by Kal Spriggs
As she said that, the spirit dove for her and she welcomed the release from madness as Dzmoba Suliskvet washed over her.
***
King Simonel Greeneye
Simonel shook his head, stunned as it rung from the explosion that had killed Seraphai. He knew he had to get up, yet he felt slow and unsteady as he tried and failed to get to his feet. Across the clearing, blasted through the undergrowth by her attack, he saw Listania, her face harsh and cruel. That harshness shifted to fear, though, as he saw Amelia rise.
Somehow he could feel her attack and his eyes went wide as Listania dropped to the ground and cried out. A moment later, a shadow dropped over her and she vanished.
Simonel shook his head, still feeling stunned. He saw Tirianis rise, but her face was drawn back in fear and her eyes were locked on something behind him. Simonel turned and felt his own eyes go wide again, this time in fear and awe as the very air seemed to coalesce in front of him. A shadow seemed to swell and rose taller and taller until it began to blot out the light. Flashes of green and purple energy danced through it and Simonel raised his sword, determined to go down fighting if he must.
Before he could so much as brace himself, though, he saw Amelia stride forward. “I see you. I am here,” she said. Simonel saw the madness in her blue eyes and he felt part of his soul twist as he realized that she must have snapped under the strain. I have to save her, he thought desperately, yet he couldn't so much as move as he watched her advance upon the angry spirit.
Beside him, he saw Tirianis cringe back away from the being as waves of anger and dread washed over them. Simonel raised his sword and gave a cry, yet it did not even seem to notice him, and the wave of energy began to descend upon Amelia.
“I am here for you,” Amelia said, as the spirit attacked her.
“No!” Simonel shouted and ran at it, but it washed over and through Amelia and as suddenly as that it was gone... and Amelia with it.
***
Chapter Fifteen
Herald Aramer Jameson
Near Tucola Lake, Duchy of Masov
Feast of Karag, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
The tent flap swept open and suddenly a purple-haired woman stood there. She walked straight to Kerrel's cot, and Aramer stepped back as she began to tear open the bandages without so much as a by-your-leave.
“Who are you, get away from her!” Jonal shouted as he followed the woman into the tent.
Aramer stepped in front of the young man, “It's fine, Jonal, she's a friend of mine.”
Jonal scowled, “She injured a pair of my men when they tried to stop her.”
“They'll be fine, just enough electricity to tickle,” the woman said. “Tell them to watch where they grab, next time.” She looked up, “This isn't bad as far as wound-stitching, clearly not your work, who was your healer?”
“Marek,” Aramer said.
She nodded, “Marek's not bad, a little too focused on the symptoms rather than the cause, but not bad for battlefield wounds.” She drew a sharp knife and began to saw open the stitches and Kerrel gasped and thrashed as the woman sawed into her flesh.
“What is she doing?” Jonal demanded and stepped forward to stop her. Aramer tried to hold him back, but Jonal threw him to the side. Before he could take another step, a cream and brown blur tackled him from behind. Jonal started to go for his sword, until Aramer saw a set of jaws lock around his throat and provide just a slight bit of pressure, just enough that Jonal couldn't miss the needle-sharp teeth pressed against his jugular.
Aramer stood up and eyed the large cat that sat on Jonal. That's new, he thought.
“I'm saving her life,” she said. “The wound isn't what's killing her. The weapon, a dagger, I'd say, was tainted, sorcery for certain. Nasty thing... a blood parasite that has started to spread to her organs.”
“Sorcery?” Jonal whispered, so stunned that he forgot about the cat on his chest and tried to sit up. A deep-throated yowl and the pressure of fangs against his neck reminded him though and he froze.
“Of course,” she said and looked up, “Why else would this one call me?” She'd finished sawing open the wound and plunged her hand into it. Kerrel gasped out again, too weak to scream.
“Lord Jonal,” Aramer said, “This is Brooke, she's a mage, one of the best alive.”
“The best alive,” Brooke responded automatically. “And it's a damned good thing. This is nasty work.” She pulled her hand and jerked, drawing with it a handful of black slime and green tendrils that seemed to writhe at her touch. “Hmm, this will require some of my elixirs. Have one of your men go and get my possessions.”
“Uh, can I get up?” Jonal asked.
“I don't know...” she looked up, “Oh, Illiadan, you may release him, I'm sure he didn't mean anything.” The big cat yowled, but he released Jonal's throat. She went back to her work and spoke without looking up. “I'll need the green box and the red leather sack. Don't open the sack, I don't want to have to chase anything down if you let them escape.”
Jonal sat up and gave Aramer a glance. Aramer just gave him a shrug and went over to Brooke's side. “Anything I can do to help?” He took no offense at her brisk attitude, she was one of the most focused individuals he'd ever met. That she even acknowledged Jonal's existence was in itself something of a surprise. Then again, he thought, she needed him to carry her things in.
“Don't fall over with exhaustion and land on her or me,” Brooke said absently. “I've warned you before about pushing yourself too hard. You'd be no good to her if you were dead.”
Aramer shrugged, “I owe her family a debt. Can you save her?”
She looked up, “Maybe. This is worse than I expected from your message. Clearly someone has been a very bad boy. This is really masterful, truly horrifying. Whoever made it wanted her to suffer and those around her to know she suffered. It's eating her alive, feeding itself and I think feeding its creator.” She looked back down and reached back inside the wound. “I'll do my best to save her... and for that, we'll be even, understood?”
Aramer just nodded. The fact that Brooke hadn't said that she could save her told him that it was bad, worse than anything he had seen since he last saw her. That means that our enemies are stronger and more capable than I had feared.
***
Commander Covle Darkbit
Near Zielona Gora, Barony of Zielona Gora, Duchy of Masov
4th of Karag, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
“Now,” he grunted, “The rebel bastards will try to hold the walls, but they know they can't hold long, not with how many men we've marshaled.” He looked around at the ring of mercenary captains and he felt his heart race a bit with excitement. Only Hector had commanded an army this large here in Masov, and that one he used in the north. He had gathered almost all the men under his command... and a few more besides and they were going to make an example of Zielona Gora that would not be forgotten any time soon.
“Captain Ironhelm, you and your men will form our reserve. Captains Argal, Massan, and Verhoven, you'll form the left flank, Captains Marani, Morse, and Savino will form the right flank. Captains Grel and Abala, you're at the center.” Grel's men, though they could act as cavalry, were better as heavy infantry. They were also savage enough that when driven by Grel and supported by Abala's crossbowmen, he knew they would make the wall. He looked over at the other two mercenary officers, “Captain Shen and Captain Haras, you will take your cavalry elements to the south and west around the city wall and harry any columns coming to relieve the city and anyone trying to escape.”
“What about civilians?” Haras asked as he scratched at his neck.
Covle Darkbit smiled coldly, “They chose their side when they helped the militia to seize the town. Kill anyone on that road, Captain.”
***
Lady Katarina Emberhill
Barony of Nine Peaks, Duchy of Masov
4th of Karag Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
The road had already become choked wi
th refugees and her companies slowed still further as they tried to get them to move to the sides. Katarina looked over at Gerlin, “This isn't going well.”
He nodded grimly, “It will only get worse.”
They had pushed as fast as they could when the news came that the mercenaries and militia at Zielona Gora had sworn allegiance to her and imprisoned the puppet Baron. Still, it sounded as if Covle Darkbit had marshaled an army to seize the town and the word of what they'd already done to refugees they came across along the way suggested it would be an atrocity if they managed to get over the wall.
She looked at Bulmor and Lord Jack, “Any ideas on how to move faster?”
Bulmor just shook his head. Lord Jack, though, pursed his lips. “We could send Lord Jorvis's cavalry across country. They might, at least, keep the road clear of any of Darkbit's forces.”
Katarina nodded at that, though she pursed her lips at the reminder of the nobleman. Well, she thought, more at the reminder of the price I'm paying for his presence. She had no choice but to agree to his demands, for otherwise he had made it clear that he would support Hector. His four companies could swing the tide of the fight and his promises of bringing other nobles to support her meant just as much for the civil war she saw brewing.
I didn't want this, she thought, marriage of state, civil war, uprising, or chaos, but if I'm stuck with it, I'll try to make the best of it. She looked at Bulmor, “I think we need to put a company out front to move the refugees off the road, or else we'll be bogged down.”
He nodded at that, “I'd recommend one of Earl Joris's foot companies, they're the least experienced and we can spare them.” She looked over at Jarek, “Many of them are your people, are you alright with this?”
He nodded in agreement, though his face was pinched, “I am.”
“Very well,” She looked around at her escort and her eyes settled on Quinn, where he rode near where Nakkiki walked. “Quinn, please ask Lord Joris if he would be kind enough to send his cavalry companies to screen the road ahead of us and prevent Darkbit's men from attacking us or the refugees. I'd also like a company of his foot troops to move ahead of the column to move the refugees off the road.”
Quinn gave her a nod and wheeled his horse away.
Just past him, she saw Aerion at the head of his company. The young man looked angry, but he spoke calmly enough as he had his men shift a wagon full of furniture and who knew what else off the road and out of the way of his company and their supply wagons. He's turning out to be a good officer, she thought, though he deserves better than I've had to treat him.
As she thought that, he looked up and caught her eye. His single blue eye burned with a mix of frustration and anger and she saw him look away. He shoved one of the mules with undue force and then went back to work. Katarina pursed her lips as she thought about how to fix that.
“He'll understand,” Eleanor said, her voice soft.
“What?” Katarina started, surprised to find the woman had ridden up next to her.
“About the betrothal and marriage,” Eleanor said, matter-of-factly. “It isn't hard to understand, after all. Just difficult to accept. Give him some time.”
“Time is something we have little of, just now,” Katarina said and her gaze went down the column to where she saw young Lord Garrel, older than Aerion, but not by much, at the head of a company of his father's troops. “And acceptance isn't all that easy to come by, trust me.”
***
Captain Grel, the Duke's Hound
Zielona Gora, Zielona Gora Barony, Duchy of Masov
8th of Karag, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
“Get those ladders on your shoulders, damn you!” Grel bellowed as his men hoisted the logs up. He smiled as he saw them shy away from him, the fear that they felt smelled sweet in his nostrils. It reminded him of how Henderson's men had looked at him when Henderson died.
He shook his head at that. That wasn't what happened, he thought, Henderson died when that bitch and her Noric allies came at us. Yet the thought didn't feel right and he felt his head throb.
“You doing alright, Captain?” Naran asked from nearby.
“Of course I'm alright!” Grel snapped at his second in command. “Why wouldn't I be, we're going to rape and kill, not necessarily in that order.” He grabbed the other man by the collar of his breastplate, “You're not getting cowardly on me, are you Naran?”
“Me, Captain?” Naran sneered, “No, I just didn't want you keeling over with some plague right before a battle, is all. You'd miss out on all the fun.”
Grel shoved the other man back and gave him a smile, “Right, can't have that.” His headache had passed and he couldn't remember what thought had bothered him. “I said get those ladders up on your shoulders!”
He stalked up and down the line for a bit, screaming at those of his men he saw as weak, until all of them trembled, more terrified of him than of death itself. He smiled cruelly as he awaited the call to advance. Covle Darkbit had selected him to lead the central assault, which meant his company would take some of the worst casualties. Even so, he could replace those that fell, easily enough. Most of them were bandits, saved from the noose, anyway. The only value he placed on them was the strength and power they gave him to smash his enemies.
Lord Hector wanted to make peace with the rebels, he thought, which just shows that he has grown weak. Even a few cycles ago, Hector would have sicked Grel upon them and considered it a job well done. He made me his Hound, Grel thought, because he saw my potential, he saw I could be a better man. That phrase, for some reason, bothered him. For just a moment, he could see a ghostly face and hear the words, “I'll make you a better man, Grel. Trust me, you'll thank me later.”
Grel shook his head again and wiped at his eyes and a moment later, the vision and words were gone. Moments later, the trumpet called to advance and he forgot he had even heard them.
“Right, you sons of whores!” Grel bellowed. “Forward to blood and plunder!”
***
Captain Gwen Wallace
Gwen swore as she watched Covle Darkbit's forces form up. There still was no sign of Lady Katarina's army, or at least, nothing from that direction besides dust and that could be from the refugees or an army. As it was, she had already given up hope that her company and the militia wouldn't have to hold off the enemy.
The enemy, she thought, odd to think of them that way. Not more than a week ago she was one of Hector's mercenaries, but she'd grown fed up of Darkbit's arrogance and sick of Grel's cruelty. She didn't know if Hector knew about what the two of them were doing, but whether he did or not, that wasn't what she and her men had signed up for. Bad enough to be stuck as his bodyguard back at Lower Debber, she thought, but then to be dismissed because Grel stumbled in like a wild animal, and worse, to be ordered to take hostages from the people here after this insurrection started getting out of hand... She had no doubts about what orders would have come next. She had already heard how the “hostages” in Lower Debber had been hung in the town square as an example.
It had been a simple step from making the decision to desert to talking to the local militia commander. From there, they'd simply seized the town, locked up the Baron, and sent for help. The rumors said that Lady Katarina had eight or ten companies, so it didn't seem like too much to hope for that she would arrive before any of Hector's forces. Guess I was wrong about that, she thought darkly, I should have stayed home at Taral: plenty of Norics to fight and at least they fight stupid.
Gwen shook those thoughts off as she studied the deployment of her enemies. The town was built similar to those back home in Taral, though far larger than any towns that remained there. It had a good wall, twenty feet high and built of stone. It also had the river along the west and north sides. Unfortunately, after months of summer, the river had dried to no more than a shallow stretch of water, and the gravel that lined it wouldn't slow the mercenaries as they came forward to attack. Worse, clearly Darkbit knew that time was important, s
o he hadn't bothered to invest the entire town. Instead he had pushed forward his forces in a broad front, designed to hit all along the northern wall. The militia didn't have the manpower, even with her entire company, to hold against those numbers across that broad a section, not when every one of those companies carried ladders.
At the center, she knew it would be the worst. Two roads led down to the town and almost joined together at the center of the wall. Two broad stone bridges crossed the river at the center and provided the easiest access to the walls. If she'd had more time, she would have dropped those bridges, but she didn't. Those bridges were only a hundred feet apart and they were each fifty feet wide. Darkbit's men wouldn't be slowed by the riverbank or the bit of water at the bottom, they had two broad avenues to rush them.
Looking at that, the wisest thing to do, she knew, was to pack up and head south, but the streams of women and children heading that way had made her do the thing she knew was the dumbest. She'd ordered her men to the center of the northern wall. What can I say, she thought, as she watched the enemy line advance, I guess Norics aren't the only ones who fight stupid.
***
Captain Grel, the Duke's Hound
Grel gave a bellow of laughter as he cut open a man's guts and saw his intestines boil out. He could have taken the man's head as he stumbled back and tried to stuff them back in, but he enjoyed the sight of the man's pain and terror too much to end him. Grel stepped over the rampart and absently cut down another man as he rushed at him from the side, his heavy blade ripped open the man's face and sent his corpse tumbling over the side of the wall.
He tugged at the arrow point buried in his other shoulder and gave a grunt of satisfaction as it came free with a pop and a spurt of blood. That spurt faded into a stream and then a trickle and he could feel his flesh writhe as he healed. “I'm invincible! You hear me, none of you can kill me!” He shouted out. He looked down at the man at his feet, with his guts hanging out and the panic in his eyes.
