Connor sighed. “Where did this come from?”
“We found it in a blocked-up tunnel at Mirdalur, right after we almost died,” Blaine replied wryly.
Connor frowned and reached out to draw the journal toward him. Once again, his eyes lost focus and his face relaxed even as he sat upright, as if suddenly called to attention. “If you found this before attempting to use the ritual space at Mirdalur, reconsider. This space has been damaged, and it is dangerous.”
“Now he tells us, after we got our balls fried,” Piran muttered.
“I believe that the best chance will be to follow the map. Look to the missing soldiers, they can guide your way. Beware the Guardians. Come if you can at darkest night or brightest day. The Remnant awaits you.”
Connor shook himself and looked from face-to-face. “What in Raka are the ‘Guardians’? And who are the ‘Remnant’? And what’s all this about day and night?”
Lowrey had been chewing his lip in thought. “I’m almost positive that the Remnant are mages that Quintrel spirited away when he vanished. We know for a fact that quite a few mages went missing just before the Great Fire.”
“As for the day and night comment,” Lowrey continued, “I’d take that as a hint to come on either of the solstices, the longest and shortest days of the year.” He smiled. “I’m betting the equinoxes work well in a pinch, too.”
“And the Guardians?” Kestel asked.
“I believe I can be of assistance,” Nidhud replied. “Although I have not been to Valshoa, the lore among the Knights has stories of such Guardians. It may be enough for us to pass safely past their precautions.”
“What do you know?” Penhallow asked.
Nidhud was silent for a moment, searching his memories. “The original Valshoans valued their privacy. Their first line of defense would have been spells that made intruders forget their purpose or become distracted so that they did not see the path. They would have had sentries to determine whether visitors were welcome or not. When the magic still worked, the Guardians were a set of magical obstacles, plus physical traps designed to discourage casual intruders and assure that only the most determined – and most skilled – reached their goal.”
“Then how did Quintrel manage it?” Piran challenged.
“Vigus Quintrel was an expert when it came to getting into places he shouldn’t,” Lowrey replied. “He was also a mage of great power, although he did his best to be underestimated. He might have figured out a way to cheat the obstacles. Or he might have found himself a guide. Perhaps he was able to get a message through and make his case for sheltering the survivors of the strike he knew would come.” Lowrey shook his head. “Quintrel is a wily one, and not entirely to be trusted.”
Nidhud smiled. “The good news for us is that the magical obstacles won’t be of concern, since they failed with the loss of magic. That’s something in our favor.” He frowned. “The physical traps, however, still pose a danger. They were intended to be the backup plan, in case Valshoa was attacked by someone with sufficient power to defeat the magical precautions. They won’t be easy to beat.”
“Do you know anything that might help?” Blaine asked. “Anything you might have overheard?”
Nidhud’s gaze was far away as he thought. “Each Guardian is more difficult than it first appears,” he said. “There are traps within traps.” He paused once more. “My fellow Knights sometimes are too fond of riddles. Here is what I remember: ‘In the abyss, the last breath is taken. Beware the gardener, who prunes and harvests. Blood is the coin to pass among the shadows. Narrow is the path through the flames.’” He grimaced. “Not much to go on, is it?”
Connor looked to Nidhud. “What about the kruvgaldur? In all the years since the Knights went into exile, wouldn’t some of those who went to Valshoa have contacted other talishte through the bond?”
Nidhud shook his head. “For talishte to communicate through the kruvgaldur, one must be the get of the other or have forged a blood bond. The Knights Dolan chose to go with him in search of Valshoa had outlived their makers and had made no fledges or blood bonds themselves. He did not wish to be found.”
“I can also help,” Zaryae said. “Valshoa was a place of power. That means the wild magic will be strong, and I will dream visions. They may be able to provide clues – or warnings.”
Verran rubbed his hands together and looked gleeful. “If the Guardians are locks to be picked or traps to be sprung, I’m your man.”
“It’s not the Guardians that worry me, it’s getting to the location,” Niklas put in. “We’ve got to move a small armed force as well as this team over devastated ground, and for the most part, trust that we can live off the land.” He shook his head. “I hope you weren’t expecting stealth. If Pollard and Reese are looking for us, they’re sure to find us. We can’t hide that large an operation.”
“There’s no helping it,” Penhallow said. “Much as I would prefer to do this quietly, we know that Reese has been stealing magical objects and capturing mages, so we have no way to know how much he’s discovered about Quintrel or the clues to Valshoa.”
“At least we know he doesn’t have the disks,” Kestel said. “Or more than one of them.”
Penhallow nodded. “It looks like Pollard has been scavenging anything he finds, not looking for specific objects.”
“You’ll have armed protection day and night,” Geir replied. “And after the drubbing Pollard received yesterday, he’ll need time to regroup.”
“We don’t know how large a force he can muster,” Blaine countered. “On the other hand, we aren’t certain that Reese knows about the solstice. If we move quickly, we might be well on our way before Pollard recovers.”
“I wish Voss were here,” Connor said. “We could use the assistance.”
Penhallow chuckled. “If I know Traher, he’s taking his revenge on his way to joining us. He was quite fond of the fortress Pollard besieged, and Traher’s not a forgiving person. I wouldn’t put it past him to take a meandering route and destroy anything valuable to Pollard on the way.”
“I’ll have to leave a small garrison here to defend Glenreith, and my numbers aren’t huge to begin with,” Niklas said, “though we’ve gained some men since setting up at Arengarte.”
“You have three more men at your command,” Illarion said and nodded toward Borya and Desya. “We’re prepared to fight.”
Blaine looked to Niklas and Nidhud. “It’s settled then. When can your men be ready?”
“We can leave tomorrow,” Niklas said.
Nidhud nodded. “My men travel light. We’re ready.”
Blaine looked to the others. One by one, they nodded. “All right,” Blaine said. “Tomorrow it is.”
“And may the gods go with us,” Kestel murmured.
Nidhud met her gaze. “It’s not the gods we need to be worried about.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“I
don’t like the look of that,” Borya said, reining in his horse. They were four days out from Glenreith, riding across what had once been some of the best farmland in Donderath.
“It’s an empty field,” Piran retorted. “What part don’t you like?”
Borya squinted against the cold winter sun. “That part, over there,” he said, pointing to places that looked to have less of a thatch of dead vegetation than most of the rest of the field.
Desya rode up beside them and scanned the ground ahead. Blaine was right behind them, close enough to hear the conversation, and he looked out over the field, straining to see whatever was worrying Borya.
“There’s another spot, just like it, over there,” Desya said.
“Just like what?” Piran asked, irritation clear in his voice.
“Look across the field,” Borya replied. “Those spots are every fifty feet or so, all across the field, but not in a regular pattern.”
“So you don’t think they’re just a trick of the wind,” Blaine said.
“No, I don’t,” Borya replied.
Blaine surveyed the skyline. “There’s no good way to go around – the flattened spots go on for as far as the eye can see.”
Borya nodded. “Of course I may be too cautious. There’s only one way to find out.” Before anyone could reply, he gave a cry and put his heels to his horse, galloping into the field. An instant later, Desya was behind him, each of them riding straight for flattened spaces.
“I had the feeling they were going to do that,” Piran said with a sigh.
The others had closed ranks behind Blaine and Piran. “What are they doing?” Kestel asked, raising a hand to shield her eyes against the sun.
“Stirring up trouble,” Piran replied.
Borya was the first to near his destination. Before he could reach the flattened vegetation, his horse began to buck and fight, resisting Borya’s urging to go closer, even when Borya dug in his heels. Desya also was fighting his balky horse as he reached the area just beyond where the grass was flattened.
“Looks like they found it,” Blaine murmured.
A deep growl rumbled from the ground, then dark brown creatures sprang from the flattened grass, bounding toward the horses and riders with near-talishte speed. Desya and Borya wheeled their horses back toward the group. The creatures were the size of large hogs, with thick bodies and long, jointed legs.
“We can’t outrun those things for long,” Piran said, staring at the beetlelike creatures. Dome-shaped, with many legs and sharp, wide maws, the attackers moved unerringly to follow the two riders.
“And we can’t get to the mountains without crossing this stretch of land,” Blaine said, sword already in hand.
“What are those things?” Kestel’s voice was muted by the wind.
“Mestids,” Illarion said grimly. “We’ve seen them before – like the gryps, monsters born of wild magic.”
“And they’re coming our way!” Piran shouted. “Get ready!”
Borya pivoted his horse, smashing at the mestid with its hooves. The hard carapace sounded like stone against the hooves, and the mestid did not falter in its attack. From the other flattened places, more of the mestids began to swarm to the surface, one from each of the nests.
“If you’ve fought these before, what works to kill them?” Blaine called to Illarion.
“Fire!” Illarion yelled back. “They don’t like fire any better than the gryps do!”
Wary of gryps, they had brought as many bottles of oil and batting for flaming arrows as they could carry, as well as long, straight pieces of wood suitable for torches. Illarion had already lit a torch and was riding toward Borya and Desya. Blaine, Piran, and Kestel rode to where Zaryae and Verran were grabbing bottles of oil and readying more of the baton-torches as the swarm of mestids closed in on them.
The mestids clicked as they moved, and as they neared, Blaine got a whiff of decaying leaves. The huge beetles’ wide maws had jagged edges suitable for tearing meat. The front legs ended in vicious pincers that looked strong enough to do damage.
Borya was slashing at the pincers of one of the mestids. The mestid lunged at the legs of Borya’s horse, snapping and nimbly evading Borya’s strikes. More mestids swarmed toward the rest of the party, and Blaine could hear shouts passed down the line, warning those behind them of the danger.
Illarion jabbed at the mestid that harried Borya, while Piran handed off a burning torch to Desya and managed to get in several strikes on his attacker before drawing the attention of another beast.
At least thirty of the mestids had crawled from hiding and advanced on the party. Niklas and twenty of his men rode forward, swords at the ready, and waded into the fray, slashing with their broadswords and using their horses’ hooves to kick at the hard carapaces.
Blaine slashed at the mestid that lunged toward him, barely evading its pincers. He dodged to the right and swung hard, connecting with his blade against one of the mestid’s many leg joints. His sword drew blood but did little real damage except to further enrage the beast.
Connor’s next strike went true, sinking hilt-deep into the space where its head was joined to its body, and he twisted out of the way of the pincers at the last instant. The mestid snapped at him, but the blade in Connor’s other hand slashed across its neck, severing its head.
Blaine had little time to celebrate Connor’s win. The mestid he fought rushed toward him with pincers and snapped its maw, but Blaine scored with the sword in his right hand, slicing through one of the mestid’s legs. Blaine thrust with his left sword and felt the blade grind against bone as it slid deep into the mestid’s thorax. He twisted the sword and the mestid screeched, but Blaine managed to stay clear of the thing’s pincers.
A flaming arrow sailed past Connor’s shoulder and struck the mestid Blaine battled but bounced away. A patch of dry grass caught fire, and the mestid let out a shriek, scrabbling backward.
Another arrow and then another streaked through the air, landing within inches of the mestids Niklas and his soldiers were fighting, driving the attackers back as the dry tangle of brush caught fire. Dawe let out a whoop of triumph. Blaine rose in his stirrups. “Niklas, pull back. I’ve got an idea.”
“Are you crazy?” Niklas shouted. “If we pull back, those things will be on you in a heartbeat.”
Blaine ignored the question and turned to Dawe and to the line of Niklas’s soldiers behind him. “When Niklas pulls back, shoot burning arrows into the space between us and the mestids.”
Piran had managed to bludgeon one of the mestids into submission with his horse’s hooves and rode back. “Hand me a bottle of oil and some batting,” he ordered breathlessly, grabbing the supplies from Zaryae’s hands. He lit the batting from Zaryae’s torch and stuffed it into the mouth of the bottle, then rode headlong toward the mestids, screaming a battle cry. He let the bottle fly and it crashed into the ground, sending up a wall of flames as the underbrush caught fire and the oil spread.
Dawe had already grabbed another bottle and batting, while Blaine did the same. “Box them in!” Blaine shouted. “Burn them!”
In moments, the broad, flat land in front of them was a roaring fire, and the air was heavy with the smell of smoke. Hemmed in on each side by flames, the mestids shrieked and scrambled toward the middle, piling atop each other in a frantic effort to avoid the fire. As the flames reached them, their carapaces burned and blackened, and the soft parts began to pop and sizzle, emitting an acrid stench.
Blaine and the others watched the pyre warily, swords still at the ready, alert should any of the mestids escape. Finally, when it appeared that the mestids were dead, Blaine sighed and turned to Connor.
“I thought Penhallow said reinforcements were on their way,” Blaine said.
Connor grimaced. “Traher Voss is notorious for setting his own schedule.”
“Can’t Penhallow call him with his blood?”
“It’s daytime – Penhallow is asleep,” Connor replied. “And I don’t know for certain that they share the kruvgaldur bond. Don’t worry. Voss will catch up – eventually.”
“Do you trust him?” Blaine asked, wiping his swords on the snow to clean off the mestids’ fluid, then drying the blades on his cloak before resheathing them.
Connor gave a harsh laugh. “Voss? Hardly. He’s a mercenary. But Penhallow seems to trust Voss. So that counts for something.”
“You’re a good bit better with that sword than you used to be,” Blaine observed. When he had first met Connor after he was shipwrecked in Edgeland, the man had struck him as a courtier who had never been closer to battle than the verbal warfare at the palace. Blaine guessed that the improvement in his sword skills had come at a high price.
Connor looked away. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
They left the dead mestids where they lay amid a wide swath of blackened land. Niklas rode up to them, still eyeing the terrain ahead. He motioned to two of his soldiers.
“Burn us a corridor,” Niklas commanded. “Save the oil – the underbrush is like tinder. Take us far enough th
at you can’t see any more of the mestids’ nests.” The two soldiers gathered supplies and rode ahead, torching a path through the infested land.
“So much for stealth,” Piran sighed, watching as black plumes of smoke rose in the sky.
“Pollard’s going to have as much fun as we just did if he tries to ride across that field after us,” Kestel noted. “And if those things have memories, they’ll be plenty mad.”
Niklas joined them. “Did either of you take any damage?”
Blaine and Connor shook their heads. “We’re fine. How about the others?”
Niklas looked out across the fields. “Haven’t had reports of any men down,” he said. “Damn. I hate these things,” he said, looking toward the blackened mestid corpses. “They came after us several times on the way home from the border. Lost more than a few soldiers to them.”
Reign of Ash Page 48
