“As long as they continue to the south,” Rokwolf said, softly, “they will be too far out of position to circle behind us.” He thought for a moment. “Send two of our scouts to follow them. Order them to report on their movements, especially if they try and circle behind us.”
Marilee nodded. “How soon do we expect the kortexi?”
“He will stop tonight in Artowgar,” Rokwolf said, “so he should reach the Mountain by mid-afternoon tomorrow.”
“Orders for the rest of our company?” Marilee asked.
“After sunset,” Rokwolf replied, “we will move east and sneak up to Xythrax’s camp. Late in the third watch, we will attack the camp. As soon as they organize to repel our attack, we will withdraw and separate into squads and make our separate ways back across the river, here,” he pointed to the map. “From there we should be able to attack and withdraw again, keeping them busy until the midday, which should give the kortexi enough time to pass and beat them to the Mountain.”
“But what if it is a ruse,” Marilee suggested, “what if the morgle-led group sneaks around behind us? We would be too far out of position to get back and help the kortexi.”
“That is why the scouts you choose should be our best, most experienced,” Rokwolf said. “For them to get to the Mountain from where they are before the kortexi, they would have to turn west around sunset and march through the night. If they stop to camp at sunset, we will know their plans.”
“Perhaps,” Marilee said. “I think it would be wiser to keep three squads here, and let me lead two squads to harry them and withdraw as you suggested.”
Rokwolf shook his head. “Very few of your two squads would return alive.” He put a hand gently on her arm. “I will not lose you.”
Marilee jerked her arm out of his grasp and stood. “This is precisely why I refused you! We cannot allow our personal feelings to get in the way of our mission. Have you forgotten our orders? We are to protect this kortexi at all costs: if that means I, and the two squads I take with me, must lose our lives, then so be it! That is why we are here.”
“So,” Rokwolf said coolly, “you admit you have feelings for me.”
“I have never denied having feelings for you,” Marilee replied, “but they are the same kind of feelings I have for my brother, not the feelings for a mate. Why won’t you listen?”
“You know what I saw,” he said, “in the vision: I saw you were to become part of my family. Since my twin brother is already married, it can only mean that you and I marry, since there is no one else left of my family.”
“What about your missing older brother?” Marilee suggested. “Maybe what you saw means I will marry him, not you.”
Rokwolf flinched at her mentioning Delgart. “He is dead,” he said dully.
“You don’t know that,” she replied, “he could still be alive.”
“No one could survive twelve years a captive of pirates,” he said, getting angry. “He died years ago, probably during the first year of captivity.”
“But you don’t know that,” Marilee implored. “You need to put your personal feelings aside and fulfill the orders we were given, even if it means I must be sacrificed.”
“I saw something else,” he said softly, slowly, “I think I saw my death.” He stopped and looked up, letting his last words sink in.
“How?” she hissed.
“In a fight with one of the purgle,” he replied. “I believe it was Xythrax.”
She sat down hard, beside him. “All the more reason for you to stay here, so that you do not face him. Let me go, as I suggested. I will delay him while you protect the kortexi. Besides,” she continued in a softer voice, “I don’t trust gray oracles,” she touched his arm fondly, “they are wrong more than they are right.”
Rokwolf shook his head. “The methaghi did not intend for me to see that vision; he was surprised by what happened. I don’t think it was part of what he meant to show me; it was an image that I have dreamed of, over and over again, since I was a small child.”
Marilee sighed and got slowly to her feet. “I’ll go send off the scouts and prepare to move at sunset.”
“Xythrax’s company has not stopped for the night,” the out of breath scout reported just after sunset. Rokwolf’s company had begun moving east.
“What are they doing?” Rokwolf asked.
“By now,” the scout said, “they are probably crossing the river, heading straight toward us.”
“Still the same group?” Rokwolf asked.
The scout nodded.
“Thank you,” Rokwolf said.
The scout saluted and left. Marilee had come back from the forward position with the scout and now walked with Rokwolf.
“And the southern scouts?” he asked.
“We won’t hear from them for another two hours, at least,” Marilee replied.
“Which will be around the time we meet Xythrax’s company,” Rokwolf said. “This is an odd move,” he mumbled to himself, “he has plenty of time, he does not need to rush forward. Unless. . . .” He thought for a moment, then looked at his second. “We have to keep them out of the forest,” he said.
“I agree,” she replied. “We would not be able to keep track of all of them once they enter the trees and hills: we are too few. Send me ahead with two squads on horseback. We will attack their flanks and slow them down, giving you time to get the three squads on foot into position.”
He nodded curtly. “As long as you promise not to try and take Xythrax out on your own,” he said. “Do not, for any reason, engage them. Just slash at their flanks and withdraw, because we’ll need all of you once they reach the edge of the forest.”
Marilee nodded to the maghi riding beside her; the young wetha raised her rod and shot a small ball of white fire into the air. Away to the south, they saw a similar ball of light floating in the air.
“Let’s go,” Marilee whispered to her squad.
They rode forward, slowly at first, then gaining speed as the edge of Xythrax’s company came into sight. They turned parallel to the marching company within bowshot, and began loosing arrows into their ranks. A few fell and were trampled by those who followed. As her squad caught up to the front of the enemy, they wheeled away out of bowshot and were covered again by darkness. When they were out of range and hearing, they slowed to a walk and turned to ride parallel to Xythrax’s company, giving their mounts time to rest and the enemy time to reform and continue marching west. Her scout came riding out of the darkness to their west.
“They did not stop or even pause,” she said.
“Are you certain?” Marilee asked.
“As certain as one can be, in the dark,” she replied. “It looked as if they took no notice at all of your flanking attack.”
“That is peculiar,” Marilee said. “I wonder how the others are doing,” she mused.
The scout shrugged. “If we start moving forward, we should be able to attack again.”
Marilee turned to the maghi. “Send up another signal.”
The maghi complied, and after a few moments, they saw the answer. The scout rode ahead to watch.
“Let’s go again,” Marilee said, urging her horse to a trot. They gathered speed, came to within bowshot, loosing a second time. A few more ghelem dropped and were trampled. They wheeled away again, slowing to a walk when they were out of earshot. The scout rode back a second time.
“The same,” she said. “And, I could be wrong, but it looks like there were the same number of enemies marching as when we started.”
“What is going on?” Marilee asked.
The scout shrugged. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“We have to slow them down,” Marilee said, “to give Rokwolf time to get into position first.” She turned to the maghi. “Send up a double ball. Let’s ride into their midst and see if a few sword slashes get their attention. Everyone be ready to flee, so do not get too far into their ranks.” They nodded; the scout rode forward, while they ur
ged their mounts to a trot, then a run. Her squad crashed into the gheli ranks, and she could hear the answering shouts of the second squad to the south. Ghelem fell all around them, but their number did not diminish, and they took no notice of the attack. For a moment, Marilee rode forward with their enemy, trying to understand what was happening, and then she knew.
“Retreat!” she shouted. “Signal retreat! It’s a . . . ,” but her voice was cut off suddenly; a net had fallen over her, and she was pulled from her horse. Her mount, now riderless, followed the others as they fled both north and south, unaware that their leader had fallen from her horse, captured by the enemy.
Rokwolf arranged his three squads on a hill at the edge of the forest, directly in the path of Xythrax’s approaching company. The fact that they had arrived first meant that Marilee had successfully delayed them. Now they had only to wait. A scout appeared out of the darkness, south and east of their position, riding hard. He rode up the hill to where Rokwolf waited, leaping off of his horse before it had stopped.
“Captain!” he shouted. “Xythrax’s company stopped about a half-an-hour east of here. We executed the flanking maneuver, as ordered, but the enemy did not slow or turn to the side. We tried riding into the edges of their ranks, but the enemy took no notice of us, and simply continued to march.”
“But you said they stopped,” Rokwolf said.
“They have,” the scout continued. “After we rode in and attacked among their ranks, Marilee signaled a retreat. We complied, but when the northern squad re-grouped, she was not with them. That is when the enemy stopped marching. We fear she has been captured.”
“Captured!” Rokwolf exclaimed. “We must go and rescue her!” He turned to his messenger. “Order everyone to form up.” His messenger nodded and left, spreading the order to each squad leader. Rokwolf turned to go, when the sounds of a second horse, ridden hard, came from the south. He turned and saw one of the southern scouts pounding up the hill toward him. Like the first, he leaped from his horse before it had stopped.
“Captain!” the scout exclaimed. “They have vanished!”
“What? How did they vanish? Did they give you the slip?” Rokwolf asked.
“No, sir,” he said panting. “They stopped at sunset, then the morgle did something with his rod: it was like a gray, shimmering arch in the air. They all stepped into the arch and disappeared, and a moment after he disappeared, the arch vanished.”
“Could any of you see where they went?” Rokwolf asked.
“It looked like a camp by a river, with mountains in the background,” the scout said.
“Any clue as to which mountains?”
“Sunset appeared to be to their left, with the mountains running directly behind. I cannot be sure, but it looked like the river flowed out of the mountains.”
“The Iorn Gate,” Rokwolf said, “but that is far to the north. How could they have teleported there?” He thought for a moment before speaking again. “It is only two hours past sunset,” he mused to himself, “there is still time.”
“Captain!” a voice shouted from his left and east, “they are coming!”
He looked to his left and saw ghelem appearing out of the darkness to the east.
“Captain!” another voice shouted from behind, “they are coming!”
He whipped around and saw more ghelem appearing out of the darkness to the north. “How? Where did they come from?”
But before anyone could answer, two more voices shouted for his attention, from the south and west, and he knew without turning what they would say.
“They are coming!” from the south, echoed by “They are coming!” from the west.
“Pull back and dig in!” Rokwolf shouted. Somehow, he did not know how, Xythrax had managed to surround them. He watched his company scramble up the slope and begin to dig in around the crown of the hill. Scouts ran toward him led by his messenger.
“The scouts report,” his messenger began, “that we are only outnumbered by a single squad. If we can hold out until the other two squads return, we should be able to gain the upper hand.”
“See to our perimeter,” Rokwolf said, “make sure no one attacks before they have a clear shot at the enemy.”
The ghelem and purem led by Xythrax ringed the hill. A parley of black maghem led by Xythrax climbed the hill under a flag of truce, stopping just out of bowshot of Rokwolf’s lines. Rokwolf went forward with his messenger and two swords from the command squad to speak to them.
“What do you want?” Rokwolf asked.
“You are surrounded,” Xythrax replied, “if you lay down your weapons, we will spare your lives.”
“And what assurance do I have that you’ll keep your word?” Rokwolf asked. “I’ve never heard of your lot allowing surrender.”
Xythrax’s hood covered his face, so they could not see if he smiled, but his laughter grated on their ears, like the sound of old bones rattling in a bag. “I never said what we would do to you after you surrender, I only said we would spare your lives. There is something you need to see, and something I must do.” He struck the ground with his rod, and they were suddenly surrounded by a ring of fire. All around the hill, just outside the ring of fire, black-robed figures rose up, mumbling incantations. Xythrax raised his rod, growled the final words, and the hilltop under their feet shuddered. The stars went out, and they were suddenly surrounded by red fog. Winds howled around them, and they felt as if the hilltop were flying, carrying them away. All motion stopped as suddenly as it started, hurling them all from their feet and onto the ground. The stars returned, along with the sound of running water. Rokwolf rolled to a stop, next to a figure lying on the ground. In the pale starlight, he saw Marilee’s face, deathly pale and covered with a sheen of sweat. Her body was limp and hot. He looked up and saw a river flowing in front of him, next to a cliff. His eyes followed the river to his right, stopping on the dark opening out of which the water flowed: the Iorn Gate, hundreds of miles north and east of where they had been moments before.
Chapter 2
Great care must be taken in regard to the images shown in a vukeetu: they can as easily lead one into danger as past it.
Saying attributed to Melbarth
Atno 3524, “The Great Year,” Early Spring
A crack of thunder shook the walls of the tower, jolting the young, red-haired maghi from his meditative state. Thalamar was tall and gangly, like a scarecrow that someone had folded and placed on the floor; he looked toward the study’s large west window and saw rain striking the glass, clicking like handfuls of pebbles thrown against stone. He heard the wind whistling about the tower, smelled the moisture of outside air forced inside by the wind, and knew the unnaturalness of the sudden spring storm. “Isn’t it too early in the spring for a summer storm?” he asked his master.
Kalamar looked up from the book he read and toward the west window, sniffed the air, and felt thunder shake the tower through the soles of his slippers. His clear blue eyes pierced the sheen of water distorting the view through the glass; he watched the storm in silence before looking at his gangly apprentice. Kalamar was thin and frail-looking. His hair and beard were white, matching the color of his robe. An eye-shaped amulet of iron hung on a chain around his neck–the symbol for the order of Melbarth. A less worn copy of the amulet hung around Thal’s neck. Thal sat cross-legged on the floor before Kalamar who sat in a comfortable armchair. Kalamar stood and slowly walked to the study’s northwest window. Reaching with his mind past the rain clattering against the glass and the pines lashed by the wind, he discerned the storm’s driving force, frowned, and pulled his mental probe back, lest that which drove the storm become aware of him. He turned away from the window.
“You’re right, my son,” Kalamar said, his voice crackled with age. “The storm is unnatural and has disturbed your thoughts.” The tall, elderly maghi returned to his chair. “Your mind must be smooth before beginning the incantation, like a calm, waveless sea.”
Thal sighed and
closed his eyes. “Yes, master.”
They sat in silence, shutting out the storm’s fury. The old maghi’s eyes shone as he watched his young apprentice.
Kalamar nodded to himself. “Good,” he said quietly. “Now begin.”
Thal opened his eyes, touched the tip of his gray rod to the stone bowl on the floor, and mumbled a word. The bowl’s contents flared and burned with white light. The young maghi stood and touched the rising stream of smoke with his clay rod. Smoke followed the rod as Thal drew an eye shape in the air. The room grew dark; pieces of light gathered to the pupil of the smoky eye, forming a globe of multicolored light about a foot in diameter. He spoke the final word of power, “vukeetu,” and images coalesced within the globe. Two young wethem appeared; their faces were familiar, although Thal knew he had never met them. One was tall and lithe, sandy-haired and gray-eyed, with an angular face. He wore the greens and browns of the forest–a seklesi. The other, the seklesi’s twin brother Thal somehow knew even though they appeared unrelated, was large and bulky, with brown eyes and curly, brown hair. His face was softer and more round. He held a wooden staff in his right hand and wore green robes–a kailu of Shigmar. Flash-flash. Lightning split the globe and flashed images: kailu arched agony hand burning forehead smoking silent scream flash-flash. He also saw two wetham: a seklesa, thin and well formed with blue-black hair, cut short, that shimmered, half her face covered in shadow. Flash-flash blue-black falling face skin falling limbs twisting empty staring flash-flash. The second was a petite wetha with honey-flecked, braided, brown hair, also wearing the green robe of a kailu. Flash-flash naked swollen lashed lying eyes vacant staring green red blood grass staining unchild empty kailu howling echoes falling flash-flash. The images blurred and reformed, giving Thal a dual perspective.
“Keep calm,” Kalamar whispered, “you see yourself in both the present and the future.”
The Redemption, Volume 1 Page 3
