Riothamus wanted nothing to do with them. But both Athanaric and the Guardian agreed that the Tervingi needed every sword.
“The witch’s errand boy,” rumbled the lead orcragar. “Off to wipe the drool from her chin?”
The orcragars laughed.
“I am carrying out the errands of the hrould Athanaric,” said Riothamus, keeping his voice calm. Neither the Guardian nor the Guardian’s apprentice could use magic to kill mortal men, but he might be able to elude the men with a spell. Or they would cut him to pieces. But he did not think the orcragars would kill in the middle of the camp.
He hoped.
“Athanaric is a feeble old man,” said the orcragar. “Ragnachar is mighty and battle. He should lead the Tervingi, not that cringing old man! If he led the Tervingi, we would conquer new lands for ourselves.”
“Which explains how the Malrags drove Ragnachar from his hold,” said Riothamus.
The lead orcragar stepped closer. “Do not think to hide behind the Guardian’s skirts, worm. Her power is pathetic, and her strength wanes. She cannot save you.”
Riothamus smiled. “If you think so, then tell her that yourself. Surely you have nothing to fear from a feeble old woman.”
The orcragars did not move.
“Ah,” said Riothamus. “I thought not. Good day, noble thains.”
He stepped around the orcragars and walked calmly away, though his back itched in anticipation of a sword until the orcragars were out of sight.
The Guardian awaited him at the edge of the water.
She was an old woman, quite possibly the oldest man or woman he had ever seen. Her white hair hung in a thick braid down her back, and she wore strange amulets of bones and polished stones over her loose clothes of wool and leather. A peculiar cloak, fashioned entirely of ravens’ feathers, hung from her narrow shoulders.
She leaned upon a long wooden staff in her right hand. It gleamed like burnished bronze in the pale light, and a line of runes had been cut into its length.
The Guardian looked at him, her eyes like pale discs of blue ice in her lined face.
“You’ve returned,” she said, her voice strong despite her withered frame.
“I have, Guardian,” said Riothamus with a bow.
She snorted. “I told you to call me Aegidia. We’ve known each other long enough for that, boy.”
“As you wish, Guardian Aegidia,” said Riothamus, and he hid his smile. It was an old game between them.
“Impudent boy,” said Aegidia, but the words had no sting. “Come. Walk with me.”
She headed into the camp, moving at a good pace despite her limp and need to lean upon the staff. Riothamus followed, watching the Tervingi react to her. They feared her, as they feared him. But there was respect as well. Aegidia had been the Guardian of the Tervingi for decades, for as long as anyone living could remember. For all those years she had wandered among the Tervingi, protecting them from dark magic, acting as judge and arbiter between them.
And when she died, the bronze staff would pass to him.
He did not want to think about that burden.
“The Sight came upon me as I meditated,” said Aegidia. “I saw you, standing alone atop a broken skull. A black cloud came upon you, filled with rot and corruption. Yet you called out to the heavens, and a storm drove the black cloud away.”
“Malrags,” said Riothamus. “They attacked Skullbane while we were there, but Arnulf was able to drive them off with my help.”
“Ah,” said Aegidia. “I thought as much.” She snorted. “The Sight would be more useful if it were not so damnably metaphorical.”
“It has served you well,” said Riothamus. The “Sight”, the peculiar mixture of prophecy and farseeing that Aegidia could use, let her see far-off events and warned her of impending danger. Yet it showed what it willed, and the answers it offered did not always please her.
She had never tried to teach it to Riothamus. Perhaps the power came from the Guardian’s staff of office.
“You did well, convincing Ethringa,” said Aegidia. “I knew her as a child. She was stubborn then, and has grown into a stubborn woman.”
“I did nothing but fight the Malrags,” said Riothamus.
“And that was enough,” said Aegidia. “Ethringa had put her trust in steel swords and strong arms. That is not enough to save our people. If you had not been there, the Malrags would have overwhelmed Arnulf and seized Skullbane. Ethringa saw that she had no choice but to join the rest of the Tervingi.”
They stopped to let a mammoth pass. The Tervingi feared Aegidia, but the great elephantine beasts feared nothing. The mammoth lumbered to the water and lowered its trunk to drink.
“Will we truly leave tomorrow?” said Riothamus.
“We shall,” said Aegidia. “It is past time. The lands north of the Iron River have fallen to the Malrag hordes. We are safe here, but not for long. Malrag warbands have been seen crossing the river. Including the one you saw at Skullbane.”
Riothamus frowned. “That warband came from the south. Not from the north.”
“Perhaps it circled through the hills,” said Aegidia. “The land north of Skullbane is unsuitable for attack, which is why Fritigern built his hold there.”
“Not that it matters,” said Riothamus. “No Tervingi will ever return to Skullbane.”
He felt a pang. He had grown up here. The wooded hills and deep valleys were his home. He had spent his life wandering through them, first with Aegidia as she traveled, and then on his own as he carried out her errands.
But his mother and father had died here.
He remembered the burning hold, remembered the howling Malrags.
Perhaps it was better to leave.
But the memories would never leave him, he knew.
“We must be ready,” said Aegidia.
“To leave?” said Riothamus, shaking away the memories.
“Yes,” said Aegidia. “But more. The Sight is…unclear. Our future is clouded.”
“Do you think we’ll be safe?” said Riothamus. “Or shall we all die on the march?”
Aegidia sighed and rested her forehead against the staff.
“I know not,” she said after a moment. “Perhaps we will. Perhaps we will not. The future is nothing but a changing shadow.” She took a deep breath. “We may reach our new homeland, or we may not. But I know there will be strife. There will be fighting and death, before the end.”
They walked in silence for a while.
“There is a question,” said Aegidia, “that I must ask you.”
“I know,” said Riothamus.
“A man in golden armor, with a sword of blue fire in his right fist,” said Aegidia. “Did you see him?”
It had been the very first question she had asked him, all those years ago.
She had stopped the Malrags from killing him in the burning wreckage of Rigotharic’s hold, the lightning falling and the earth rising at her command to kill them all. She had tended to his wounds and taken him as an apprentice.
And then she had asked him that question, as she asked it of everyone.
Riothamus shook away the memories.
“No,” he said. “No, I did not see him. I’m sorry.”
Aegidia nodded, unruffled. “I will see him before I die. I first saw him when I took up the staff of the Guardian, when the Sight came upon me in power. The fate of the Tervingi people is in his hands, and I must find him.”
“As you say,” said Riothamus.
“Get some rest,” said Aegidia. “We have a long journey ahead of us.” A sad smile flickered over her face. “And who know what will happen before we reach our destination?”
###
The next morning the Tervingi nation broke camp and marched south.
Athanaric marched at the front, surrounded by his thains and bondsmen. His mammoths and oxen lumbered after him, laden down by food and supplies. Ragnachar and his thains marched at Athanaric’s left. Ragnachar himself wore elabor
ate black plate armor, his face hidden beneath a helm wrought in the likeness of a snarling dragon. Rumor claimed he had braved a tomb of Old Dracaryl, defeated an ancient wizard-shade and claimed the devil’s armor for his own.
His orcragars followed, glaring at anyone who strayed too close.
The great mass of Tervingi commoners followed, the bondsmen, the hold farmers, the blacksmiths and the craftsmen and the artisans, each following their holdmistress or headman.
Aegidia walked between Ragnachar’s and Athanaric’s bands, straight and strong despite her limp and staff. Riothamus suspected she did it to keep the peace between Athanaric’s and Ragnachar’s men. The last thing he Tervingi needed was a war between the final two hroulds – they would destroy each other, and the Malrags would devour whatever was left.
The skythains on their griffins wheeled overhead as the long column of men and women and beasts marched south. Carts rumbled along, pulled by snorting oxen, and bondsmen labored with axe and spade to smooth the path. From time to time Riothamus saw ruins atop the steep hills, delicate spires and pillars of white stone rising from the earth. Other ruins were black, their stone dark and reflective, adorned with reliefs of dragons and men in robes with staffs in their hands.
The Tervingi gave both sorts of ruins a wide berth.
“The middle lands are old lands,” said Aegidia, gazing up at the pale bulk of a Dark Elderborn ruin. “Many nations have lived here before the Tervingi. The High Elderborn, before the advent of the Urdmoloch. The Dark Elderborn and their empire. The dragons and their kingdoms. The horsemen of the south. The San-keth and their secret temples. Now gone, forgotten, swept away.”
“If the Tervingi do not leave,” said Riothamus, “we shall be swept away and forgotten as well.”
“Perhaps,” said Aegidia. “The Tervingi will find a new homeland. But even the Sight has not shown me where it shall be.”
She spoke no more on the topic.
After two and a half weeks of marching, Riothamus saw the mountains in the south.
###
“We are going into the mountains?” said Ethringa, hands on her hips.
The prospect did not please the holdmistress.
“We are,” said Riothamus.
The Tervingi camped at the base of the mountains’ foothills, spread out among a dozen small valleys. Ethringa’s folk, and the folk of a few other holds, had taken this valley for their own. Riothamus disliked having the Tervingi so spread out, but it was the only way to ensure enough water and pasture for all the animals.
The mountains loomed over them like silent gray giants. Riothamus had seen the Great Mountains once, years ago, when Aegidia had journeyed far to the west, and these mountains were far smaller.
But they were still large enough.
Ethringa shook her head. “A fool’s plan. Perhaps we could hide from the Malrags in the mountains. But we cannot grow crops on hard rock, and sheep and goats cannot graze on ice and snow. We shall all starve once our supplies run out.”
“No,” said Riothamus, glancing at Aegidia. The Guardian stood with her eyes closed, her forehead leaning against her staff. He wished she would intervene. One word from her would quell Ethringa’s ire.
“Then we are traveling to the other side of the mountains?” said Ethringa. “No man of the Tervingi has ever traveled south of these mountains. Even in the wildest tales of the loresingers, no Tervingi has ever traveled so far.”
“No,” said Riothamus. “The skythains have found a valley in the midst of the mountains. Broad and deep, but with enough arable land to support us. The only entrance is a narrow pass. We can easily fortify it and hold out the Malrags. Our people can shelter there for generations, until the Malrag hordes destroy each other or leave the middle lands.”
At least, that was what Athanaric and Ragnachar and Aegidia said, but Riothamus wasn’t sure he believed it.
The memory of fire and screams danced behind his eyes.
Was anywhere safe from the Malrags?
“Very well,” said Ethringa, though she sounded unconvinced. “What does the Guardian say? Does this valley in the mountains exist?”
“It does,” said Aegidia, her eyes still closed. “The Sight has shown it to me. Though what awaits us in the valley, I cannot say.”
Ethringa snorted. “How reassuring.”
The lines of Aegidia’s face deepened.
“Is something amiss?” said Riothamus.
“Stride softly,” whispered Aegidia.
“I don’t understand,” said Riothamus, looking around the valley. The sun had begun to fade away to the west, long shadows stretching across the ground. A few of the women had already lit campfires. “Are we making too much noise here?”
“No,” murmured Aegidia. “I sense…something. As if someone is talking care to walk without noise.”
Her frown deepened.
And then her pale eyes shot open.
“Malrags!” she hissed.
“What?” said Ethringa.
“How did they elude your senses?” said Riothamus.
“Ah, the devils have a shaman with them,” said Aegidia. “One clever enough to use a masking spell. Or maybe more than one.” She raised her staff and shouted, and Riothamus felt the immense surge of power as the Guardian unleashed her spell.
A bolt of lightning ripped out of the darkening sky and exploded against the crest of a nearby hill.
And in the glare of the lightning blast Riothamus saw Malrags.
Hundreds of them, pouring down the hillside in a black tide. Even worse, Riothamus saw three gaunt Malrags in robes of black leather, a third eye glowing with green light in their foreheads. Malrag shamans, able to call down blasts of dark magic. And at the head of the Malrags strode a massive figure in black armor, a two-handed greatsword in its right fist.
A Malrag balekhan, larger and more powerful than most Malrags. A balekhan could command hundreds, even thousands, of Malrags, and lead them into battle with far greater coordination than a typical Malrag warband.
“To arms!” shouted Aegidia, her voice ringing like the thunder of her lightning. “Men of the Tervingi, to arms! We are attacked! To arms!”
The Malrags roared their terrible battle cries and surged forward, racing toward the camp. They would overrun the valley in a matter of moments. The camp held enough men to repulse the Malrag assault, but they were scattered throughout the tents. By the time they armed and assembled themselves for battle, it would be too late.
“Ethringa!” said Aegidia, a pale white light flaring in the sigils of her staff. “Gather the women and children in the center of the camp, and bid the men to make haste. Quickly, girl. Go!” Ethringa grabbed her skirts in both hands and ran. “Riothamus, with me! Keep the shamans from killing me while I slow down the Malrags.”
She lifted her staff, pointing it at the Malrags, and began to chant. Riothamus hurried to her side. He saw the Malrags charging towards them, felt the weight of the balekhan’s malevolent gaze.
He saw the three shamans standing atop the hill, working spells of their own.
Riothamus reversed his grip on his spear, plunged the steel point into the earth, and began casting a spell.
The shamans thrust out their hands, and three blasts of green lightning roared out of the sky, screaming toward Aegidia. Riothamus had faced Malrag shamans in battle before, and what they lacked in subtlety they made up in raw power. Their lightning blasts could slay a score of men in a heartbeat, and could tear through any warding spells Riothamus raised.
So he didn’t even try to block the lightning.
His spell twisted the lightning bolts away from Aegidia. The blasts struck his spear, surged down a thin strip of metal along the weapon’s shaft, and disappeared into the buried head.
Dissipating harmlessly into the earth.
The shamans turned toward him, and Riothamus cast another spell, drawing more magical power. He gestured, and blue-white lighting thundered out of the sky. The shamans cast a
warding spell, and Riothamus’s lightning bounced away from their magical defenses.
Yet the distraction kept them from striking at Aegidia.
Then the black tide of Malrags reached them.
Riothamus cursed, yanked his spear from the earth, and began spinning it like a staff. He knocked the legs from beneath one Malrag, whirled, and drove his spear’s point through the eye of the next creature. Riothamus ripped the weapon away, gaining just enough time to work a quick spell. The earth near his feet trembled, knocking the nearby Malrags to the ground, and Riothamus managed to kill two before the others recovered.
The balekhan stalked towards him, its helm a faceless mask, its greatsword raised. Riothamus spun to meet the creature, spear raised, but the massive greatsword would cut through his spear like a twig. Could he work a spell in time to slow it? Or…
Aegidia shouted and slammed her staff against the earth.
A wall of mist, twenty feet high, sprang up before her. It divided the entire valley, blocking the Malrags from sight.
Yet it would not hide the Tervingi for long.
Then Aegidia swept her staff before her, and the wall of mist hardened into gleaming ice. It caught the final rays of the setting sun, shining with the color of blood. Riothamus heard the Malrags bellow in fury, heard the noise as they began hammering at the ice with their weapons.
Aegidia limped forward and gave the ice a gentle tap with the head of her staff.
The wall of ice exploded.
Riothamus threw up a hand to shield his face, but wall exploded toward the Malrags, driven by the force of Aegidia’s magic. Thousands of razor-edged shards tore into the Malrags, and the entire front rank of the creatures disappeared in a flash of black blood. The Malrag attack faltered, the creatures stumbling over the corpses of the slain.
Aegidia slumped against her staff, sweat glistening on her brow, thin shoulders trembling beneath the cloak of raven feathers.
But her voice was still strong.
Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) Page 8
