falling, and then she could feel the rippling of Stormclaw’s muscles as the griffin’s wings beat harder, climbing ever higher in the sky.

  “Look,” Ashera called over the whistling of the wind past them. “Your friends!”

  Rhysabeth-Dane turned her head to the right, and opened her eyes a crack, squinting down through the whipping strands of hair. She spotted the organized dots inching along the midmorning plain below, and the scattered blotches of brown surrounding them, wandering chimaera. She shook her head and closed her eyes again.

  “You might want to relax a little!” Ashera laughed. “We’re hours away from camp!”

  * * *

  “That them?” Kevon asked, shading his eyes to look at the newest speck wheeling through the sky.

  “Yes,” Anneliese confirmed. “It does look like it.”

  “Why couldn’t we all ride griffins?” Jacek grumbled. “I could have Controlled one of them easily enough.”

  “For three hours?” Anneliese scoffed. “And how would you have defended yourself from it once you stopped? No, Riders are chosen by griffin once a year, and will not take the harness from anyone else. Ever.”

  “So there aren’t enough griffin for everyone?” Alanna asked, eyes still sweeping the surrounding grasslands for chimaera.

  “Most griffin are unbound, and stay near the hatching grounds,” Anneliese explained. “They lie beyond the ruins of Seacliff Camp to the west.”

  “Where the chimaera have taken over?” Carlo groaned. “Are they in danger of being overrun?”

  “The griffin nests are where chimaera cannot follow,” Relaniel assured. “The Seacliff Hollows may be where our quest is leading us. One of few possibilities in our search.”

  “They may not be able to follow, but are still an obstacle.” Anneliese frowned. “Not an impassable one, but inconvenient.”

  “We don’t even know if our path lies that direction,” Kevon pointed into a clump of high grass, and Anneliese buried two arrow shafts in the lurking chimaera taking shelter there. “If Jacek and I could journey about the Highplain freely, and search out the Seat…”

  “It may be possible,” the Huntmistress conceded, scanning the area around the fallen chimaera for others. “Depending on the griffin and the rider. “You’d be more difficult, but the Court-Wizard…”

  The color drained from Jacek’s face.

  “You said you wanted to fly,” Alanna smirked.

  “Not enough poison, no time for fire,” Kevon remarked, pulling the arrows from the fallen beast and laying them aside. He knelt, placing a palm on the ground near the dead chimaera. Forming an Earth rune, he tapped into the weak sympathetic magic from below, and forced his own energy into a spell that lowered the carcass into the ground, covering it over with freshly turned soil. “Hope there aren’t too many of those,” he stood slowly, and returned Anneliese’s arrows.

  “Agreed,” Carlo grunted. “Let’s move.”

  Chapter 36

  “It’s been five days.”

  “I’ll sleep when we get to Stonespire,” Anneliese assured Carlo. “We’ve needed the extra eyes at night.”

  “We’ll need you fresh when we reach the nest,” the Blademaster lectured. “I’ll readjust the watch schedule, you will sleep the entire night.”

  The Huntmistress chuckled. “At my age, a day or ten without sleep is not such a burden. You’ll learn that, in time.”

  “Until I do, you will sleep,” Carlo growled.

  “Given the exposed nature of the sleeping arrangements, having you force me to sleep would be inappropriate,” Anneliese pouted.

  “Sleep the next two nights,” Carlo rumbled, glancing over to where the others were finishing up breakfast and striking camp. “And I’ll be as inappropriate as you like.”

  “Mmm.” Anneliese shrugged. “You’re not as fragile as I feared. We have a bargain.”

  “Fragile?” Carlo whispered, squinting at the grinning elf. He shook his head and smiled at the faint ache he’d been masking from a pulled hamstring nearly two weeks prior. “We’ll see about fragile.”

  “Incoming!”

  Carlo’s head swiveled to Kevon’s shout from camp, then to where the Mage was looking, a growing figure in the sky to the Northwest.

  “Mark out that clearing!” the Blademaster shouted, sprinting to the nearby patch of low grass and turning outward to watch all of the surrounding terrain that could hide a chimaera or even a lion. “Circle it up! Press out!”

  The circle around the clearing st
retched out to about fifty feet in diameter before Carlo called a halt. He gave one final glance, and stepped back to the inside. “Kevon!” he barked. “Fall out! Shift to cover!”

  The routine was familiar enough that the Stoneguard did not need Kylgren-Wode to translate. The remaining eight shuffled to maintain the perimeter as the griffin and its two passengers landed.

  “Three to the Northeast!” Ashera called as Jacek scrambled off Stormclaw’s back. “Clumped together. They might be trouble later.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” Carlo replied. “We’ll head that direction first. Then directly North?”

  “That’s correct,” Ashera nodded, straightening her hair and smoothing the creases from the light tunic she wore. “It’ll be good to be back in my armor, and we’re all looking forward to a fight that will make a difference.”

  “Not.” Jacek gasped. “Like riding. A horse.”

  Ashera shrugged. “Well, I’ve never ridden a horse. How was I to know?”

  Alanna laughed at the Mage’s responding glare before turning back to watch her section of the surrounding plain.

  “I’ll have some of my Riders deliver water before nightfall,” Ashera whistled to Stormclaw. “Save you the time you’d have spent digging for water-bulbs.”

  The griffin sprang back into the air, and within moments was nothing more than a distant smudge in the sky.

  “Well?” Kevon asked the still-trembling Mage.

  “All four camps…” Jacek whispered. “The other two garrisons. Circled and crossed the entire Plain.”

  “And?” Carlo prodded.

  “Felt it. Where we thought it might be. Past the Seacliff Camp. It gets stronger near the Hollows, but we had to turn back.” Jacek stood a bit straighter and licked his lips. “I’ve never felt so glad to be surrounded by chimaera.”