Kyel shot him a disdainful glare. “They’ve already taken the North!”
With that, he swung away from the man and strode toward the stairs. The wind tore at his cloak and raked at his hair as he descended the worn steps toward the valley floor. There, a group of monks from one of the militant orders fell in around him, escorting him toward the tall cliffs that surrounded the valley.
The wind lessened as they approached the bluffs, finally giving way altogether, blocked by the walls of the bottleneck canyon that formed the valley’s entrance.
Kyel followed the path through the canyon as it wound like a serpent’s coils through the surrounding cliffs. The walls of the passage were high, made of stratified layers of tawny sandstone. A fast stream lined with ragged boulders ran its course along the base of the cliffs, bordered by a road only wide enough to drive a cart along.
At the mouth of the canyon, Kyel halted and looked over the temples’ fortifications, in the form of mud berms, trenches, and spiked palisades warded by overlooking bluffs. The entire plain had been altered to create a narrowing path that would slow and direct the movements of an advancing army.
Kyel was impressed. He wouldn’t have credited Glen Farquist’s priests with that kind of tactical industry. Across the canyon’s entrance, they had dug a deep trench impossible to jump across or go around. If Darien wanted his men to advance into the canyon, he would have to fill that trench with corpses.
Beyond the trench, out of bowshot of the bluffs, the Enemy army had gathered in a wedge-shaped formation. Kyel stared out at it, shielding his eyes from the sun’s stabbing glare. Their numbers were far fewer than he’d anticipated. Apparently, the poisoned cider had worked even better than expected, though at enormous cost. It was just unfortunate that Darien hadn’t been one of the casualties.
To his guard of armored clerics, Kyel ordered, “Wait here.”
He reached down and unhooked Thar’gon from his belt. Holding the spiked artifact at his side, he walked away from the security of the earthworks and crossed the flat plain toward the trench. The wind gained strength again as he moved further from the protection of the canyon walls. But the wind was only a ghost of its former strength. The air stirred as though hesitant to add to the tension already gripping the plain.
Kyel stopped when he reached the trench. To either side of his own position, the priests had stationed foot soldiers against the canyon walls. Kyel was aware he was standing in the center of a bloodbath waiting to happen, but he wasn’t afraid. With Thar’gon in his hand, he didn’t have any reason to be.
Ahead, a lone figure parted off from the Enemy line and advanced toward him. Kyel knew it was Darien even before he could see his face. The darkmage had a way of moving that was unmistakable, even at a distance, like the fluid grace of a predator. Kyel held his ground, waiting as Darien approached and halted before him on the far side of the trench.
Kyel considered his adversary for a long moment, wishing he could peer into the shadows of the man’s soul. When it came to Darien, he didn’t know what to believe. The man seemed to be walking a thin line between reason and inhumanity. Each time Kyel saw him, Darien seemed to land with both feet planted firmly on one side or the other. Kyel wondered which side of morality Darien would be walking today.
He wouldn’t know without speaking with him.
Kyel closed his eyes and, lifting Thar’gon, whispered, “Vergis.”
The world shivered. When he opened his eyes, Kyel found himself standing an arm’s length from Darien’s face.
Darien danced back, his sword already halfway out of its sheath. With a smoldering glare, he slid the blade fully back again. His eyes flicked to the talisman in Kyel’s hand, which seemed to give him pause.
“You’ve learned how to use it,” he said.
Kyel lowered Thar’gon and hooked the weapon to his belt. “Hello, Darien.”
The man nodded slightly. He looked more sinister than Kyel remembered, his eyes cold and void of emotion. A dark power radiated from him, distorting the air around him. Kyel found himself scrutinizing Darien’s face, trying to figure out what manner of man stood before him. If he was demon or madman. Or both.
After a moment, Kyel asked, “What are your intentions?”
“I’m here to take the valley.” Darien gazed at him with a frigid expression.
“Why?”
“I think you know. The temples are a threat to us. They seek to drive us back into the Black Lands. I’m not going to let that happen.”
So Darien wasn’t a madman.
Kyel said, “It’s not your people they fear. Only your god.”
“Xerys is but one god in the pantheon.”
Kyel spread his hands. “You need to be reasonable. You’ve taken the North. You’ve given your people hope and sunlight and a place to live. But in doing so, you’ve displaced thousands. Where are they supposed to go? What are they supposed to eat? They left everything behind—”
“They will live.”
Kyel winced, shocked by the vehemence in Darien’s voice. He stood regarding the darkmage warily. The power radiating from Darien’s presence seemed to pulsate.
Somehow, he found the courage to glare his former master in the eye. “What about the people who didn’t live? What about the people you killed?”
Darien shrugged coldly. “They had their chance. They didn’t take it. It all boils down to this: you, Meiran, the temples—you didn’t leave us any options. We threw ourselves on your mercy, and you betrayed us. Any blood that’s been spilt—that’s on your hands. Not ours. We tried to negotiate a peaceful solution. You wouldn’t have it.”
Kyel cursed Meiran. And the temples. And Darien, for always sounding rational even when trying to justify atrocity. It took him a moment to sort through the logic of it all, to come to the conclusion that just because something was rational, that didn’t by default make it right.
He said, “You’ve already taken what you need. Any more’s just greed. Work with us. We’re willing to forge a treaty. We’ll cede you the North, if you halt your advance and cease hostilities. Right here. Today. Otherwise, you’re looking at a war of attrition that will last generations. And ultimately, we will win.”
Darien stared at him for long seconds with a gaze that never wavered. At last, he said, “It’s a tempting offer. Two months ago, I’d have taken it.” He shook his head, stepping back. “But I’m not falling for false promises again. Tell the priests I said go fuck themselves. I’m going to turn their temples into their tombs.”
Kyel gritted his teeth, his frustration on the verge of boiling over. It didn’t have to be this way. If Meiran and the temples had just upheld the treaty they’d negotiated—
“Darien—”
But Darien ignored him and stalked away. Kyel growled, ripping Thar’gon off his belt. He closed his eyes, envisioning the stone foundation with its worn stairs and toppled columns. The ground shifted beneath him. He opened his eyes to find Alexa and the priest of Zephia staring at him expectantly.
“No luck.” He sighed.
The priest didn’t look surprised. Wind whipping his hair, he raised his voice, saying, “It doesn’t matter! We have superior numbers. The terrain works in our favor, giving us great advantage. And we have a Sentinel.” He stared hard at Kyel with an expression that looked almost like a threat.
“And they have a Battlemage,” Kyel reminded him.
Alexa turned toward him. “It’s time for you to let go of your Oath.”
“No.” Kyel couldn’t believe she would ask that of him. She was a Master of Aerysius herself, and just as Bound as he was. He shouldn’t have to argue with her about all the reasons he refused to bend on the issue.
“It doesn’t matter anymore!” she pressed. “Kyel! The Oath exists to protect you from moral decay over your lifetime! But you don’t have a lifetime—you have days! The Oath of Harmony doesn’t apply to you!”
Her words brought Darien’s image to mind, a reminder that galvanized
Kyel’s resolve. “I’m not turning into him.” he snapped. “I won’t do it!”
Darien dropped to a crouch beside Azár and Sayeed. He picked up a stick and drew a broad V in the dirt, then gathered a handful of rocks and took some time positioning them along the sides. He embellished his crude map with leaves and sticks, arranging them carefully.
“It’s not good,” he reported. He scooted a rock over, nudging it into position with his finger. “They’ve had time to prepare for us. They’ve made the entire canyon into a death trap. And they’ve got a Sentinel.”
“Your apprentice?” Azár looked at him with confusion in her eyes. “The man who saved you from the dungeon? Will he fight against you?”
Darien scowled. “Kyel marches to the beat of his morals. He sees the value in our cause, but he disagrees with how we’re going about it. He doesn’t understand that sometimes you have to spill blood to save blood.”
He pointed the stick at the V on the ground. “They’ve positioned infantry and archers along the sides of the canyon here … and here. They’ve left their center vulnerable. I think that’s intentional. They’re going to try to draw us in, then flank us. We’ll have to counter that by attacking their wings.” He drew an arrow in the dirt then looked up at Sayeed, “You take the Zakai and try to roll them up on the left. I’ll take the center and keep the arrows off you.”
“What about your apprentice?” Azár asked with a worried frown.
Darien tapped the stick against his leg. It took him a second longer than it should have to reach a final decision. “I’ll deal with Kyel.”
“This Sentinel,” Sayeed said slowly. “How well does he know you?”
Darien ignored him.
Sayeed reached out and caught the stick, forcing Darien to look at him.
“Take mind,” Sayeed said with a sharp glare of warning. “This man is more dangerous than you think. Do not underestimate him.”
“I won’t,” Darien said, relinquishing the stick.
24
The Battle of Glen Farquist
“Look,” Sayeed said, nodding in the direction of the cliffs.
Darien removed his helm and, tucking it into the crook of his arm, peered out across the bunchgrass-cobbled plain. The militia of priests remained behind the protection of their trench: long lines of foot soldiers four to eight men deep. The wings of their army extended out along the base of the surrounding bluffs. Darien gazed ahead, uncertain what Sayeed was trying to indicate.
“What do you see?”
“The banners,” Sayeed said. “They do not stir in the wind.”
Darien stared harder across the plain. The wind surged in random gusts, and yet the banners of the temples remained becalmed. “He’s learned control of the wind,” he grumbled. “That means he can shield.”
Azár asked, “How will that affect us?”
He shrugged. Kyel wielded Thar’gon, but Darien doubted he’d learned much control over it. And Kyel’s hands were tied by the chains on his wrists. So was his effectiveness.
Sayeed pursed his lips in troubled thought. “It is an ill-omened day for battle. Perhaps it is best to wait.”
“Ill-omened?” Darien echoed. “How so?”
“The moon is overhead in the daylight, looking down.” The officer glanced upward toward the faded disk of the moon. “Many believe it is a sign of the gods’ disapproval, for we make war against their home.”
Darien cursed the Malikari love of superstition. “The gods don’t live in Glen Farquist. As far as the moon’s concerned, it’s a natural cycle. We can’t stand here waiting for the moon to wax.”
Sayeed nodded, though he looked far from reassured. If anything, he looked resigned to a dismal end. Darien decided to let the man stew, his thoughts returning to Kyel, the one variable he couldn’t predict.
He said to Azár, “I want you to stay back here, out of the battle.”
His wife stabbed him with an outraged glare. “I will not stay back while my husband wages war! You promised you would never ask this—”
“I need you behind us,” Darien snapped, more harshly than he’d intended. “If something goes wrong—if they do manage to flank us—then I’ll need you in reserve at our rear. And if Kyel does give me problems, then I’ll need you even more. I doubt he can manage the both of us at once, coming at him from two directions.”
Her expression softened somewhat. At last, she nodded. “I will be where you need me most,” she conceded. “My husband is a wise commander.” Without another word, she turned and walked away from the line.
Darien heaved a sigh. The battle hadn’t yet begun, and already the gods seemed against him. “All right.” He tugged his helm down over his head. “Let’s have at it.”
Sayeed shook his head in silence, looking grim. Darien ignored him and drew his sword, the blade carried by Khoresh Kateem into the Battle of Harmudi. He hoped the sword would bring him equal success. He raised the blade high over his head. Then he brought it down, leveling the point at his enemy.
“At them.”
The lines of infantry behind him started forward, Darien striding ahead of them with Sayeed at his side, surrounded by a protective ring of elite Zakai. He drew deeply on the magic field and fed its energy. Magelight erupted beneath their feet, a blue mist that spread quickly across the ground. He increased the energy, until the magelight condensed into cobalt tongues of whipping mist that advanced beneath the feet of his army. The magelight produced the desired effect. The first ranks of defenders edged back despite their officers’ commands to hold their line.
The first volley of arrows arced toward them, darkening the air. Darien waited until they reached the apex of their flight, then lashed out at them with force. The arrows shattered overhead, showering them with broken shafts. Another dark cloud met a similar fate. And another. Darien lashed out at volley after volley, knocking the arrows from the sky with furious waves of solid air.
Another arrow cloud lofted toward them, this one far larger than the rest. Darien reached out from within, summoning enough power to shatter every arrow in the sky.
The slap of air never connected.
It reversed direction and hurled back on him.
The wall of air impacted before he could react, lifting him up and slamming him to the ground. The wind knocked from his lungs, Darien lay gasping on his back, his mind struggling to make sense of what had just happened. It took him a moment to realize every man in his guard had been affected, most lying sprawled next to him in the dirt.
Darien pushed himself up, coughing and shaken. All around him, soldiers were struggling to stand, staggering back into position to reform their rank. Some of the men remained on the ground, unmoving. Darien stood blinking in a daze, his ears ringing. His mind fumbled to understand the implications of what had just occurred.
Kyel was Bound. Had he relinquished his Oath of Harmony?
Then it hit him: Kyel hadn’t directly harmed a single person. He had simply deflected an oncoming assault. It was Darien’s own magic that had inflicted the damage. He cursed his own arrogance. Kyel had made himself into a formidable Sentinel in only two years without tutelage. Darien hadn’t thought it possible.
Another volley of arrows launched toward them. He reacted—not fast enough. The arrows peppered the ground, pelting his armor. With a growl, Darien surged forward. His men followed, covering the remaining distance under a constant barrage of arrows, the archers across the trench loosing their shafts at will.
As they closed the distance, the arrows started coming harder, no longer arcing through the air, but hurling toward them parallel to the ground. The bodkin points clanged off his armor, almost hard enough to pierce. Men to both sides started to drop. Darien threw up a shield thick enough to slow the arrows’ flight—but weak enough that Kyel couldn’t repurpose it into a weapon.
When they gained the trench, Darien dropped the shield and wove a web of shadow to span the gap. The web was thin as gossamer but strong enough to bear
significant weight. He stood back, channeling every drop of power he could handle into maintaining it. Sayeed and the Zakai remained by his side, keeping a vigilant watch, while the rest of the Tanisars rushed forward.
When the last foot soldier cleared the bridge, Darien sprinted across the trench then dropped the shadow-bridge. He threw the shield back up. Just in time—one last volley of arrows clattered against it.
With a cry, his warriors impacted with the priests’ front lines, fighting to batter their way through. Darien drew up just short of the melee, Zakai swarming into a defensive position around him. There was little he could do against the enemy as a whole. So he started attacking the priests individually.
One by one, he dropped them to the ground. Darien stood looking from face to face. Everywhere he looked, scowls of fury turned to grimaces of agony. He moved forward, wielding death to clear a path ahead of him.
He took his time, picking his way over the corpses collecting under his feet. Men and women scrambled out of his way with looks of horror.
They didn’t get far. Darien pushed further into the thick of the fighting, until the bodies of the fallen became too dense an obstacle to wade through any longer.
A thundering battle cry rang across the canyon, making Darien turn. Behind, some of their men had broken away from the main force to attack the priests’ left wing, charging toward the foot soldiers that lined the cliffs. And drew up short, halfway there.
Men cried out in dismay and dropped their weapons, tottering over their feet. Others fell to the ground, then tried to worm their way forward on their stomachs. Arrows rained down from the tops of the cliffs, finding easy marks.
At first, Darien couldn’t understand what was happening.
It took him a moment to realize the ground beneath the troops had dissolved into a quagmire.
Kyel.
Again, the Sentinel had found a way to reap a harvest of lives without breaking his Oath.
Men screamed, lurching for firm ground and not finding it.
Darkfall Page 19
