Nineteen of the boats made it – one had been left behind at the base of the escarpment, in case of retreat. I didn’t like thinking that way, but then again retreat was one of many, many possible outcomes of the battle ahead. I wanted to plan for that.
The rest were beached at the marina, and the three-thousand men, Alkans, and dogs ate, slept, and prepared for battle under cover of powerful obscuring spells. The gurvani of the rearguard had a few shamans, but they were unlikely to be scrying vigilantly. Still, we wanted as much of the element of surprise as we could muster.
We discussed the plan in far more detail on the hour-long hike back to the barges. We considered many scenarios and strategies, and by the time we walked into camp we had the entire plan figured out sufficiently to start giving orders and explaining the battle plan.
I was surprised at the enthusiasm I saw in return, but I should have known better. Even though we’d spent the better part of a week riding along the ice and climbing through the tortuous landscape, the warmagi did not seem weary in the slightest. The Alka Alon positively shivered with the excitement of battle. And the Kasari treated their mission as just another exercise. Get a thousand men and a thousand Alka Alon into a guarded fortification without alerting a nearby army? When do you want them there?
“Then there’s the dragon,” I said to the large group of unit commanders and interested spectators I’d gathered around the largest bonfire on the beach. “The dragon is the key to this battle. Don’t forget, we have two more to face when we’re done with this one, so don’t waste anything. But we won’t be facing them until this one is out of the way. I want the falcons to play a part in this,” I said, looking at Dara’s sprawled form. Her three skyriders were standing around her, a boy and two Tal Alon. At this point they were veterans.
“Us?” Dara asked, her eyes shooting open. “Fight a dragon?”
“Harass a dragon,” I corrected. “We’re going to be preparing mighty spells below. Just keep him busy while we’re doing it. Distract him,” I ordered.
“Distract a dragon,” she said in disbelief. “With my girlish allure? Master Min, my birds are tough . . . but they aren’t dragon tough!”
“Use your imagination,” I counseled. “Like I said, you just have to keep his concentration split. Surely you can manage something annoying.” The challenge hung in the air and my apprentice looked back at me, thoughtfully. Then she sighed.
“Do you care what we use to do that?” she asked.
“Sing him a jaunty tune, for all I care,” I shrugged. “Just keep him from flaming the rest of us while we’re preparing to destroy him. And try to have fun,” I added, sarcastically. “The rest of the third team will be comprised of Sire Cei, Magelord Wenek, Taren, and ten more volunteers,” I continued. “Anyone who has a good idea about how to kill a dragon, now is the time to experiment.”
“How far away is the main force, from the gate?” asked someone from the back. “Do we have to worry about reinforcements?”
“No,” Dara said, before I could speak. “I flew over there this morning. The main army is concentrated around the city on the big island. That’s a couple of miles away over the ice. They have it entirely besieged. One of the dragons is there. The other is on the north wall, destroying some buildings and gardens along the cliff base there.”
“So we’ll have a short time before someone notices a one-third reduction in the dragon population and sends an army after us. Gods willing,” I said, glancing at the fire, “we’ll be already underway long before they can get here.”
“When are we attacking?” someone else asked. Lanse of Bune, I think.
“Dawn,” Terleman said, curtly. “The Kasari will go in a few hours before, to set up their assault. The rest of us will take the footpath on the north side up the escarpment. They haven’t bothered guarding it. We can gather below the rise to their first outpost and go over at first light. We attack with the rising sun. Not that it will do much, but it will keep the sun at our backs and in their eyes during the first wave of the attack. I can’t see how that would hurt us.”
“It also gives us plenty of time to rest up, sharpen our swords, hang our spells, fill our quivers, and make our peace with our lives. I still haven’t any positive word on the counterspell. A lot still depends on that. We could have a total victory in the morn and see defeat by nightfall, if they don’t come up with something. That,” I said, speaking loudly enough for all to hear, “is out of our control. All we have to deal with is one dragon.”
“Three dragons,” someone corrected from the shadows. There was a wave of nervous giggles.
“One dragon . . . at a time,” I corrected. “That’s our part. We can do it. Now everyone, get some sleep and some food. Busy day tomorrow.”
As everyone broke up to prepare for their part in the battle, I noticed Dara borrowing one of the transport rods from Taren. I was about to ask him what she wanted with it when I was grabbed by Magelord Thinradel, of all people.
“Spellmonger,” he began, politely. “I thought I’d mention something that might be important. I think the gurvani are, in fact, searching for Korbal’s lost tomb. And I think they are not the only ones.”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“About three years ago – more like four, now, when I was first appointed as the Ducal Court Mage, there were several . . . gentlemen,” he said, using the term with obvious distaste, “who had presumed on their connections at court to propose just such an expedition into the wild reaches of the Alshari Wilderlands. This very region, in fact.”
“Surely you got that sort of thing all the time,” I dismissed.
“Yes, yes, of course,” the former bureaucrat reported. “But these men were different, somehow. Less prone to flights of fancy and more interested in gold. They wanted the support of the court, but I knew the late Duke Lenguin would never sanction such wild chases at the coronet’s expense. But they were quite well-prepared with maps, citations from legend, and historical documents that they said proved that Korbal’s final resting place was within these hills.”
“That’s fascinating, but I don’t see how it matters at the moment,” I admitted.
“All of the small parties we’ve run across along the way up the river tend to indicate, to me, that Shereul is just as interested in that tomb as those men. Further, it is possible that the two are linked, somehow.”
“Why would the gurvani be interested in an old human legend of a demon god?” I asked. “Particularly when it appears to be a half-remembered legend of a renegade Alka Alon?”
“Good question,” agreed Thinradel. “What the men who approached me assured was that Korbal could raise legions of the dead to fight Alshar’s wars, should we discover the tomb. That he had a hidden fortress stocked with magical wonders and, of course, mounds of gold. There always seem to be mounds of gold involved in that sort of thing.”
“That . . . could be important,” I agreed. “Thanks. Keep me posted if you recall anything else like that.”
Korbal the Demon Lord? There was more to that than met the eye, I could tell. There were many plots and plans emanating from the Umbra. And it was clear that the goblins were getting at least some aid from disaffected Alka Alon traitors. Perhaps Korbal fitted into that, somehow.
Camp was quiet and tense that night as we all prepared. The dogs got some much-needed rest, and our men were able to limber up and properly prepare for the assault. I got some sleep in the barge with two over-sized hunting dogs on either side of me. It was warm and cozy, but the big mutts had bad breath. And gas.
Rondal and Lorcus woke me by starlight a few hours later. As I gulped down bacon and a cold biscuit, they told me the Kasari and Alka Alon had already departed camp. The warmagi would start up the trail toward the outpost within the hour.
I splashed water on my face, peed, stretched, and secured my armor. Spells were hung soon thereafter. I was ready, as ready as I ever am to face mortal danger.
We trooped single-file
up that narrow, rocky trail, our footfalls, coughs, and cleared throats concealed by powerful spells. The stealthy vanguard silently eliminated the lone pickets and patrols with bow and knife. The small outpost – no more than a score of gurvani – was unprepared for the attack.
But when first light broke over the far horizon and illuminated the rocky camp, we screamed our war cries and leapt up the path, swords singing and spells blazing. There was little determined resistance, so total was their surprise. Within seconds of our first blow, the camp was swarming with warmagi tracking through blood and black hair.
The next outpost along the path was larger, but no less vulnerable to the near hundred warmagi who launched themselves at the primitive barricade. These scrugs had the time to raise their arms, but not the strength to defend against such powerful spells and determined attackers. Rondal and Tyndal were among the first inside the gurvani lines, and the boys plied their mageblades and warwands like madmen against them.
“Nice,” Lorcus remarked, as Rondal sent a goblin sprawling headless with a sharp, determined blow. “How far until the next checkpoint?”
“Less than a quarter mile,” I said, as the last of the defenders were put down. “That’s got a garrison of at least two hundred, light infantry. After that it gets challenging.”
“Two hundred?” the Remeran asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll actually get to wet my blade, this time.”
The next outpost apparently had word of the incursion, and half of the troops were lining up to go investigate when we fell upon them. Indeed Lorcus wet his blade in the furious but brief action as we overwhelmed them in formation. He also got to use some wider-area spells against the confused rush of gurvani, including a spectacular flare that set a few of them on fire.
But that was the last small group to contend with before the main section of the rearguard. We abandoned stealth at that point because our foes had been alerted. The main camp was coming alive as news of the attack spread. We moved forward until we found the best places for concealment we could as closest to their lines as possible. We were helped in this by the terrain. Apart from the smooth-worn Alkan path, the rest of the landscape was littered with convenient rocks and boulders.
“I’ve got a nasty I want to try,” wheezed Wenek, when we were in position, nearly two hundred yards away from their makeshift camp amid the tower’s ruins. “Can you give me a few minutes?”
“At your convenience,” I decided. There are few warmagi who understand offensive magics better than Wenek. He took up the challenge of wide-area offensive spells with vigor, once he’d gotten a witchstone, though he rarely had the opportunity to try them out. Huffing and puffing in his large coat of plates, he began summoning runes and casting spells to raise power and channel energies. It was impressive to watch. An arcane ball of force built in front of him. It grew in size and intensity for several long minutes as he poured power into it lavishly.
Finally, he opened his eyes. “Everyone take cover!” he ordered. “As soon as this goes off, every hell you’ve ever imagined will break loose!”
We hunkered down behind anything offering a hint of shelter. Wenek’s facility with hurtful magic was gaining a reputation.
The rotund mage hurled the sphere into the air, and it immediately sped off at his direction until it was directly over the center of the goblin ‘s camp. Then it winked a bright flare of piercing white light.
Wenek’s prediction was understated. What followed was the biggest and most dramatic shift in emotion I’ve ever witnessed. Every goblin in the camp, at least a thousand of them, began to wail and scream. Some began running away in no particular direction. Others took up arms and began hacking at their fellows. Still others cowered on the ground with their hands over their ears.
Wenek grinned in professional satisfaction at the chaos.
“What the hells did you do?” demanded Lorcus. “Berserker spells?”
Wenek looked offended. “Try pure existential terror.”
“Beg pardon?” Lorcas asked, confused.
“Every goblin affected is in mortal terror. He fears for his life at an abstract level. Everything he sees and senses is a threat to his existence.”
“That seems a little subtle for most gurvani,” Lorcas said, doubtfully.
“Look at the result,” Wenek said, dismissively. The goblins were attacking and running and hiding and moaning in piteous terror. Not all were affected – but enough were so that order and discipline were shattered. “That should make attacking them easier.”
“They still outnumber us by ten to one, or more,” Lorcus said, uncomfortably.
“Ten to one, with nine out of the ten weeping, withering wrecks,” Wenek countered gruffly. “Use high-display spells, sonic spells, harsh language, tell them they ain’t pretty, whatever, you just give them a reason to run and they’ll run.”
“You are one devious bastard,” Lorcus conceded a minute later, as the chaos turned to carnage in the camp. “I like that. Are we ready?” he asked, drawing his mageblade. Wenek picked up the big mace he favored and nodded.
“Charge!” I ordered, manifesting Blizzard’s halberd blade. We jumped from behind our hiding places and ran into the mass of terror-stricken goblins.
As predicted, as the lead elements of our assault plowed into the disorganized mass, the goblins began taking to their heels or lying prostate on the ground. The rest was a bloody mess. Warmagi charged into the mess, firing warwands and stabbing wildly with their blades. The more noise they made, the more the regiment resembled a terrified mob. In five minutes of heavy fighting – mostly us hitting them – the entire group of them began screaming and running toward the apparent safety of the tower across the frozen river where their comrades might protect them.
It was gratifying, a few dozen of us screaming and yelling and chasing goblins over the short cliff down to the ice. Their terror-laden expressions fed the sadistic thrill of it. I couldn’t help amplifying the occasion magically, using select spells to make myself seem even more fearsome in appearance than I was. Ordinarily a shaman’s protection would keep such flimsy spells from being effective on the battlefield, but I didn’t feel a lot of defensive magic up around me.
We routed them. The fleeing goblins ran for their lives, leaving their shields and weapons behind them in their haste. That was unfortunate for them, for as soon as they crossed the narrow shelf of ice and came to the southern bank of the frozen river they were mowed down by the adept bows of the Kasari rangers and the incredible archery of the Alka Alon.
You could hear their screams of abject terror and despair across the ice as the morning sun lit the pass completely. Their screams carried well in the morning air. And we were not the only ones to hear them. We had gained the day, it seemed, and there was just the one last—
I could feel it in my chest before I heard it, the roar was so loud and all-consuming. Lungs the size of sailing ships propelled a massive growl of anger and defiance from the dragon’s maw, and we felt every massive footfall the beast made as it came to investigate what was disturbing his slumber.
“Stand ready!” Terleman shouted from behind me. I saw Sire Cei raise his dragonhide shield and grip his hammer. Wenek furiously cast defensive spells on himself. Rondal began spinning a wand in his hand, his purpose unknown, his eyes set on the top of the five-story high pile of rubble that had succumbed to the dragon’s claws.
All around me the warmagi prepared. The designated specialists marched to the front of the rank as the first great claw came into sight, grasping the top of the pile and pulling upward. As stones fell and were scattered, the other claw arrived, and in seconds the tremendous head was lifted above the crest of the pile.
Another bellow came, this one even more enraged as it surveyed the scene. That one made my teeth vibrate.
“Ready!” Terleman ordered, raising his own big mageblade to signal.
I reached out to Dara, mind-to-mind. It’s time for my lady’s big entrance, I reminded her. Try no
t to get yourself killed.
I’m just a distraction, remember? Chided my youngest apprentice. Just how much do you want him distracted?
Can you get him to keep his neck up? I inquired. That’s where we hit the last one. They seem a little weaker there.
I . . . I think I can try something, she promised. Bide!
I watched in fascination as the great dragon’s head – the size of a tournament pavilion – cleared the summit, and his huge eyes turned downward. To us.
That’s when six small shapes darted out of the sky and began swarming around the beast’s head.
The falcons dogged the dragon like a pack of circling dogs. Only four had skyriders, the others were being controlled by beastmasters. It was almost impossible to tell which of the six were being ridden at this distance without magesight, and I could not spare the attention at the moment. But the birds dived on the saurian head with elegant ferocity. It took a moment for the beast to realize it was being attacked from the air, but when it did it wasted no time scrambling up the pile of rubble in an attempt to get at the flying irritants.
It moved fast, when aroused, I noted with horror. Much faster that I’d anticipated. Its head poked up into the air so suddenly the giant falcons were forced to swerve to avoid it – and one nearly lost some tailfeathers to a lightning-quick snap. I hoped that wasn’t Dara.
I saw a quick streak fly from one of the birds toward the big black eyes . . . and that’s when I saw it. I wasn’t sure at first, and so I quickly summoned magesight, regardless of the distraction it implied. I saw something that made my blood freeze as cold as the Poros below.
Around the neck of the dragon, I saw as I amplified the image, was an immense iron chain that seemed dainty only by comparison to the neck it encircled. Amid the black iron links were cages holding something white . . .
Snowstone. Each wrought-iron enclosure bounded a boulder of snowstone.
High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series Page 56
