Senne's mouth pulled into a tight line. "They're quite functional. We're making a two-part strike this time. During the night, we'll send the vayash moru against the guards again. Tabok said the tunnels were spelled against vayash moru, so they couldn't help Soterius. We'll also put them around the battering ram throughout the night. Ashtenerath or corpses won't bother them. Neither will more of the 'dark sendings.' Come dawn, we'll replace them with regular soldiers—after we've softened things up a bit."
"Latt and Fallon assured me that they've already sent ill humors to cause dysentery among Curane's troops," Tris replied. "Unpleasant, but effective. It should reduce Curane's forces and slow down their response." He took a sip of brandy. "The ghosts came to me last night. They have a plan. They'll make another attack from inside, timed to support Soterius. That'll give Latt the chance to break the spells on the tower protecting the girl and her baby and let Soterius and his strike force through."
Tris's head hurt from an afternoon spent with the mages. It had taken a week after the last battle for Tris and the other mages to regain enough strength to hold their own in a fight. Gauging from Curane's silence, Tris doubted their foe's mages were in any better shape. The Flow, which had been dangerously unpredictable before, was now even less stable. If Curane's forces don't kill us, our own magic might, Tris thought.
"Between the frontal assault and the tre-buchets on the flanks, Curane won't notice us until it's too late." Soterius said. "The tunnels come up right below the keep. If we can capture the girl and her baby, Curane has no choice but to surrender."
Tabok's ghost stood behind Soterius. "Unfortunately, after the last attack, Curane's mages have spelled their war room. I can't get in. I think they suspect that the ghosts are spying for you. They've been careful not to discuss anything outside of the war room. But from what I do see, he's confident. He's got something planned, something big." He sighed. "But I have some good news. The ghosts from the crypts beneath the city terrorized enough of Curane's men that their commanders had to threaten them with scourgings to get them back to their posts." He gave a cruel smile. "There, at least, we succeeded."
"His blood mages are making amulets to dispel ghosts and hold off the vayash moru. Most are worthless trinkets. But some do carry power. He's armed his key battalions with those charms, the ones manning the gates and the upper walks. His mages are showing the strain. The more desperate his mages become, the worse the lot of the villagers trapped in the walled city. There's plague down in the ginnels. Curane ordered a quarter of the city walled off to contain it. Others say his mages caused it, to spread it to your troops and kill with fever what his arrows can't reach." Tabok looked to Tris. "Curane won't accept defeat. He's not going to give in so long as there's a man with breath to hold a sword. I'm afraid that the only way to defeat him is to destroy every living thing inside that holding."
"Can your land mage do something about the weather? If it stays this cold, we'll be lucky not to freeze in our beds." Palinn drew his cloak tighter around him despite the fire that blazed in the metal stove in the center of the tent. Outside, strong winds whipped the canvas of the tent and howled down the open spaces between the encampments.
"If she could, she would," Tris said. "There's worse weather coming—that's why we didn't want to put off the strike any longer. Snow and high winds. If this doesn't work, it could be a while before we have the opening for another strike—and it's a fool's bet on whether our side or theirs will be more miserable waiting it out."
"We'll have pairs of mages with two of the attacking forces," Tris said. "Fallon and I will cover the front. Beryal will back up Ana on the left flank—she's not completely recovered from the last attack. Vira will handle the right flank. Latt will go with the strike force. That splits us up so that the enemy can't get in a lucky shot and wipe us all out." Tris looked at Soterius.
"Get your forces into position. We'll move at second bells. They may not be expecting an attack in the middle of the night."
"We'll leave at dusk and be in position by the time you're ready."
Esme slipped inside the tent as Soterius and the generals headed for their troops. "A word with you, your majesty?" "What is it?"
"There's a fever started among the men," Esme reported. "Only a few cases so far, but it's nothing I've seen before. One of the men was fine in the morning and dead by nightfall. He was coughing up blood. We've tried to keep the sick men from going back to their battalions, but with an attack coming up, they don't want to miss the fight. I'm worried. If this attack doesn't break Curane, if we're stuck here for weeks or months, the fever could get ugly. Worse, if we take it home with us to the city." "Keep me informed. And if we didn't already have all the reasons in the world to win tonight, we've got one more now."
Soterius braced himself against the bitter wind. "I'm so happy we decided to do this before the weather got bad," he muttered. A light snow was falling, and by the look of the heavy clouds, more would fall by morning. Behind them, the sound of battle echoed in the night. A sea of torches lit the way for the army as it made its attack on Lochlanimar.
"They should be in place by now," Pryce, Tarq's second-in-command, said.
"Let's move."
The soldiers pressed through the snow. It was almost as deep as a man's knees, and Soterius knew it wouldn't be any easier on the return journey. He had sent two scouts on ahead, and their tracks were already covered by the snow. The two dozen soldiers trekked in silence. Only a half moon lit their way. When it clouded over, Latt magicked a dim blue magelight, just enough to keep them from blundering in the dark.
Ahead of them loomed the foothills, and the entrance to the tunnels. They had walked for more than a candlemark, but the torch fire of battle still glowed on the horizon. Even at this distance, they could hear the distant thud of the battering ram.
"There it is," Soterius said, pointing to the cleft in the foothills that matched Tabok's description. He surveyed the terrain. "Now where the hell is the signal?"
A lantern blinked twice.
The scouts met them on a rocky hillside. "Where's the cave entrance?" Soterius asked.
One of the scouts pointed to the ground a few paces away. What Soterius first took for a shadow was really a deep hole. "We explored as much as we dared. The path isn't so bad at first, but then it slopes down. It'll be tricky."
Soterius nodded. "Tabok didn't think we'd need them, but we've got ropes and harnesses, just in case. I'd feel better if he and a few of his ghosts were around to lead the way."
Latt stepped closer to the cave entrance. She raised her hands, palms out, and closed her eyes for a moment. "Tabok's right. I can sense magic down there. My guess is that someone's placed runes to ward away the vayash moru— and the ghosts, too. I'd better be in the front—just in case they left us any other nasty surprises."
Six of Tarq's men led the way into the caves with Latt right behind them. Their torches sent flickering shadows across the rock walls. Soterius followed, then Pryce. Pell and Tabb, two of Soterius's first recruits in the rebellion, walked behind him. The soldiers carefully made their way down the sloping cave entrance. Latt used her magic to assure that the pathway was solid, and to feel for openings in the rock around them. As the path led downward, deeper into the mountain, it grew even colder.
As the scouts reported, the path sloped steeply. Ice made it treacherous. Their torchlight glistened as it reflected from the sheets of ice that rippled down the cave walls and the crystals beneath. In places, the pathway led along the rim of chasms that even Latt's magelight could not illuminate to the bottom. I never thought I'd want a vayash moru with me as much as I do now, Soterius "It's slipping," Latt warned. "I can't hold it much longer."
With a mighty heave, the men pulled Hoyt and Pell back from the brink as the path gave way completely. "Jump!" Soterius shouted to the men stranded on the other side. It was too late. The path crumbled beneath their feet. The men pulling Hoyt and Pell scrambled as the walkway dropped into the abys
s, nearly taking Pell and his rescuers with it.
Rock dust filled the air, making it difficult to breathe. Hoyt and Pell collapsed, safe on the remaining stub of the pathway.
"That was too damn close," Soterius said, wiping the grit from his face with his sleeve.
"Agreed," Latt said.
"Are you all right?" Soterius shouted to the men on the other side of the ruined pathway.
"We're all right, but we can't reach you."
"Wait for us. And keep an eye out. There were other passages that opened into that first room—we don't know where they went or what's in them."
"Yes, sir."
"Can you find any of the sigils that are keeping out the ghosts or the vayash moru?" Soterius asked Latt, helping her to her feet. "Maybe if we could remove those, we could get some reinforcements."
"I'm looking for them. Haven't come upon any yet. They must be deep in the caves. But there's something up ahead."
thought. Goddess! I'd give a lot to have a few soldiers who could see in the dark.
Twice, Latt raised a hand for the group to halt and tested the path ahead with her magic. Both times, a portion crumbled into the abyss, forcing them to slide single file, inching their way, around the collapsed sections. Soterius cursed under his breath as he scraped along the icy rock wall, glad that the darkness kept him from seeing all the way to the bottom of the chasm.
Behind him, a man screamed. Soterius turned just in time to see Pell lose his footing on"the slick rock. Too late, he scrabbled for a handhold as the pathway crumbled. Hoyt, another of Soterius's men, dived to grab Pell's wrist.
"Let me go! You can't hold me!" Pell shouted.
"Pell! Hang on!" Soterius tried to work his way back toward where Pell clung to the rock. The narrow walkway was too crowded for him to back up, and he feared adding more weight to the crumbling path.
Hoyt slid forward and grasped Pell's other wrist. "Let go! I can pull you up!"
Rocks began to fall beneath Pell's feet. Latt turned, shifting her magic. The rockslide stopped. "Pull him up. Hurry!"
The two men closest to Hoyt each grabbed one of his legs and began to pull. "Go!" Latt grated through clenched teeth. The walkway was beginning to shake, and a hail of small rocks began to cascade along the sides.
They had been walking inside the caves for at least two candlemarks. It was probably around tenth bells outside, Soterius guessed. Still long before Tris and the others would launch the main attack. Finally, the path leveled out.
Latt moved forward among Pryce's scouts. "Look, there's one of the sigils!" Latt pointed to a rune written in letters of fire on the rock wall. Its dim glow was barely visible in the haiflight. Pryce moved up behind Soterius. On the narrow landing, there was little room to spare. Behind them, a chasm opened into blackness.
In the dim glow of Latt's mage light, Soterius could see a narrow walkway with chasms on either side leading to a broad landing, and on the far wall, an .opening. "Maybe that's our way out of here," Soterius whispered to Pryce.
Latt turned toward the sigils and raised her hands, chanting as she tried to break the old magic. There was the sound of rushing air, the glint of metal in the torchlight. Latt stiffened and staggered as a thrown dagger found its mark, embedding itself hilt deep in her back. A man's scream made Soterius wheel in time to see Hoyt fall backward, flailing, into the chasm, pushed by one of Pryce's men.
Soterius gasped as the steel of a blade slipped between his ribs. Pryce jerked the blade free, and it ran red with blood. "The mage's dagger had wormroot. Don't expect any help there."
Torches fell to the rock floor as Pell and Tabb struggled with Pryce's men. One lay face down, a dagger deep in his back. On the narrow landing, it was impossible to fight with swords. Daggers drawn, the two men fought back to back, outnumbered by Pryce's soldiers.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Soterius launched himself at Pryce. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Latt stir. Soterius staggered as he tackled Pryce, taking them both close enough to the edge of the chasm that Pryce's boots knocked stones loose to tumble into the shadows. "Why?"
"I've been waiting for weeks in that miserable camp. I'll give you credit. You didn't make this easy. Tarq promised that Curane will make me a general for this." "Tarq? That lying son of the Whore—" As Soterius and Pryce struggled, Pell and Tabb hurled themselves at their attackers with a battle cry that echoed from the rock walls. Caught off guard, one of the attackers stepped too far backward and tumbled into the darkness. Two of Pryce's men closed in against Pell while the others circled Tabb. Pryce chuckled.
"Admit it. You've lost." Pryce slammed Soterius back against the rock wall so hard his head swam. "Curane's got his own men in the tunnels—they'll take care of the ones who couldn't cross the rock bridge. It's over." "Not while you're still breathing."
Pell, bleeding from a score of wounds, fought his attackers like a wild thing until a blade caught him in the throat. He staggered and fell to his knees, blood foaming in his mouth. Tabb's attackers sprang like a wolf pack, and Tabb went down.
Soterius saw Latt raise herself onto her knees. A trickle of blood flowed from the corner of her mouth and her face was tight with concentration, as if she were marshalling all of her effort to overcome the wormroot in her system. A burst of magic streamed from Latt's outstretched hands. The sigil flared, blinding them for a moment, then went dark. Latt collapsed face down on the landing and lay still.
I'm dying—and I'm taking that traitorous dimonn-spawn with me, Soterius thought grimly. Soterius mustered his failing strength to shift his grip, throttling Pryce. His battle cry was part defiance, part a howl of rage and pain. He could feel the blood running down his side beneath his shirt. Pryce tore loose and drew his sword, although the cramped quarters made a full press awkward. Soterius staggered and drew his own blade as the caverns around them filled with the sound of rushing air and ghostly wails.
"What in the name of the Crone—" Pryce shouted. The wails grew louder and the temperature dropped until their breath fogged. Streaming from the abyss and from the openings in the rocks, ghosts swarmed down on Pryce's soldiers, maws open and teeth bared. The torches guttered as Pryce's men cried out in terror, cut off from escape. As the last light flickered, the ghosts' green glow made it just possible to glimpse the horror of their attack. Pryce's eyes glinted with desperation as his men fell to the avenging spirits.
Soterius heard the swing of Pryce's sword blade and threw himself out of the way, bringing up his own blade as he fell to his knees. His sword caught Pryce in the belly, spilling a steaming mix of blood and entrails onto the rocks. Soterius struggled to reach his feet, but his body would not respond. The world around him blurred and lost focus.
Tris dozed fitfully. It was early evening, long before the attack would begin, and he knew it might be his last chance for sleep. Just catching a candlemark of rest now could make the next few days more bearable. Although he doubted he could, exhaustion won out, and he fell into a troubled rest.
Tris found himself on the Plains of Spirit, enveloped by darkness so complete that he could not see his own hands. A presence rushed at him, tackling Tris before he could fully shield. It was a creature of the spirit plains, neither ghost nor mortal nor undead, a dimonn.
A second dimonn joined them, circling for the kill. The first dimonn tightened its grip, and Tris gasped, feeling it constrict his life force. The dimonn brushed against his mind, and Tris pushed back hard to repel the images of the dark sending before they could take hold. The real danger was the dimonn's grip, gradually drawing down his life energy. He knew he must break free or die.
Tris summoned his power, fueled by the fear that pumped through his blood. He reached for the magic and it slipped from his grasp. He reached again, focusing intently. The magic fluctuated erratically. The dimonns lunged for him.
A brilliant flash of light erupted from his fingertips, making the Plains of Spirit brighter than noonday. Tris bucked at the dimonn with his body and
power, throwing it clear. The second dimonn howled and streaked toward him on the Plains of Spirit, but Tris raised a wall of fire between them. Before the dimonn could strike again, Tris doubled the fire, snapping the flames like a curtain around the dark spirit until its howl became an ear-splitting scream. Hotter still the fire burned. Tris poured his fear and rage into his magic and his heart thudded in his ears. A mortal or vayash mom would have been instantly incinerated in those flames. Tris sent a final surge of power and held it until he felt the dimonn's energy wink out of existence. Where the flames had been was a scorched circle of ash. The dimonn was gone. Forced back by the flames, the second dimonn howled and disappeared.
With a rush, Tris returned to consciousness. His eyes snapped open, and he saw a dark figure above his cot. A blade glinted in the firelight. He threw himself to one side. Suddenly his attacker jerked, and blood spurted from his mouth as the point of a sword tore through his cloak from beneath his ribs. Behind the assassin stood Coalan, still holding the pommel of his short sword two-handed, his face an expression of horror and determination. With a gurgle, the attacker slid from the blade, crumpling at the foot of Tris's cot.
"Sweet Chenne." Tris stood and moved slowly toward Coalan.
"What happened?" Senne was the first to reach the tent, throwing the flap aside as soldiers rushed in behind him.
Tris placed his arm around Coalan's shoulders. "You're all right now." He pried the sword from Coalan's grip and handed it to a soldier to clean the blade. Then he guided Coalan to a chair by the fire, and returned to the trunk at the foot of his bed to pour a glass of brandy. Color returned to Coalan's face as he sipped the drink, but his hand still shook hard enough to spill the liquor.
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