“I’ll be there, Sir.”
Jaiden had not anticipated how sore he’d be after a full day of sparring and riding. The walk to his tent alone was twice as difficult as that morning. When he arrived, Palomar was seated on the ground, scanning a parchment scroll unrolled before him. Three sleeping pallets were arranged around two hammocks, which spread away from the central support pole.
A tin plate with bread and a pile of the unimaginative mush that often served as camp dinner rations was sitting on a low, wooden stool beside one of the hammocks, along with a cup of water.
“Greetings.” Palomar’s welcome sounded in Jaiden’s head as he looked up from his reading. “I saved you some dinner.”
“Thank you.” Jaiden limped to the stool, and winced as he replaced the plate with his backside.
“Are you hurt?” Palomar sat up straighter, concern shaping his eyes.
“I suppose I should be more careful,” Jaiden admitted. “There’s always some pain, but now it’s everywhere.”
Palomar stood and took two steps closer. “With your permission, I may be able to help.”
Jaiden was wary of anyone touching his leg and tightened in response, though he recognized Palomar was unlike any physician he’d ever met. It might be worth a try. “If you think it will work, then I guess so.”
Palomar nodded, took a deep breath, and began to sing. Though Jaiden wasn’t yet used to the intrusiveness of the Aasimar’s telepathy, it also seemed odd to now hear an actual voice coming from his mouth. The two did not match.
The song began as a low humming before a higher set of notes joined in, as if the voice had split in twain. Jaiden felt compelled to close his lids as a wave of relaxation washed over him. It only took moments before Palomar quieted, leaving Jaiden astounded at the results. He felt remarkably better; his muscles forgot their fatigue and the throbbing in his thigh ceased.
He opened his eyes and regarded Palomar with a new sense of admiration. “How, how did you do that?” He lightly patted his upper leg, curious if he had been made whole again. Unfortunately, the muscle he’d lost was still missing, but he couldn’t deny he felt less pain than he had since being wounded – while awake, anyhow. “Are you a Shaper?”
Palomar eased into a gentle smile. “I suppose it is not too different. Sir Golddrake explained to me there are those who can manipulate the magic left behind by the Avatars of your gods, when they walked this world.
“My songs are similar, I suppose, though their source is different. Some of them use the power of the elements, from which all matter derives. Others merely play on the perceptions of the mind, using a being’s own potential to make them feel or experience the world differently. The first kind needs no audience, but the song you just experienced, for instance, only has the ability to change things for those who hear it.”
Jaiden bit his lower lip, not sure if he fully understood, yet certain he had just experienced magic firsthand. “Well, I’m glad you are with us and not against us.”
“As am I, Jaiden. I have begun teaching your Lady Saffron some of my methods. She has a knack for composition, and is a rare specimen. Time will tell if she bridges understanding to utilize the potential I see in her.”
Jaiden blushed at the thought of Saffron and wondered if perhaps he could use music to show he was worth her time. “She is special, isn’t she?”
Palomar cocked his head to the side, as if unsure how to interpret the look upon Jaiden’s countenance.
Chapter 11
Caught on the Road
R ealizing it would take some time to tack up his steed, Jaiden rose early to feed, groom, and saddle Inferno. Others were packing supplies and moving them to the wagons before anyone else made an appearance at the stables. Palomar promised to bring him breakfast so he would not have to limp all the way to the mess table for sustenance.
Heeding his lessons from the previous day, Jaiden was mounted and ready by the time Palomar arrived with his morning biscuit. The Aasimar greeted him, handed over breakfast, and mounted the stocky mare Sir Golddrake lent him in Salmarsh. “It might be a muddy track today from the look of things,” he said.
The morning was gray and overcast, with a cool breeze carrying hints of a rainstorm from the south. “Indeed, the sun may not show its face at all. Thank you, again, for your song this morning. I’m sure it will help on the long ride.”
“Think nothing of it, though the effects rarely last more than an hour or two. I can sing for you again if we break our march at midday. Ah, and there goes the Master now. We should meet him.” Palomar gently tapped his heels to his horse’s flank and Jaiden did the same, following to where a longer line of cavalry was making its way to the southern trailhead. At its fore was Sir Golddrake, shadowed closely by a cadre of other riders, including Saffron.
With her dark, braided hair and fiery-hued outfit, she was easy to spot amongst the masses of white-and-gray-clad soldiers. Palomar quickened his horse’s pace to catch up with the assembling leadership. Jaiden attempted to follow suit, imploring his steed to trot, but Inferno failed to respond. By the time he made it to the growing column of riders, he’d arrived somewhere in the middle, and Inferno fell in line as he had countless times, ignoring the inexperienced rider urging him otherwise.
Amurel Golddrake led the march down the steep foothills of the Wyvernwatch Mountains, flanked by Sir Kilborn and Saffron. Immediately behind were Baron Rogan, Palomar, and Lieutenant Orestes, who proudly bore the billowing standard of the Order atop a sturdy lance.
The hundred horsemen of the Rising Moon were split, one group riding at the vanguard of the column, the other trailing it, protecting the middle of the train. Six supply wagons, each drawn by a team of draft horses, ferried the worldly belongings of the Order, and over two hundred souls marched alongside, comprising the infantry and non-military support staff.
Amurel thought it important to remain mobile, and he had a charter from the Prince of Dawn’s Edge allowing passage between provinces. The authority of the Prince did not truly extend beyond his own province, but for political reasons, none of the Northern Dukes had yet contested the writ. Amurel made it a point to visit each of them and offer his services, so they left him to travel freely, allowing he might answer their call should they need his Order’s protection in the future. These were, after all, uncertain times. He sent swift riders ahead to announce their intentions to the Duke of Rosegold, who he knew would be grateful for their arrival. Amurel also wanted intelligence on the position of Ebon Khorel’s troops, whom he’d lost touch with during the recent excursion.
The air grew warmer as they descended from Greyhorne, and signs of spring’s rebirth were evident along both sides of the road. The recently dormant grass had a fresh green luster, and wildflowers bloomed from every surface they could take hold, peppering the slopes with patches of gold and lilac.
By the second day they were heading southeast, and the land flattened out considerably. The ephemeral conversation followed suit, until after lunch Rogan once again launched his argument about the significance a successful assault on Blackthorn Prison would hold.
“I know you said you would give it more consideration, but I was wondering if you had come to a conclusion yet, Sir Golddrake?”
Amurel sighed, “I have, Baron.”
“And?”
“Whereas we are in agreement to the benefits such a victory would bring, I have to consider the tactical facts, and I simply don’t think our chances of success merit the attempt.” He could read the disappointment in Rogan’s tensed features. “To travel that far into the Empire of Chelpa, we would need to bring our supply wagons or the cavalry would never make it. Bringing the wagons would slow us considerably, and negate the primary advantage of a cavalry strike in the first place. Even if we took the fortress unawares, it would be a hard victory, and I have to assume enemy forces would cut us off before we could escape. I just fail to see how it could work.”
“There are problems to overcome, certai
nly,” Rogan countered, “but we have several advantages: Palomar, my knowledge of the prison, surprise, and from what I’ve seen, the most dedicated and best-trained army in the Cradle.”
“I admire your passion, Rogan, and I certainly would like to help free the other Aasimar from bondage – but we are no army. Not yet, anyway. The discrimination that makes our Order effective will always limit its size, and unless we start getting more resources from the nobles we aid, I don’t know how long I can keep us outfitted.”
As Amurel finished his thought his attention shifted to the horizon. He raised his hand to signal a halt, and Sir Kilborn echoed his command to the troops.
“What is it?” Rogan asked.
“A rider,” Palomar responded.
They all waited, straining to see signs of the allegiance of the horseman, who was driving his steed hard. A dust cloud spit out behind him, obscuring his identity from this distance.
“One of ours,” Sir Kilborn finally determined.
“Orestes, hold them here. Geldrick, with me.” Amurel urged Bastion forward, and he accelerated to meet the returned rider. Sir Kilborn trailed after, the crescent moon on his small banner shifting with the ripples of fabric as it unfurled in the wind. In short order they closed the gap and all three came to a violent, rearing halt.
The scout bowed his head, “Hail, Master Golddrake.”
“What news has you returning so soon and with such haste?” Amurel questioned. “Surely you are not come from Windhollow?”
“No, m’lord. The host of Chelpa prohibited me. They are encamped along the road, not twenty miles from here, just north of the beaten Fortress Halidor.”
“Indeed?” Amurel considered their options. “You did well to warn us. Were you spotted?”
“No, m’lord. Leastways, not by the host. It is impossible to tell if they had spies along the road.”
“Understood. We shall have to cut cross-country, it seems.” Amurel caught the attention of the scout’s eyes focused beyond him, and his neck stretched to get a better vantage. “What is it?” he asked, wheeling Bastion around.
Sir Kilborn turned in his saddle as well. “There’s something going on.”
The three-wide column of their horses was spreading and turning, though they were too far to determine a reason. Amurel strained his eyes to no avail, but he could just hear Lieutenant Orestes’ voice echoing sharp commands. “Marshall, let us make haste!” Without another word they put heels to their horses and urged them to speed, returning to their brethren.
What started as a rumbling of voices behind Jaiden quickly acquired jittery movements and calls of dismay. Soldiers ceased marching and turned to see if the alarm was justified, their speculation adding to the confusion. Too many bodies stood in the way for Jaiden to spot anything useful, but he heard rampant cries of “attack!” and “alert the Master!”
Seconds later, a rider galloped by the right flank of the column, headed to the front. Inferno sensed the growing anxiety around him and became restless, pawing the ground with his hooves. Jaiden was shushing and patting his steed, trying to calm him, when a clearer voice called out, “Arrow formation, cavalry. On me!”
Horses spread, wider than the road, while Jaiden impotently urged Inferno to join them, having no knowledge of the various formations and commands. The assembling line of horses edged westward, the way they had come. The infantry gathered along the road in the space vacated by the cavalry. Jaiden felt very much in the way, and finally convinced his mount to amble south of the wide, dirt track, out of the middle of things.
The first line of infantry hoisted their pentagonal shields in an almost interlocking pattern, the butts of their spears planted firmly at their instep. Behind them, another row of foot soldiers pulled drawstrings and set quarrels, readying their crossbows. The Order of the Rising Moon’s discipline was on full display; within moments nearly everyone was in a position to defend or launch an assault.
From his new vantage point, Jaiden could make out the cause of the alarm. A host of horsemen, their steeds draped in black barding, closed in from the west. Their advance carried intent, and he guessed not a soul amongst the Order believed it benign. Yet, impassable mountains blocked the west, with the River Chelhos farther beyond. How could an army approach from this direction, unless they materialized from thin air onto the Harpy Pass?
The terrain further conspired to create difficulties if combat proved unavoidable. While the trail they followed was wide and flanked immediately by flat swaths of grass on either side, the land beyond to the north of the road inclined sharply. It would be treacherous to lead a horse over the hilly outcroppings. The south, while more hospitable, was deceptively uneven. The ground was green and soft, masking the extent of its many dips and rises. Jaiden had noticed a creek running alongside their road for much of the morning, though it receded and emerged at irregular intervals. If horses were coaxed in that direction, unwary riders would risk plummeting to disaster.
The acting cavalry commander held his men in check, though their horses snorted and pawed nervously at the ground, aware such maneuvers always ended in a charge. Sir Golddrake was nowhere to be seen, and Jaiden craned back to the east, looking for the banner carried by his lieutenant. Though a number of horses made their way from the vanguard around the bloated midsection of the caravan, he did not notice the Order’s standard-bearer among them.
As reinforcements from the front of the column rushed past, Jaiden made the rash decision to join them. His bravado with a sword and the lure of glory dwarfed the small part of him that recognized he was not prepared for mounted combat. Jaiden could hear battle cries in the distance – the other force had accelerated to a charge. Still without their Master, the ranking officer determined they could no longer afford to wait. The Order of the Rising Moon was going to meet them.
“Knights, advance!” With a sudden, unified surge the cavalry in front of Jaiden pushed forward, rapidly shifting from a trot to a full run. Inferno matched them, and while Jaiden held on as best he could, trying to balance in the saddle, he suddenly realized he wasn’t even carrying a lance.
“Whoa, boy!” He pulled sharply on the reins and his horse reared back in protest. Time slowed as the rest of the cavalry line continued advancing down the road like a wave on the beach, pulled back into the sea. Frothing and foaming in brilliant white tabards and shining armor, their beauty was interrupted by violent collision with the enemy.
The most terrible sound Jaiden had ever heard followed: screams of beasts and men, lances splintering on shields, bodies thudding with impact. The white of the Order was replaced by the black of their foe, as if a conjurer had swapped them with some sleight of hand. As the enemy broke through the lines, many continued toward Jaiden, who remained alone between cavalry and infantry. With no time to retreat from their path, he hastily drew his sword to defend himself.
Luck hovered on his side as the crossbowmen behind him took aim and released their shots. Several of the charging warriors closest to Jaiden rocked back in their saddles, pierced by bolts. They continued their approach unable to raise their lances against him, and Jaiden cleaved the nearest one as he passed, toppling the soldier from his saddle.
To the west, the road was a crowded mass of mounted soldiers engaged in a life-or-death dance of hacking and evasion. More ebony-clad riders pushed around the edges, though, making for the wagons, which were already defending against those who had streaked past Jaiden.
He decided that was where he could be most useful, and this time Inferno didn’t fight him. He rushed into the fray, which swelled the middle of the caravan as more foot soldiers joined the fight. Unfortunately, this made it impossible for the forward half of the Order’s cavalry to get around and help.
Once more stationary, Jaiden’s innate understanding of balance and leverage took over – shortening strokes when exchanging swings with mounted foes, elongating them when sweeping down on unhorsed opponents. Immediately upon dispatching one darkly donned soldier,
he looked to engage another, finally spotting a cluster of four enemy riders. Numerous felled men in white lay at the feet of their steeds. The leader was wielding a heavy-bladed axe and wearing a chain hauberk. On his head rested a helm shaped like a spider, its spindly legs reaching around shadowed eyeholes.
Jaiden had a sudden flashback of being tortured by the King-priest, and his chest jerked in pain at the memory. That helmet belonged to one of the men who had stood over him, watching. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, and he yanked the reins with his free hand, urging Inferno to turn. He yelled, clenched his jaw, and kicked heels to his horse’s flank.
As he pursued the group, they disappeared from view around the far side of one of the wagons. By the time Jaiden rounded the corner they had pinned in a pair of unarmored support troops, whose backs were pressed against the side of the supply wagon. The man dropped his sword and raised his hands in surrender. The other, a boy of about twelve, picked it up and held the weapon with both hands, pointing it shakily in defiance. It was Tikvi.
“No!” Jaiden roared as he snapped the reins, watching as the Spider-helmed soldier raised his blade. Inferno only managed two steps before the down-stroke of the axe knocked the boy’s sword from his hands and continued on, cleaving his clavicle and slicing a wound halfway down his chest. The boy’s severed ribs failed to contain his insides as he collapsed.
Before Inferno had taken two steps more, an explosion of sound blasted Jaiden’s left ear. A sonic eruption, delivered by the channeling of a Gholdur war-priest, splintered the wood of the wagon, panicking Jaiden’s horse. Inferno swerved southward and bolted; Jaiden was pushed sideways out of his saddle, though his feet, tangled in the stirrups, kept him from falling to the ground. The violent, up-and-down motion, the ringing in his ears, and the agony of his injured leg twisted against his horse’s flank, combined to completely disorient him.
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