Battle Mage

by Peter Flannery

  Not having a unit to command, Falco rode with Malaki and the other knights-in-training, each of whom wore a mail shirt and carried a lance in addition to the longswords hanging from their belts. The rest of their armour was stowed in their saddle bags. In this army they now comprised a unit in their own right, a unit that was currently under the command of one Malaki de Vane.

  One might have expected the other young knights to be jealous of Malaki’s appointment but it seemed the cadets were growing in maturity as well as the skills of war. Not for the first time Falco found himself thinking that bravado and posturing were born of fear and insecurity. As the young warriors of the academy gained in ability they seemed less inclined to jostle and boast. Even Jarek had grown less obnoxious. He still disliked Falco, that was clear, but he no longer went out of his way to be nasty or unpleasant.

  Looking up the line, Falco could see the young nobleman riding at the head of his company of Royal Hussars, immaculately dressed in light plate and a turquoise cloak. Behind Jarek’s cavalry, came the sombre-clad unit of the Exiles. The well disciplined unit marched in time. However, their young commander kept switching legs and throwing them out of step. He made it look accidental but Falco and the others knew that it was not.

  ‘It’s just nerves,’ said Falco, laughing as the ranks behind Alex struggled to get back in step.

  ‘If only it were,’ said Quirren disapprovingly.

  Alex repeated his intermittent ‘joke’ until the senior member of the Exiles caught his eye with a steely glower. Alex bowed his head and the Exiles marched smoothly on.

  ‘He shows no respect,’ said Quirren but Falco noticed the senior member give one of his comrades a sideways glance. These were bereaved and hollow men. Like Quirren, they despaired of Alex’s frivolity but at the same time, Falco was certain they exchanged a smile. And when, a few hundred yards on, the Exiles stumbled again as Alex dropped another step, there was a ripple of restrained laughter among the ranks of Die Verbannten.

  ‘Hopeless!’ said Quirren but Falco and Malaki only smiled.

  Behind them was yet more laughter but this was anything but restrained and glancing back they could see the untidy ranks of the Dalwhinnies.

  ‘At least we’re not marching behind them!’ said Malaki.

  Falco laughed, as did several of the nearby knights. The pungency of the Dalwhinnies was already famous throughout the army, especially after a night of heavy drinking. Falco could just make out Bryna’s distinctive red hair as she rode at the head of her unit. Now kitted out with light armour, blue padded gambesons and turquoise travelling cloaks the Dalwhinnies resembled a real fighting unit, but as Dedric Sayer was fond of saying.

  ‘You can’t make a silk shirt from a sow’s arse!’

  The cadet army was strung out in a line of two thousand troops plus wagons and carts loaded with supplies for the city of Le Matres. Escorting the army, and dressed in robes of silver-grey, were the assessors and temporary commanders who formed the chain of command. As the campaign went on they would pass more and more responsibility to the cadets, until the army was entirely under their command.

  At the back of the column rode three figures in the purple robes of the magi. As the day wore on Falco dropped back to ride with Meredith who acknowledged his presence with a nod while the other two mages did not seem to notice him. One appeared to be dozing in the saddle, while the other just stared straight ahead as if he were in some kind of trance.

  ‘He’s concentrating,’ explained Meredith when he saw Falco watching the man. ‘His mind is connected to a mage back in Wrath, one of the other three helping me with this experiment.

  ‘So I could speak to someone in the tower from here?’

  ‘Not directly,’ replied Meredith. ‘But your words could be relayed to him.’

  Falco nodded in appreciation. ‘So if he loses concentration the link will be lost?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Meredith’s expression conveyed the difficulty of the challenge he had set himself.

  ‘And what happens when he falls asleep,’ asked Falco.

  ‘When he gets tired one of us will take over,’ said Meredith. ‘He will transfer the link to us.’

  Again Falco nodded, impressed by the magi’s ability to maintain such a demanding state of mind. They rode in silence for a while and Falco was surprised by how comfortable he now felt in Meredith’s presence. Quite a contrast to the fear and anxiety he felt in the presence of Meredith’s father.

  ‘Have you made any progress with the exercises I set you?’ asked Meredith. He had been trying to teach Falco how to generate heat and channel it through an object like a sword.

  ‘I can feel the energy building, but it fades away as soon as I try to channel it,’ replied Falco. ‘The truth is it frightens me. It’s like there’s a monster inside of me that mustn’t be set free.’

  Meredith looked up until their eyes met.

  ‘We are the sons of our fathers, Falco. But we are not them.’

  Falco returned his gaze. It had never occurred to him that Meredith might fear turning out like his father, just as he feared succumbing to madness, like his own. He gave the apprentice mage a nod and they rode on in companionable silence until it was time for Meredith to take over the communications link.

  ‘I’ll look for you this evening,’ he said. ‘We’ll do some work on moving objects at a distance.’

  Falco nodded. He could now move objects and draw them towards himself from a short distance. Even from twenty feet away he could make a sword drag across the ground until he was able to bend down and pick it up. Aurelian himself could not achieve such a feat, but Meredith was convinced that Falco could do more.

  ‘Till later then,’ said Falco.

  Meredith bowed his head but his expression was already growing more distant as he focussed his mind on a man who was now more than ten miles behind them in the mage tower of Wrath.

  The army continued at a steady pace. The windswept hills of the coast gave way to woodland and Falco was reminded of the journey that had brought them to Wrath. The trees were just coming into leaf and the setting sun made them glow a bright green as the army stopped for the night on the wide floor of a river valley. Making camp seemed to take far longer than was necessary and the assessors appeared less than impressed. The more experienced troops fell into their routines easily enough but to everyone’s surprise it was the Dalwhinnies who were eating and drinking first.

  ‘I just let them get on with it,’ said Bryna when Alex asked her how she had managed it.

  Over the days that followed they made good progress. They adapted quickly to the new routines and were soon making and striking camp with the calm efficiency of seasoned campaigners.

  Meredith continued to find time to work on Falco’s magical abilities but still he failed to show any signs of the breakthrough they were hoping for. Ten days into the campaign Falco and his friends were sitting together when one of the camp runners appeared with a bundle of letters from Wrath. Falco watched as several of the cadets were handed letters then, to his surprise, the runner approached him.

  ‘This arrived at the academy a few days after you left,’ he said, handing Falco a letter.

  Falco immediately recognised the handwriting. ‘It’s from Fossetta,’ he said with a word of thanks to the runner.

  ‘What does it say?’ asked Bryna.

  She and Malaki moved closer as Falco began to read, and even Alex leaned over Falco’s shoulder to look. Letters from home were a rare and precious thing and all the cadets drew strength from being reminded of why they were at the academy in the first place.

  My dearest Falco

  If my last letter reached you then hopefully this will too. I am writing to tell you that we are heading to the province of Tourienne, and will be staying in the region for several weeks, so we finally have a chance to receive a letter (if you feel inclined to send one). There are a number of children in the area that we need to see, so we will be using the town of Daston a
s a base. The mayor of the town has kindly offered to receive correspondence on our behalf so you can address any letters to...

  Fossetta Pieroni

  Care of, Maire Philippe Decazes

  Destan

  Tourienne

  Winter has now passed and we are moving steadily east. As we draw closer to the border we are having to be especially vigilant. Twice, in the night, we have encountered the Possessed. Once, a lone Sciritae appeared at the edge of our camp. It did nothing, only stared in the most unsettling manner, and faded into nothingness when Captain de Roche moved to attack it. Then again, when maybe a dozen Sciritae and a large beast attacked the village we were staying in.

  The villagers managed to defend themselves but it took eight men with boar spears to bring down the creature (or bestiarum, as the people in the village called it). Several of the men were injured and one would have died were it not for Heçamede’s swift intervention.

  Apparently this was not the first such attack and the people live in constant fear. However, despite the danger, Tobias is determined to go on, but if these attacks grow more frequent we may be forced to restrict our search to areas that are still beyond the enemy’s reach.

  But enough of our woes. How are you? I am desperate to hear that you are all safe and well, so please write back if you can.

  With love always

  Fossetta

  ‘Daston,’ said Alex, leaning over Falco’s shoulder. ‘That’s only a few miles from Le Matres, is it not?’

  ‘Maybe we’ll get a chance to see her,’ said Malaki and Falco found his heart surging at the thought.

  ‘Best not to get too excited,’ he said.

  ‘But we might,’ said Bryna.

  ‘Who is this?’ asked Huthgarl for they were all curious to know.

  ‘It’s the woman who raised me,’ said Falco, feeling his throat constrict.

  ‘Then you must go to see her, if you can,’ said the big Beltonian.

  All the cadets nodded, sharing in this link to the things they had left behind when life was simpler and the world seemed a much smaller place.

  ‘Yes,’ said Falco. ‘I will.’

  Later that night Falco found himself lying awake, thinking of the strange coincidence of fate that found them all travelling to the same place. But then he realised that it was not fate, or coincidence, it was the Possessed. Tobias and Fossetta, Nathalie and the emissary, and now himself along with the cadets, all heading to the area where the Possessed pressed them most closely, to where they were needed most.

  Further south there would be other convergences heading to the endangered cities of Illicia and Beltane, the people of Wrath doing whatever they could to slow the relentless advance of the enemy. It was easy to feel overwhelmed and hopeless but then Falco’s jaw bunched and his green eyes shone in the darkness. If those other convergences were anything like the one that moved towards Le Matres then surely there was still hope.

  Comforted by the thought, and lifted by the slender possibility of seeing Fossetta, Tobias and Heçamede, Falco drifted off to sleep.

  54

  The Tale of Jürgen Focke

  A hundred miles to the east the emissary stirred in his sleep. Raising his head he wondered what it was that had roused him.

  Nothing...

  Just the normal sounds of a camp at rest, scattered snoring, the flap of canvas, the low voices of those on watch and the sound of horses chomping at their feed nets.

  All seemed quiet but the emissary could not be too careful. The Fourth Army was now at the Illician front and he never drifted too far from wakefulness. Outside the tent Tapfer gave a soft snort and the emissary lay back down to sleep. The smoke grey Percheron was not alarmed. There was nothing to fear just now.

  He grasped the horse head pendant that hung around his neck and nestled his head into the sheepskin pad that served as a pillow against his saddle. They were all more watchful than normal. Twice in the last few days they had been set upon by small forces of Possessed. Small groups of Sciritae appearing out of the darkness with the occasional bestiarum and blindfolded Toxitae firing black arrows into their midst. Not a threat to the army itself but enough to sow fear and disturb their sleep.

  Only on one occasion had they fought an actual battle but it was a small Possessed force and they had defeated it quickly. So quickly in fact that the warrior mages had not been required to fight, something that did not sit well with their commander, Dagoran Sorn. The commander of the mage army was desperate to prove himself, desperate to be able to report back to Galen Thrall that the mage army had been a success.

  The man seemed almost afraid of failure whereas the emissary’s greatest fear was that of meeting a demon on the battlefield. Veterans of the war might resist the fear for a while but no one could fight for long in the presence of a demon, not without a battle mage.

  Trying to calm his fears he closed his eyes. Nathalie had met them twice on the journey. Apparently there was only one demon in the area and she had promised to return before it became a threat to the Fourth Army. The emissary was grateful for her reassurance but he also knew she was worried. She had still not been able to locate the Illician battle mages, Wildegraf or Jürgen. She had heard reports that Wildegraf was investigating rumours to the south. Even now she was heading in that direction to seek him out, after which she would meet the emissary south of Hoffen ready to face the demon that was closing on that area.

  Comforted by the fact that she would be returning soon the emissary allowed his thoughts to fall away then, still clasping the horse head pendant to his breast, he fell back into a shallow and watchful sleep.

  *

  Fifty miles southeast of the emissary’s position Nathalie looked down on the midnight world as Ciel alighted on a craggy ridge of rock. It was too dark to see much of anything but she could sense that something was wrong. Wildegraf was not where he was supposed to be, and now she had heard that Jürgen Focke had gone missing.

  But it was too late to continue the search tonight. They would wait until sunrise before going on. She had promised to meet the emissary south of Hoffen but she did not want to give up the search until she had spoken to Wildegraf and confirmed that there was nothing behind the suspicions Falco had voiced in the Chamber of Council.

  Nathalie hoped that Falco was mistaken, but something told her he was not. The Queen shared her concerns, but one way or another, they needed to know. But for now it was time to rest and so they moved down to a sheltered ledge where Nathalie curled up beneath the embracing canopy of Ciel’s wing, the dragon’s scales warm against her back.

  *

  In the mage tower of Wrath, Galen Thrall looked down into the chamber of discourse where the three mages helping Meredith were now ensconced. One was deep in meditation, sitting on a stone chair at the centre of the chamber. Another was asleep on a simple cot, while the third sat at a wooden table to eat a late supper. None of them had left the chamber during the last eleven days, nor would they until the experiment was concluded or ended in failure.

  ‘Are they still in contact?’ asked Thrall in a soft voice that did not carry.

  ‘Yes,’ said Morgan Saker who was standing beside him. ‘The link remains unbroken.’

  The pupils of Thrall’s waxy green eyes narrowed.

  ‘Impressive,’ he said. ‘Your son’s idea might work after all.’

  Morgan Saker gave a demure bow.

  ‘And you are sure he will notify us of any developments.’

  ‘He knows his duty,’ said Saker. ‘If Danté makes any progress with offensive capabilities he will tell us.’

  ‘And the mage army?’

  ‘Rest assured. If Meredith learns anything of the mage army’s success we will know about it instantly.’

  ‘Good,’ said Thrall and the pupils of his eyes glinted like tiny beads of coal. ‘There can be no delay. As soon as we have confirmation of the mage army’s success we can move against the Queen. With Ludovico on the throne we will be one step cl
oser to seizing power.’

  *

  The Queen stood at the window of her chambers looking, not out to sea, but inland to the east. Somewhere out there her subjects were marching into mortal danger but still she envied them. Better to face a thousand black swords than the shadowy manoeuvrings of those who sought to depose her.

  She knew that Thrall waited only to hear of the mage army’s success before staging his coup. He would voice his regret and pronounce his loyalty, but finally he would have the leverage he needed and she would have no option but to accept Prince Ludovico’s hand in marriage. For the sake of her people she would accede and they would never know the depth of her sorrow. She would bury her feelings and devote herself to the union that could save them.

  The night air felt suddenly cold and unforgiving and the Queen shivered. For a brief embittered moment she found herself hoping the mage army would fail, but the thought filled her with shame and a tear rolled down her cheek. She would do anything to save her people. If that meant submitting to Thrall, and surrendering her personal happiness, then so be it.

  With all the will she could muster she sent her love out into the world, to the emissary and the armies of Clemoncé, to the cadets in all their youthful determination, to the battle mages and dragons in their unthinkable struggle and finally to the warrior mages who marched in the Grand Veneratu’s name.

  Were they not men also?

  Were they not her subjects too?

  Finally her thoughts came to rest on young Master Danté. By now he would be very much closer to the front and she wondered if he had sensed anything more. There was still no word from Nathalie, and the Queen wondered if she had managed to find Wildegraf or Jürgen. The Illician battle mages had been fighting in that area for years. If anything was amiss then they would surely know about it.

  Saving her final thought for her beloved Chevalier, the Queen turned from the balcony to seek the brief respite of a few hours sleep. Maybe tomorrow would bring the news that all was well, and there was nothing new to fear.