Kestel, Dawe, Verran, and Piran were heading their way, as was Illarion’s crew. “Everyone in one piece?” Blaine greeted them. They nodded.
“I’m guessing it’s too much to hope that’s the last we see of monsters,” Kestel said. “Maybe they’ll go after Pollard’s soldiers for a change.” She drew a deep breath. “If we’ve read the maps right, we don’t have much farther,” she added with a nervous glance toward the mountains.
“Which gives us precious little time to figure out how to work the ritual, assuming we find the right place,” Blaine said, following Kestel’s gaze. “Assuming Valshoa even exists.”
“Let’s get moving,” Niklas said, signaling to his men. “We told Penhallow we’d make the outskirts of Hogstown by nightfall.”
Traveling with a force of soldiers did not lend itself to stealth. The villagers and farmers they passed along the way eyed them suspiciously, and the few other travelers they encountered gave them a wide berth. The winter sky was gray, and wind howled down from the mountains, making the day seem even colder than the already freezing temperatures. Blaine glanced up at the sky often, trying to gauge how likely it was to snow. Just the thing to make a miserable journey even more so, he thought and pulled his cloak tighter around him.
The solstice was now only three days away. Days were short and bleak with snow-laden skies, reminding Blaine of the long dark nights on Edgeland. The weather, along with the mestids’ attack, had dampened the group’s spirits, and they rode in silence. Even Verran, known for playing a tune on his pennywhistle as he rode, did not seem so inclined. Everyone’s attention was on the mountains ahead of them, where Vigus Quintrel’s clues indicated that whatever remained of Valshoa was located.
Midday, Blaine and Niklas stopped and consulted their maps. They had created a master map from the maps of the Continent, the stars, and the city of Valshoa. Connor and Lowrey had painstakingly added what else could be gleaned from Grimur’s book and the notes Quintrel had left for them. The result, Blaine hoped, was a one-of-a-kind treasure map, with the hidden city at its heart.
“Anything from the mage?” Blaine asked Kestel, as he glanced back to where Lowrey rode with Connor. The older man had managed to stay out of danger during the fight with the mestids by hiding beneath one of the supply wagons.
Kestel shrugged. “Personally, I think he’s scared to death whenever he’s not in a library doing research.”
“I don’t think any of us signed on for this,” Blaine said with a sigh. “It’s gotten far out of hand from what I originally expected.”
Kestel chuckled, though the scarf that warmed her face muffled her voice. “Hard to believe, considering we were expecting the end of the world.”
Niklas lifted his face to the wind. “Think we’ll have more trouble from Pollard’s men?”
Blaine grimaced. “Count on it.”
Niklas swore. “I’d almost welcome an all-out attack instead of this constant sniping.”
“Hush!” Kestel admonished, making a warding sign. “Be careful what you wish for.”
It had been clear that Pollard had them in his sights since they set out from Glenreith. Caltrops had been spread on the road not far from Glenreith, which might have lamed several horses or seriously damaged their wagons had the nighttime sabotage not been spotted and cleared by Penhallow’s talishte fighters. Trees had been felled to block the roadway. Damage to a bridge could have sent them to the bottom of a steep ravine had it not been discovered and repaired. And at intervals, archers had shot at them from the cover of underbrush. So far, none of the attacks had inflicted major damage or injuries, but sooner or later, their luck would change.
“Maybe he’s gotten ahead of us, if he found his own sources of information about Valshoa,” Blaine said, scanning the horizon. He saw nothing but trees and the distant mountains.
Niklas shook his head. “Doubtful. The talishte scouts flew quite a distance out. They saw no indication that a large force – even a middling force – had passed this way.” He paused. “On the other hand, Pollard no doubt knows we have talishte on our side. He may have found a way to move his men in small enough groups by day to evade our notice.” He leveled a glance at Blaine. “If they suspect we’re heading into the mountains, we may find that they rally to meet us.”
“Maybe Nidhud succeeded in drawing them off,” Blaine said. “Snipers might be the best Pollard can do until he can gather his forces, which means that he’s likely to attack from the rear rather than get between us and Valshoa.”
Kestel shrugged. “Let’s hope Voss and Nidhud catch up by then. Maybe if we’ve got a big enough army, Pollard won’t dare attack.”
Niklas managed a smile. “I like the thought, but I don’t see it working out that way.” He gave a wary glance toward the sky. “Let’s get moving. I want to make it to what’s left of Lord Garnoc’s manor before nightfall.”
The road now led toward forest, a large swath of pines that spilled down the slopes of the mountains. Until now, the highway had been relatively open, threading its way past farms and villages, many of which had been abandoned.
“Still think we picked the right road?” Kestel asked as they rode.
Blaine eyed the shadows of the forest as they drew closer. “As Niklas pointed out, it’s a toss-up. Ride in the open, and we can be spotted more easily, but we can also see if anyone’s coming. Take the forest road, and while we’re hidden, so is the enemy.” He sighed. “And truth be told, no matter which way we ride, there are going to be stretches of forest. Can’t get around it, this close to the mountains.”
They fell silent as the road wound closer to the forest. It was late afternoon, and the angle of the winter sun sent long shadows across the road. Beneath the pines, it was nearly impossible to see if watchers waited in the darkness. By unspoken agreement, they rode as far to the side of the highway as possible, to keep a buffer between themselves and the forest.
The unbroken line of trees seemed to make them all edgy. Niklas insisted that Blaine and his friends, along with Lowrey and Connor, ride toward the middle of the group. The sense that something was waiting to happen grew stronger the farther they rode. Perhaps it was the unrelenting gray sky, Blaine thought, or the bitingly cold wind, or just the impenetrable depths of the old forest. But he doubted he was the only one holding his breath.
The twang of arrows and the thud of crossbow bolts broke the silence. On the edge of the formation nearest the forest, four men toppled from their mounts, arrows protruding from their bodies. Horses shrieked as riders pulled them up sharply. The archers might as well have been ghosts, as the shadows beneath the trees hid them completely from view.
“Ride!” Niklas shouted. “Get out of their range!”
Bent low over their horses to present more difficult targets, the riders broke into a gallop. A hail of arrows rained down on them, striking both soldiers and their horses, but the angle made it unlikely any of the hits would be fatal. Arrows sailed past them, making the horses skittish and difficult to control.
Blaine kept his head low and urged his horse forward. He dared a glance toward the forest, but the tree line was hidden from his view by the other riders. Pollard can’t possibly have archers the entire length of the forest, he thought. All his tactics have made good use of a limited force. He thought he’d catch us with our guard down, get in some lucky shots.
More men cried out as arrows struck flesh. Even if they didn’t lose many men or horses from the attack, Blaine knew that injuries were likely to slow them down, hinder their ability in a battle. Pollard’s smart. He knows we can’t easily go after the archers in the forest, and any damage he does to us now is to his advantage if he’s anticipating a real battle later.
“We’re outriding them!” Blaine heard a man shout as they galloped down the highway. Fewer arrows whistled overhead or swished past them, and Blaine fervently hoped that they were nearing the end of the archers’ range.
Ahead of them, there was a rise in the road. They t
hundered up and over the summit, glad to be free from the arrows. A hedgerow lined the side of the road opposite of the forest, bushes as high as a man’s waist, running as far as the eye could see. As the last of the soldiers cleared the crest of the hill, the sound of wood striking wood rang out, echoing in the winter stillness. Blaine glimpsed something glinting in the fading sunlight. The rider next to him jerked upright in his saddle and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Blaine saw a bit of metal protruding from the man’s chest an instant before he toppled from his horse.
“They’re launching blades from catapults!” Piran shouted behind him.
“We’ve been herded, nice as you please, into a slaughter,” Verran muttered.
Just then, a new storm of arrows rained down on them, shot by archers at the tree line. All around Blaine shouts of panic rose, and the travelers reined in their horses or bolted ahead, into the deadly assault. Above the chaos, Blaine heard Niklas shouting to regain order, straining to be heard above the cries of wounded men and the panicked screams of horses.
“Damn!” A sharp fragment of metal flew past Blaine’s shoulder and opened a bloody slice. Another metal splinter sank deep into the side of the horse next to Blaine’s mount, and the horse reared and bucked.
“If we ride down the gauntlet, we’re all dead!” Piran’s voice carried above the pandemonium.
Blaine squinted toward the hedgerow. He could just make out the wooden mechanisms that were hidden behind the bushes. “They’ve got small catapults. Ride for the row!” Blaine shouted to his companions as he drew his sword. “Let’s cut a way through their line!”
The move was pure suicide. Yet as more bits of deadly metal hurtled through the air, Niklas’s soldiers were losing ground fast. Between the archers in the forest and the deadly hail of fragments from the hedgerow, the highway had become a killing field. Horses and men were down, some dead and others flailing.
They were likely to end up with their horses eviscerated and blades in their chests, Blaine knew as he struggled to bring his frightened horse under control. Yet his cry echoed down the line. Without sparing the time to think about the folly of his action, Blaine spurred his horse toward the point in the hedge that had most recently discharged its missiles, gambling that it would take a few moments to reload.
Blaine’s horse sailed over the hedge and its hooves smashed into one of the gunnery men caught by surprise beside his small catapult. Swords in both hands, Blaine slashed at the two other gunners, even as silver flashed through the air and he felt something strike his belly.
Piran cleared the hedge a moment later, then Borya and Desya, who tumbled from their saddles to land on their feet, swords a blur of motion. Connor and Illarion were next, followed by Kestel and Zaryae, with Verran and Dawe after that. More of Niklas’s soldiers followed the desperate gambit, and as they cut down the gunnery soldiers and disabled the catapults, the rest of the army stormed through behind them.
One of Blaine’s opponents fell quickly, run through before he could even draw his sword. The other man got his wits about him in time to parry Blaine’s attack.
“You’re stuck,” the gunner taunted. “You’re bleeding.”
From the pain in his side, Blaine guessed that one of the fragments had cut him badly, but he knew the gunner was waiting for an opening and he dared not look down. Instead, he roared in anger and dove forward, and his move caught the man by surprise. The gunner struggled to get his guard up, but Blaine struck with his full strength, landing a brutal blow with the sword in his right hand, followed by a thrust with the sword in his left. The gunner sank to his knees as Blaine pulled his sword back from between the man’s ribs.
“See you in Raka,” the man gasped. “You’ll be joining me soon, I think.” Hands clasped to the wound in his chest, the man swayed and then fell face-forward into the snow.
All around Blaine, soldiers poured through the breach in the hedgerow and the catapults had fallen silent, their gunners chased down by Niklas’s angry troops. Down the line, Blaine could see his friends, and over the fray, he could hear Niklas barking orders. It worked, he marveled.
Nearest to him, he saw Connor fighting off three of the gunners. Silhouetted against the sunset, Connor appeared to be struggling. His swordsmanship had improved, but it was not yet up to fending off three attackers at once. As the sun dipped lower, though, Connor straightened as if infused with new energy. His sword strokes grew surer and more powerful, and within a few moments he had bested his opponents in a display of skill that left Blaine completely puzzled.
As the adrenaline faded, Blaine felt the pain in his belly and it forced him to his knees. He pushed back his cloak to see a rapidly spreading stain. The world around him began to swim, even as he heard Piran shouting his name. He managed a response but felt himself topple to the ground as footsteps pounded in his direction. Overhead, the last light of day was fading with the sun.
By Vessa and Esthrane, don’t let me come so close and die here, he thought. I hadn’t expected to survive the ritual, but don’t let me die now, when I haven’t even made the attempt. He heard Piran’s shout and Illarion’s worried voice, but before he could respond, the darkness closed in around him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
B
laine. Blaine, I know you can hear me. Fix your attention on my voice. Follow my voice.
The voice was familiar, but Blaine could not place it. Darkness engulfed him. He wondered if he still lay where he had fallen, in the snow near the hedgerow. He was so very cold.
Follow my voice, Blaine. The man’s voice was firm, welcoming, irresistible in its compulsion. It was difficult to move, almost impossible to overcome inertia, but the voice gave him no choice. In the darkness, Blaine had no sense of up or down, of left or right, but the voice called, and he moved. Direction didn’t seem to matter. He focused on the sound of the voice, and as it grew stronger, he knew he was getting closer.
Gradually the darkness dissipated, clearing like smoke. Blaine found himself in a darkened room, lying on a pallet, with Penhallow leaning over him, a worried expression on his face.
“He’s with us once more,” Penhallow murmured, but the concern was clear in his eyes.
“Where are we?” Blaine asked, finding it unusually hard to form the words.
“You’re in Sondermoor, Lord Garnoc’s manor,” Penhallow replied. “Or, I should say, what’s left of it.”
Blaine swallowed hard. His mouth was dry, and his whole body felt sluggish. “I got hit,” he murmured, closing his eyes and letting himself sink into the pallet.
“One of the blades caught you in the belly,” Penhallow said quietly. “You lost a lot of blood.”
Penhallow’s voice felt like honey, warm and thick. Tired as he was, Blaine could not turn his attention away. “It was a bad wound,” Penhallow continued. “By the time Niklas got you to Sondermoor, you were dying. You were beyond his healer’s abilities.”
“Am I turned?” Blaine managed. He thought he might feel horrified at the possibility, but caught in the magnetism of Penhallow’s voice, he could feel nothing except warmth.
“No. But in order to heal you, I had to make a bargain, of sorts,” Penhallow replied.
“What kind of bargain?” Blaine struggled to open his eyes. He met Penhallow’s gaze and belatedly remembered that talishte could bind a mortal’s will with their stare.
“To mend such a severe wound, I needed to create a bond between us. Not so strong a bond as turning you, but enough to make my power accessible to you.”
“The kruvgaldur,” Blaine replied, finding it difficult to think clearly. “Like Connor.”
“There was no choice, if you were going to live,” Penhallow said.
Distantly it occurred to Blaine that he should feel angry at having such a permanent decision made for him, but he lacked the energy to feel anything at all except relief. “What did you do?” Even to his own ears, his words sounded slurred.
“I drank your blood, then used
the bond it created to reinforce my ability to heal you with saliva and my own blood,” Penhallow replied.
“I’m bound to you?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Penhallow said. The timbre of his voice was comforting, reassuring. “The bond creates an obligation for me as well. You are fully under my protection.”
“Can you read my mind?”
Penhallow chuckled. “Not the way you may think. Your memories are clearest during the actual blood-taking. The bond grows stronger with repetition. Over time we can communicate, with limitations, even over distance. Geir or Connor have mentioned this, I believe?”
“Yes.” Blaine was quiet for a moment. “How long —”
“Only a matter of a few candlemarks have passed since you were injured,” Penhallow finished for him. “It was Connor who summoned me, although I was already on my way.” He chuckled. “Lady Kestel was quite forceful about insisting I heal you. I will lend you my strength, and with rest, you should be ready to ride tomorrow.”
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