“Those were her exact words?” Sergeant Miles laughed. “Really?”
“I...” Penny made a face. “No, sir. But that is the gist of it.”
Emily hid her amusement. “I assume the scouts are reporting through chat parchments?”
“Yes,” Penny said. “They’re watching from a distance.”
“Get some rest,” Sergeant Miles advised. “I’ll wake you if there’s any trouble.”
Emily nodded, feeling guilty as she made her way back to her tent. It felt wrong to have a tent, when just about everyone else - including the Crown Prince - had to sleep on the ashy ground. And yet... she sighed, knowing there was nothing she could do about it. The three women had to keep some distance between themselves and the men, or so she’d been told. Penny joined her, after speaking quickly to her mistress. Emily hoped Lady Barb would get some sleep too.
“You fly very well,” she said, once they were in the tent. It was so hot and uncomfortable that she would almost have preferred to sleep outside. “Do they let you do that all the time at Laughter?”
“The idea is that we can get away from anyone threatening us,” Penny said. “Or so I was told.”
Emily frowned. “It wouldn’t take a necromancer to knock you out of the air.”
“No,” Penny agreed. “There’s a long tradition behind it, but... the long and short of it is that we’re meant to use it to escape, if things get too bad.”
“Interesting,” Emily said. She wanted to ask for details, but she was too tired. “You’ll have to tell me about it, when we have more time.”
“You should visit Laughter,” Penny said. “The school’s always on the lookout for interesting guest lecturers.”
Emily had to smile. “I like the idea of teaching,” she said, “but I’ve never tried to take on a class. Not a big one, anyway.”
“They do have smaller classes, for students who want to take them,” Penny said. “I...”
She shook her head. “Are you sure you never went anywhere near Laughter?”
“Yes.” Emily lay down, taking a breath. “Do you want an oath?”
Penny flushed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just keep wondering what happened and why.”
“There’s no point in worrying about it,” Emily said. She understood, but... there was no way to tell if Penny had been targeted for malice or if she’d just been collateral damage. “I doubt you were the target.”
“Really?” Penny scowled. “And how can you be sure?”
“Because there’s no rational motive,” Emily pointed out. “If someone wanted to disgrace you, why would they go to all that trouble? Do you have any enemies who can arrange for such a complicated plot, just to embarrass you? Or your family? It’s much more likely the aristocratic brat was the target. You were just... in the way.”
“That’s not much of an improvement,” Penny groused. “I’d sooner be the target.”
“And anyone who could put an intruder into the school could easily kill you,” Emily pointed out. She was too tired to argue further. “Now, sleep. The morning will be here before you know it.”
Chapter Thirty
“EMILY? WAKE UP!”
Emily started, confused - just for a moment - about where she was. She hadn’t slept well, despite her fatigue. She’d tossed and turned and probably kept Penny awake the whole night. Lady Barb... Lady Barb was looking at her, eyes worried. Outside, she heard men shouting as they ran to man the walls.
“They’ve found us,” Lady Barb said. “And they’re about to attack.”
“I thought they’d still be fighting each other.” Emily rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she tied back her hair, then forced herself to crawl outside. Penny was already gone, her bedding lying on the ground. “What happened?”
“Either they realized they were being tricked or they stumbled across us by accident,” Lady Barb said, briskly. “Either way, we’re about to be attacked.”
Emily nodded. Penny hurried up to them, carrying a large mug of Kava. Emily took it, nodded her thanks and put it to her lips. It was hot and sour, without even a hint of milk or sweetness, but she drank it anyway. The taste was harsh enough to jolt her into wakefulness. Penny took back the mug, then ran back to the fireside. She wasn’t the only one handing out drinks. Servants and soldiers were rushing mugs - and weapons - to the men manning the walls. The entire camp was bracing itself.
She tried to look confident as they walked to the walls and stared into the distance. A small group of orcs stood on the distant dunes, watching and waiting. Emily felt her blood run cold as she sensed the dark magic concealed behind the dune. An overseer had to be sitting there, waiting for reinforcements. No wonder the orcs had stayed where they were instead of charging the defenses. The enemy overseers had regained control.
Sir Roger caught her eye. His face was grim. “The archers might be able to take them out,” he said, “but we can’t hit their master.”
“We could charge the dune,” Crown Prince Dater insisted. “And take them all out in one fell swoop.”
“The overseer would get you,” Sir Roger said. “And besides, it’s too late to hide.”
Emily nodded in grim agreement. The ashy dunes might look and feel like an ocean frozen in a single moment of time, but they weren’t. The fort could be abandoned in a hurry - they’d planned to open a portal and escape if they couldn’t hold it - but it couldn’t lose itself in an everlasting sea. The enemy knew where they were. They’d probably already sent massive reinforcements. She ignored the Crown Prince’s obvious irritation. It would keep him alive long enough to register complaints with his father, or anyone else who’d listen.
And it isn’t as if he hasn’t already had plenty of chances to show off his bravery, she thought, wryly. The Crown Prince had fought well. No one can argue otherwise.
She leaned forward as she saw more orcs in the distance. They looked ready to fight - and angry. Did they know they’d been tricked? Did they understand they’d been manipulated into fighting their allies? Or were they just angry all the time? She shuddered at their expressions, knowing what they meant for anyone unlucky enough to be captured alive. The alchemists had offered poison, a potion they swore would turn human flesh lethal too, but there’d been few takers. No one wanted to kill themselves as long as there was even a vague chance of survival.
“They’ll be on us shortly,” Sir Roger said. He looked at the cannoneers. “And then we put the idea to the test.”
Emily nodded. Sir Roger had chosen the fort’s location with malice aforethought. If the enemy came at them from the south, they’d be exposed to the fort's guns; if they came from the north, they’d find themselves limited in how many orcs they could hurl at the fort. It wouldn’t matter, in the long run, but it should give Sir Roger a chance to inflict heavy losses before opening the portal and retreating back to the old fort. Emily made a mental note to ready a nuke spell. If she had to flee, she might as well take advantage of the chance to swat a vast number of orcs.
Lady Barb touched her shoulder, then put her lips to Emily’s ears. “Your weapons,” she said. “Are you ready to see them tested?”
“They’ve been tested already,” Emily muttered back. If she had one advantage over a genuine innovator, it was that she knew her innovations worked. She didn’t have to spend years inching towards a prize she wasn’t wholly sure existed, let alone ironing out the kinks in her designs. And she didn’t have to spend months convincing investors they should finance her works. “I know they’ll work.”
She let out a breath. The weaponeers had done good work, combining science and magic to produce a whole series of hybrid guns. The craftsmen in Zangaria and Heart’s Eye might prefer to avoid magic as much as possible, but that hadn’t stopped them from using magic to fill the gaps between theory and reality. Their makeshift machine guns wouldn’t pass muster on an earthly battlefield, yet... they’d work here. Emily hoped they’d work here.
“Here they come,” Sir Roger sai
d. The orcs moved as one, steadily picking up speed as they charged towards the walls. “Fire!”
The cannons boomed as one, hurling a volley of superhot cannonballs into the enemy formation. It wavered under the sheer mass of fire, the cannonballs melting through orcish flesh and burning through row after row of enemy soldiers. Emily watched, wondering if they’d broken the charge with a single volley. She found herself torn between horror and glee as the enemy force staggered, a handful of orcs scattering in all directions. There was no way archers could kill or injure so many orcs so quickly.
She glanced at the cannoneers as they hastily reloaded their guns, readying themselves to fire a second volley. The enemy were collecting themselves, fresh orcs hurtling onto the battlefield - jumping over the dead and wounded - and running towards the walls. Emily shuddered, feeling tendrils of dark magic over the battlefield. The overseer was still there, still very much in control. She wondered, numbly, if he even cared about his orcs. Their lives might be worthless, but throwing them away for nothing was worse than useless. They might die before they tore down the walls.
“Fire,” Sir Roger ordered.
The second volley tore through the orcs. They fled, howling, as they ran for their lives. Sir Roger barked orders at the musketmen, commanding them to kill as many of the orcs as they could before they got out of range. Emily gritted her teeth, sensing the dark magic grow stronger. The overseer was trying to regain control. She tried to imagine the orcs tearing the creature apart, ripping it limb from limb in their desperate bid to escape... she shook her head. She dared not assume it would happen. The orcs would be wiser to flee into the ashy desert and try to hide.
Lady Barb sounded shaken. “Today, everything changes.”
Emily nodded. No one, not even the archers, had ever inflicted so much damage on an orcish charge. The proud cavalry would be torn to pieces if it ran into even a small band of orcs. Even powerful magicians would have problems stopping a charge before it was too late. But now... she looked at the Crown Prince, wondering if he’d realized his world had just turned upside down. No, it had been turning upside down for a long time... but now it had come into the light. The Zangarian Civil War had been one thing, a minor conflict most outside powers would prefer to ignore. This - this- was the dawn of a new world.
The overseer regained control, somehow. He sent more orcs into the fray, ordering them to run in packs rather than a single, massive charge. Emily silently credited him with a great deal of common sense - the cannons weren’t very accurate, making it harder for the cannoneers to score hits - even as the other gunners opened fire, directing a hail of bullets into the enemy packs. They wavered, unable to stand for long in the storm. She breathed a sigh of relief as they dropped or ran. They’d broken an orcish charge. They’d... they’d scared them so badly, they’d abandoned their master and ran.
Don’t get cocky, she reminded herself, sternly. There’s no necromancer driving them forward, just an overseer.
“Let us charge them,” Crown Prince Dater said. He draw his sword dramatically. “They’re broken!”
“But still tough, once they get out of range,” Sir Roger warned, shooting the prince a dirty look. “Assemble the gun carts. They can go with you, when I give the command.”
“Cat can send his orcs in too,” Lady Barb suggested. “And we have to deal with the overseer.”
“Let the mortars try to take him out,” Emily said. There were only two mortars - the design had only been finalized after the civil war, when they would have been useful - but the craftsmen insisted they were ready to be deployed. “If not, we can go after him ourselves.”
She covered her ears as the mortars opened fire, directing a handful of shells towards their target. Their accuracy was terrible; the shells fell so randomly that she half-suspected they were being deflected. It took several near-misses for the overseer to break and run, dark magic drifting into the distance as he fled. Emily doubted he’d get a warm welcome if he ran to his master. The necromancer would probably kill him for failure.
“Interesting,” Lady Barb said, quietly.
Emily glanced at her, but said nothing as the cavalry charged onto the battlefield. The Crown Prince kept his distance from the surviving orcs, targeting them with arrows rather than swords or lances. The bards would probably make a big song and dance about it, if she was any judge. The Crown Prince would either be credited with winning the battle single-handedly, or condemned as a coward who hadn’t taken the field until the engagement was already won. She shook her head in irritation. Neither story would be particularly fair to anyone, least of all the cavalry. They couldn’t have joined the fight until the charge had been broken.
“They’ll bring more of their forces to bear against us, given time,” Sir Roger said. “I propose we move immediately to the next step of our plan.”
Master Lucknow stepped up behind him. “I agree,” he said. “We’ve got them on the run.”
“We have yet to encounter either of the necromancers,” Lady Barb said, stiffly. “And we won’t win until we take them both out.”
“And reignite the nexus point, to keep our gains,” Emily added. She recalled the map and frowned. “You want to move to the nearest plantation.”
“We’ll leave a small guard here and move the rest of the army now,” Sir Roger said. “The sorcerers can get us out if we run into something we can’t handle.”
“Then we move now,” Master Lucknow said. “Victory is close. I can feel it.”
Emily stepped aside, letting them make their preparations while she watched the cavalry cantering across the battlefield. Crown Prince Dater was doing a good job, she acknowledged; his forces struck groups of orcs from a distance, then retreated before the orcs could wheel around and strike back. It was an old tactic, but one that worked best against orcs. The brutes had no way to stop them, unless they had archers or sorcerers of their own. All they could do was run.
And maybe Cat can scoop up a few hundred more for his horde, she thought. They’d already proven their value on the battlefield. We might be able to use them properly.
“Emily,” Lady Barb called. “We’re ready to move!”
Emily nodded and hurried down to the gates. The army was already assembled, the men looking surprisingly confident. She cast her eye over the wheeled guns, hoping the combination of careful training and powerful magic kept the horses from panicking when the guns opened fire. The army looked ramshackle to her eyes, as if several different eras had mingled together. She told herself not to be silly as she mounted her horse. It was so much better than anything the locals had developed over the last few hundred years that everyone was delighted.
The stench of burning flesh hit her the moment they cantered out the gates. She tried not to look too closely as they rode past the dead bodies, all burned beyond all hope of recovery. The wounds might have been cauterized by the heat, but... she shook her head, feeling a twinge of pity and guilt. The orcs had died in screaming agony, unable to run or hide or save themselves. And they probably hadn’t even understood what was happening. The cannonballs would have been nothing more than blurs as they melted through the horde.
“Don’t feel guilty,” Lady Barb said, sternly. She rode next to Emily, Penny bringing up the rear. “You know what they would have done to you, to everyone.”
Emily glanced at her. “Is it wrong of me to pity them?”
“Pity them when they’re safely dead,” Lady Barb told her. “Do you think they’ll pity you if they take you prisoner?”
“No,” Emily said. “But...”
She shook her head. She’d been taken prisoner before, but... her captors had always had a reason to keep her alive. Shadye had wanted her for a ritual, King Randor had wanted to give her a public execution, Duke Hardcastle... she wasn’t sure what the duke had wanted, but he would have cut her throat immediately if he hadn’t had something in mind. Orcs, on the other hand, would kill and eat her immediately. They wouldn’t even keep her alive lo
ng enough to give her to their master. And... sure, they might have orders to keep her alive, but how would they know her? She doubted they could tell the difference between her and anyone else.
The air started to clear, slowly, as the army made its way north. Emily looked from side to side, feeling disturbed and exposed. The necromancer had to be doing something, wherever he was. She was starting to feel they were missing something. The last time she’d communed with Aurelius, she’d confirmed that one of the necromancers was lurking in the castle. Where was the other? What was he doing? She reached out with her senses, but felt nothing beyond the eerie, tainted magic. Where was he?
Sir Roger called a halt as a horseman galloped into view, waving desperately. Emily didn’t hear what he said, but could guess. Sir Roger started barking orders, commanding his men to unlimber their guns and prepare to fight. Emily jumped off the horse, one hand reaching for her missing amulet. There were no defense lines, no walls, no trenches... if the orcs broke through, they were going to be slaughtered. Men rushed from place to place, setting up the guns and bracing themselves. They knew they were in the open. Emily didn’t blame the ones who looked worried. No one - no one - had ever survived an orcish charge if they’d been caught in the open.
They know what to do, she reminded herself. The army had drilled often enough to ensure the soldiers could do it in their sleep. And they’ll be ready.
She sucked in a breath as the orcs came into view. A hundred, she thought; a hundred led by an overseer. There was no preamble, no attempt to intimidate the men into surrendering; the orcs just raised their weapons and charged. Sir Roger lifted his sword, then barked a single command. The machine guns opened fire, spraying bullets into the enemy horde. It wavered and broke, the overseer falling to the ashy ground as bullets tore through him. His body exploded in a flash of strange green light, convincing the surviving orcs to run. Emily watched them go, the musketmen trying to shoot them in the back. Their accuracy was still terrible - only a handful of orcs fell - but it didn’t matter. They’d been caught in the open and yet managed to repel a charge with no losses.
Oathkeeper (Schooled in Magic Book 20) Page 28
