Chapter 24
The pounding of racing hoofs had alerted Milos to an approaching rider just shy of midday. He had briefly considered that one of Nathan's soldiers had discovered their tail and circled back for a closer look, but quickly discarded the idea. This rider didn't try to disguise his approach, and soon Milos saw why.
Corporal Joseph, his erstwhile guard and guide, slowed his mount, his ginger hair seeming bright against a very pale face dominated by haunted green eyes. The Company had seen the twisted body of the assassin Cristof left unceremoniously on the path the day before yesterday near the dead Prince with his bloody necklace, so Milos could guess what had drained Jo of his verve. He doubted the man had come to join his ranks, however, and the time gap strongly suggested he had reported back to Dalasmar while Milos and his men still headed for the capital. That Jo returned now with grim determination hardening his jaw further suggested King Stefan had another offer. Milos honestly didn't know whether he wanted to accept, given what they followed.
When they had parted company, Jo and Cristof had used the pale light of the tracking ring to guide them in the final hours of night. Milos had waited for the sun and clear indicators of the direction the wizards would choose. At that point, judging by Nathan's momentum, he didn't think his group had much chance of outpacing them, so they had continued to follow instead. And later came across the bodies. Victor had read the tracks and pointed out the solitary horse that had parted from the army. Jo's, as Milos had silently hoped.
Now the man had returned, terse with details though generous with the King's coin in hand. After conferring with some of his company, Milos had decided to proceed far enough to get a more accurate read of the situation, learn just how much aid Dalasham's monarch had already found and whether a meagre mercenary company would bring more favourable odds against a force backed by wizards. He held on to Stefan's payment in speculation.
Victor rode to one side of Milos, studying the trail ahead, and Jo rode on the other, occasionally consulting the gaudy ring Milos had given him to sense the proximity of their quarry as the sun crowned overhead, then began its slow descent from the sky. The almost harsh glare of maroon emanating at present from the talisman on Jo's hand gave as much evidence as the fresh horse dung and disturbed earth that, although Nathan's army might still benefit from its concealing mirror in fooling the eye, Milos' men practically trod on their heels.
"We get too close, we'll creep up their arse," Victor grumbled.
"Only a few kilometres to Riverbend," Jo said, glancing up from the magical glow on his finger. "Almost to the Fields where the King hoped to engage Nathan."
Milos took stock of their surroundings. The woods they had traversed for the past half-hour had thinned and the road rose to a crest ahead. Jo nodded to the hill, slowing his mount as Milos did.
"Just over that rise, I'd guess we'll see more men than landscape."
"Then let's not give our presence away too obviously," Milos rasped, giving the signal to dismount. He took Victor and Jo with him to have a look, leaving the rest of his company at the ready. The three crept forward until they could see what lay beyond the hill.
Waves of grass painted low hillocks in greens and browns, and a distant ribbon of water ten paces wide caught reflections of sunlight to send sparkles of diamonds back into the clear sky. A small army gathered near that stream facing the hill where Milos stood, the hill under which another, smaller army suddenly appeared out of a shimmer of air.
"Bloody hell," Victor cursed, low yet fervent.
The smaller group paused its forward momentum, a flurry of activity enveloping the riders at the fore while the foot soldiers waited in stillness.
"Don't think they expected to show themselves just yet," Milos remarked, studying the enemy.
"They don't seem overly concerned by an early reveal," Jo said. "Irritated, maybe, but not afraid."
"Not much frightens wizards of their calibre," Milos opined. "Especially when they don't expect much resistance."
"Then let's hope Lady Destiny and Wizard Norbert can surprise them."
Destiny had certainly frightened Milos upon occasion, despite his outward stoicism toward her. He didn't know anything about this Norbert―other than his speculation that the man had fashioned the ring Jo held to track magic users―but those two wizards below made him wary. He had listened to Cristof's description of their actions toward Prince Whillim and his valet; he understood the finesse required to keep more than three score soldiers invisible for days on end; he remembered that Councilman naming Nathan as the man to whom a wizard wished to gift a kingdom. A wizard who could claim that kind of cruelty, power, and loyalty had little to fear from a captive wizard who had sought to overthrow the kingdom she now stood prisoner in and a man who could make tracking trinkets.
Unless, of course, both wizards standing with King Stefan had more talent than those they opposed, and enough freedom to use it. Would Stefan have unshackled Destiny's hand? Turned from aversion to some form of trust in light of this new incursion? Stefan had given Milos few details beyond what to watch for, and he had no reason to trust a Mercenary Company with his plans. Unleashing Destiny, unfettered, against Nathan might make for interesting watching. Or terrifying nightmares. But it didn't require the intervention of paid soldiers.
"They're attacking," Jo announced as a burst of flame erupted from the force below. Nathan's army roared in defiance and swept into the field, ready to meet their adversaries with swords and other weapons drawn.
"Suppose the wizards augmented their strength?" Victor asked, his tone merely curious though his wiry frame nearly vibrated with suppressed tension.
Milos gave a half shrug.
"Don't know why they wouldn't. I'm wondering what they wanted to hide with that useless burst of fire, though."
Jo glanced at him, then back to the beginnings of the melee. After studying the scene for a moment, the King's man turned silently and went back to the waiting mercs, but only long enough to retrieve his horse. He led the beast back to Milos and Victor, saying nothing. Milos' company followed him far enough to see the field below.
"It's not my country," Milos said mildly to Jo. "Not my war."
Jo smiled, put foot to stirrup, and swung himself up into the saddle. He met Milos' stare.
"I know," he replied. Then he nudged his mount forward, heading down the hill to the rear of both armies.
Milos shared a look with Victor. His crazy northern tracker suddenly grinned. Sweeping his braids from his shoulders, Victor clicked his teeth to call his own horse close and drew his sword.
"Imagine the reward if we live," Victor said, grabbing the reins.
Milos cursed. He swept the remainder of his men with a searching look, then unsheathed his weapon with a hearty sigh, raising it high. After all, he did hold the King's retainer.
"Left flank," he called, taking his own reins and mounting. The company nodded grimly, still willing to follow their Captain. "We're all mad," he muttered.
"Oh aye," Victor agreed cheerfully.
"Damn it all anyway," Milos spat before raising his voice to signal the attack. "Let's make sure that brave fool doesn't get all the credit," he shouted to Victor as they raced after Jo and into the rear of an unsuspecting wizard's army.
***
No more delays, no more waiting, no one to stand in his way. Even without an exiled Prince to find them hidden tunnels to sneak into Dalasmar's dungeons, Nathan anticipated little resistance to the goal he could practically taste now. That Prince had pointed out a suitable route with minimal traffic to reach his city; a pity that he could no longer lead them into the bowels of the Castle, but by no means a real impediment. The assassin had merely spoiled a possible addendum to their plans, not altered their course. Nathan spared the briefest moment to shudder in remembrance at the feel of the poison trying to eat through his shielding before Tyrandel had added his own resources to Nathan's, curtailing any adverse effects. The final agony of his would-be kil
ler turned the tall wizard's shudder to satisfaction as his little army rode beyond the confines of the woods, cresting a hill to look down into a wide field. A field dominated by another small army.
"Well," he said.
At his side, Tyrandel snorted. Nathan spared a moment to wonder how an army knew to find them on this path, then dismissed the thought as irrelevant.
"Looks like our troops get to play today," Tyrandel quipped with great levity. "They can provide a healthy diversion while we pass by unhindered and unnoticed."
"Or we can simply all march past with no one the wiser," Nathan replied. "Imagine their chagrin when we sweep by and right into their city, wrecking havoc where they don't expect us."
"We might march past, then sweep into their rear instead," suggested the man to Nathan's left. His captain of the guard who had raised this force, a formidable figure for a mundane, shared a certain zeal with his masters. "Eliminate the threat from a direction they won't anticipate."
Nathan liked the sound of that. He let his gaze rove over the assembly before him as his soldiers rode and walked calmly down the hill. There, at the back near the river, he finally saw something interesting. An unexpected power source, an aura surrounding―
"Kalima's teeth," he swore. Tyrandel sent him a startled look, then followed Nathan's avid stare.
"Well," the hefty man chortled. "They've made it easy for us, haven't they?"
Nathan could hardly believe his eyes. Not only had these Dalashamites brought Girl, humble and cowering, to the field; beside her stood a well-known figure, Marcus' finely groomed moustache and beard framing a haughty sneer as Nathan enhanced his sight to better see. Nathan frowned. Something seemed off about his long-time companion ...
Tyrandel's sudden curse snagged Nathan's attention, then both wizards pulled up short, halting their troops when they realised that, somehow, someone had snapped their spell of concealment, leaving the entire company quite visible to the army awaiting them.
"That changes things, doesn't it?" Nathan spat, his ire rising fast.
"It might give them line of sight on us," his guard captain disagreed, "but it doesn't alter our defences. You've augmented us each morning for a week, my Lord. Seems reasonable to test the depths of our strength now." The man had benefited from like magical enhancements in the past and well knew their worth. While those he had found along the way to bolster their numbers didn't have experience with just how easily they could overcome a force lacking such a magical assist, in truth they just needed to engage the enemy. Nathan and Tyrandel could then aim for the true goal, leaving the hired soldiers to act as a distraction, just as Tyrandel had originally proposed. Nathan chewed his lip in thought, dark blue eyes staring avidly at his destination.
"A bit of flash to put the fear of Kalima in them while disguising ourselves," he decided. A glance to his captain of the guard. "Your men raise a bit of a din, drawing attention and attack, while Tyrandel and myself circle around the edges, head for that little group lightly defended at the back, and take what we want."
"You take me and three other lads with you, and we can distract that light guard, smooth the way even further for you," the soldier countered. Seeing the merits of that plan, Nathan nodded. He looked to Tyrandel, saw anticipation gleaming from pale eyes as he shifted in a saddle modified to take his great bulk.
"Do we take her alive or kill her quick?" Tyrandel wondered.
"After all this time?" Nathan replied. "You think I want her torment to end so easily?" His mouth stretched wide, though calling it a grin underscored the ferocity of the expression, and the animosity behind it. "Free Marcus, grab Girl, and the rest ... we'll see what kind of sport they might offer."
The guard captain looked over his shoulder.
"Give 'em hell, boys, and let the world know we're here," he bellowed, while at the same time picking three others with a subtle hand gesture.
The company roared its approval, brandishing weapons. Nathan wove a concealing mist over himself, Tyrandel, and the four men who would accompany them, while at the same time Tyrandel covered their disappearance with a showy tongue of flame spread along the front line. Then the two groups sprang forward; the army to face their foe on foot or horseback, the wizards to slip around to the rear.
Nathan kept his target in sight as they wound their way over the field. He heard the crash of the forces meeting, the smack of bodies and horse flesh slamming together, the clang of swords and maces interspersed with the occasional twang of arrows launched from bows. He scented the tang of blood on the air, savoured the screams of men surprised by the might and imperviousness of invaders, but he kept his attention tightly focused.
Seven years, Girl had evaded him. Seven years, his father had gone unavenged while that slave had somehow eluded capture. No more. Today, he would take Girl in his own hands, mete out the bare beginnings of a punishment that might last months, or even years. Today, he would have vengeance, and take the power Girl had stolen for his own.
He allowed magic to swirl to hand, held spells at the ready to incapacitate and injure, and arrowed onward, Tyrandel laughing at his side, his horse magicked to keep pace with Nathan's. When both horses faltered, Nathan barely noticed. He simply leapt from the saddle, so close that he could see Marcus' bindings, Girl's eyes―the colour of twilight―wide as they swept the field, the small handful of people flanking the pair. Tyrandel landed beside him, matching his stride despite their discrepancy in size and stature.
Only at the last moment did Nathan realise that Girl's gaze didn't watch the battle behind them; she watched him, as though she could see him plainly. A realisation confirmed when she spoke, though the words made no sense.
"Hello, Brother," she said, boldly meeting his astonished stare with eyes so like his own that he faltered. He lost all sense of those around him, his entire being focused on the slave standing before him. Unchained, he noted, finally becoming aware of the aura that exploded from her.
Like my own, a small corner of his brain announced, but he paid it little heed, still trying to reconcile her greeting, let alone her apparently unencumbered state among the enemy. Did she actually help the rulers of this kingdom?
What does she mean, Brother? that little voice asked, keeping him distracted.
He blinked, trying to clear his mind, then scowled at her.
"Did you think you could run forever?" he snarled, ignoring what he couldn't face while flames of power danced around his fists.
"Did you think I would forget my family?" she countered. "What that bastard stole? What he did? What he made you become?"
"What are you blathering on about?" he snapped, wondering why he didn't just take her now.
"Let me show you," she whispered, bringing up a hand. Nathan flinched hard, taking a single step back. That cowering kindled a spark of rage and he quickly reclaimed that step, using his height to intimidate. It didn't work as well as he hoped, for Girl stood near his own height. Her lips twisted into a mocking grin.
"Do you fear a little Girl, Brother?" she murmured.
"I fear nothing, slave," he retorted, drawing on his power, a spell of confinement on his lips, waiting for him to unleash it.
"Good," she said, and only then did Nathan feel a strange weight about his neck. He glanced down at his chest in alarm, seeing an amulet resting against his tunic. Even as he raised a hand to shed himself of whatever mischief Girl thought to ensnare him in, she spoke a single word, "Memdar," vanquishing his flames beyond memory.
He stared at her, wondering what she had hoped to accomplish, then grinned cruelly.
"I have waited a long time for this day," he told her.
"As have I," she said, voice suddenly soft and hesitant. "Do you remember when he slit Mother's throat?"
Nathan blinked again, then once more. For a moment, the grey stones of a kitchen replaced his reality. He watched a raven-haired woman fall to the ground with a gaping wound in her neck, her fingers unable to staunch the crimson flow at her throat, his
father standing over her holding a bloody knife, indifferent to the mewling sounds she made as she tried desperately to breathe.
A little girl held him tight, shielding his eyes with her slight body, calming his sobs with an off-key tune hummed under her breath, sharing his tremors as they shook in shock. His father's hand slapped the girl away and took his scrawny arm―the arm of a four-year-old child―to drag him from the dying body of his mother. And the sprawled form of his sister, who tried to crawl after them―after him―only to have their father kick her away.
"Think no more on them, son," Wizard Shelton had said, roughly drying Nathan's tears as he drew him from the kitchens. "They have no further place in your life. You, who will have more power at your beck and call then most even dream of. Leave the frailties of useless women behind and embrace who you are meant to be. Their pain means nothing to the glory you will become. You will have power and strength equal to mine, son. Comfort yourself with the truth of that."
And not knowing what else to do, Nathan had obeyed his father. Shelton had used Girl to control him, punishing her for Nathan's transgressions until Nathan had learned to lock away all feeling. And then he had made Girl Nathan's servant, his slave, to do whatever he demanded, for which Shelton would reward Nathan, until cruelty to Girl became its own reward. Until the torment of his own sister brought him a sense of accomplishment.
Nathan shuddered, wrenching himself back to the present
"Lies!" he roared, throwing himself at Girl, wrapping his fingers about her neck. His momentum took them both to the ground. For a moment, he saw a nearly forgotten woman beneath him, blood oozing from her slit throat, instead of the woman currently under his vicious grip. Until Girl captured his wrists with long, firm fingers, and squeezed in return. She spat out an unfamiliar word, clearing Nathan's vision and sending searing agony where her hands touched him. He reared back with a curse and jerked his arms away from her grip, staring at his wrists in confusion, seeing nothing there. He glared down at her.
The Forgotten Magic Page 27
