The Living Sword 2: The Road Ahead Page 9

  Concerned, she glanced over at Rock. Was he? No, he actually stayed behind, obviously doing something with those powers of his. A wall rose up between the captives and the elves, blocking their retreat. The people-eaters did not try to get around it; they readied their weapons and spread themselves out as they awaited the humans’ attack.

  They could do this. Their spellplayers were still preoccupied with countering Herardios’ spells and their morale was low. The enemy would break. They could do this. Her liver froze when familiar chirping cries came out of the forest to their left, elvish cries.

  A fresh group emerged from among the trees and into the sunlight, just as big as the one they’d been fighting. Leraine could see no spellplayers but they might still be hidden from sight, since there were still elves pouring out of the forest.

  The cornered elves’ cries, however, were not filled with joy, but panic. She spotted the spellplayer on the riverbank. He’d given up on his shield spell and was running west along the Elodrada. Many of his comrades followed his example.

  Understanding came in a flash. This was another tribe. Either the first group had trespassed on this one’s territory to attack the caravan or this was a raid by those others. There was no way to know either way, and it didn’t matter. These new people-eaters would be just as interested in the captives and more than eager to add the rescuers to their bounty.

  Leraine couldn’t see Captain Slyvair’s expression, but the set of his shoulders told her he realized the same thing she did. They couldn’t save them, and in fact might not even be able to save themselves. But they had to try.

  “Fall back,” the sun-man ordered.

  “What? No—” Captain Slyvair silenced Rock’s protest with a punch to the stomach that doubled him over, then hoisted the young man over his shoulder. “Over the river!”

  They ran, the mercenaries once more holding their shields above their heads as javelins rained down upon them. There was no time to sheathe her weapons, so Leraine had to keep her distance from the others as they hastened toward the pillars in the river. A spear skidded over the back of her scale armor, another slapped her shoulder and drew a fiery line along the back of her left hand.

  Herardios chanted yet another spell, Leraine saw him approach the river with the book clutched in his fingers. With his eyes fixed upon the pages there was no way for him to see where he was going, but his steps had no hesitation.

  He stretched out his hand and a patch of the river began to glow. The water rose up, the top of the waterspout becoming a monstrous head with pools of light for eyes which it trained upon the elves pursuing them. A stream of water emerged from its mouth, like a dragon’s breath, blasting the people-eaters and sending them tumbling along the grass.

  The magical construct moved to scour the shore clean of elves as the group crossed the river, but a chilling note drifted up from the forest. The elemental creature froze, the glow leaching out of its body before it collapsed back into the river.

  Captain Slyvair dumped Rock on the shore while the elves behind them resumed their pursuit.

  Glancing over her shoulder as she leaped toward the last pillar, Leraine saw they would reach the first pillar at any moment.

  “Destroy them,” the sun-man ordered, pointing at the pillars.

  “I . . .” Rock glanced over at where the captives were, but swarming elves blocked their view of them.

  Throwing her dagger to the ground, Leraine put a hand on Rock’s shoulder. “Rock, think. What can we do?”

  He hung his head and Leraine opened her mouth to try again, but he made a gesture with his hand before she even knew what she was going to say. All the walls and pillars—every piece of stone he’d wrested from the earth—crumbled.

  The elves that had begun to hop from one pillar to the other whooped in surprise as their stepping-stones vanished beneath the surface of the water, but they quickly emerged from their unexpected dive into the river. At least they swam back to their own side of the river, but it was small consolation.

  “We cannot stay here,” Captain Slyvair rumbled. “Or they will be tempted to use those canoes. They can’t use them to ferry over everybody, but enough to threaten our small group.”

  Rock said nothing, but when he tried to stand his shaking legs would not support him. She took a hold of his left arm and helped him up, but he refused to look at anything but the ground.

  ***

  Eurik felt numb. He tried to remember them, but there wasn’t enough. Ceran was a collection of tall tales and tastes. The other mercenaries who got taken were names, faces around the campfire, the drivers even less. He’d seen one of the drivers. His face had been familiar, and the hope in it a dagger through his heart.

  Another wave of weakness washed over his body. He’d screwed up when he pulled those pillars up. He’d gone too fast, hadn’t prepared properly, and other people had paid the price for it.

  “Good, they’re not chasing us. Too busy to secure their unexpected find, no doubt,” Slyvair said.

  “Find?” It took Eurik a moment to recognize his own voice; he hadn’t realized he’d spoken up. But once the first word had left his lips, others followed. “They’re more than a find.” He growled, whirling out of Silver Fang’s support to face the orc. “They’re people, your people. Don’t you care? Why didn’t we try to rescue them, why didn’t we fight?”

  “Because sometimes, you have to take your losses.” Slyvair looked down at him, blood drying where his armor hadn’t protected him. “Sometimes, things don’t work out and you are left with your hopes and dreams in ashes. You taught me that.”

  “Me?”

  Herardios looked back the way they’d come, his face drawn from fatigue and fear. “Is this really the place?”

  Nobody answered his question.

  “You,” Slyvair confirmed. “I had a dream, a wish, one that I carried with me for fifty years. I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance—that the man was beyond my reach. But then, a few months ago, there he was, fighting in a Linesan arena.”

  A huge banner hung above the entrance, featuring a man wielding a sword and shield leaping at a fire-breathing san. The writing underneath promised a spectacle and twenty gold pieces for whoever could best their champion.

  “It was as if fate itself had conspired to bring everything together for me. One last job and I would have the means to make myself whole, and then I could prove myself as a warrior, a champion, once more. By killing the one who had maimed me before a crowd of thousands.”

  The orc’s hand drifted up to his steel-clad stump, and his eyes appeared to look through Eurik. “I went back to that arena every day, caught his every fight. I studied the way he moved, his technique. In my mind I fought him a thousand times until I knew exactly how to beat him. And then I got to watch you kill him.”

  Light spilled from the san’s mouth, his eyes, followed by wisps of smoke. A pillar of flame shot up into the sky, dying out as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving behind the charred remains of Chizuho.

  “I got to watch my chance at justice go up in flames.”

  “I’m sor—”

  “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.” Slyvair grabbed him and shook him. “Don’t you dare apologize for killing that butcher of children. Because if you do, I will kill you.”

  Eurik tried to push Slyvair’s arm away, but his renewed strength was already fading. “Then what do you want me to say?”

  The orc sighed. “I don’t want you to say anything. What I want, I cannot have. And my failure to deal with that has now cost me four of my men. Because I was so twisted up about my own loss that I signed him up,” he said, pointing at Herardios.

  “Me?” The mage took a step back.

  Slyvair nodded. “You. I should have noticed it at the time, how you only demonstrated two spells. How you glanced at your sleeves as you did so. You had the spells written down, didn’t you? A mage of the twelfth order—more likely you never even graduated.”

  “I . .
. I . . .”

  “Do not worry, I won’t leave you behind here for the elves to find. But you are fired the moment we reach Glinfell. At least you are not a failure I have to live with.” He glanced over at Eurik. “What do I want from you? I want you to be proud of killing that murderer.” Saying nothing more, he resumed walking back to camp.

  His men followed him, even Herardios, but Eurik was too stunned to do so. “I did not see that coming,” Silver Fang said as stopped next to him.

  “You didn’t?” A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. “People are dead, his people, even if they haven’t died yet. Because we failed to save them. And he talks about being proud?” He’d already seen people die. He’d killed them! But it had been a matter of survival, there had been a goal, and he could tell himself it had been worth the price.

  Eurik looked over at his friend, hoping she could make sense of it all. Silver Fang glanced back to the south. “You wish to ask why we’re not all as distraught as you are? Why we’re not wondering what we could have done differently? Can you not tell?”

  “Tell what?”

  She finally looked at him. “That we’re hiding it. It will come out soon enough, when the time is right.” Silver Fang shook her head, her single braid whipping around. “Now come, the others deserve to know what happened to their comrades and we have a body to retrieve.”

  “Nashri, that was his name,” Eurik muttered as he let Silver Fang guide him back. He studied her face, trying to see what she was talking about. He couldn’t.

  Chapter 10

  The Memory Remains

  As they walked back to the camp the anger, the fear, the grief, every emotion he’d been subjected to for the past few hours, it all drained away. It left him feeling hollow, empty, even as strength returned to his body.

  Eurik had to squint as they emerged from underneath the trees, as there were no clouds to obscure the bright morning sun. But even through the glare he noticed something was different about the camp: there was a group of people at the entrance that didn’t belong with the caravan.

  Some were on horseback, and others had dismounted and held their horses by the reins. The eight men were all clad in mail armor with red tunics over them and they had a shield shaped like a spade in one hand and a long spear in the other.

  Looking closer, Eurik noticed that some of the soldiers on foot held the reins of multiple horses and that three men stood closer to the entrance of the camp facing off against Ghajir and some of his archers.

  Two of them flanked the third who was just now shaking his fist in the merchant’s face. The one on the left carried a large round shield with a crowing red rooster on it; the other must have left his shield with his horse.

  The third man, the one who was actually speaking, was dressed differently from the rest. He wore a cuirass of polished steel that reflected the sun over his mail. It was hard to see his features through the glare. The sword at his side was long and straight, the scabbard worked with gold.

  Eurik tried to use his hand to shield his eyes so he could see better what was going on, but he had just done that when the speaker’s hand fell on his sword and he made to draw it.

  He connected with the earth chiri and stomped, sending his will through the earth and in between Ghajir and his attacker. A plate of stone rose up right in front of what had to be some sort of Irelian nobleman. They were supposed to dress like that, he’d read.

  Second step—he was too tired to think it all through—he simply acted. His arms rose, and three more plates boxed the man in. The soldiers wheeled about to face Slyvair and the others, and one of the nobleman’s companions drew a mace and raised it above his head.

  Final step—Eurik’s arms began to close to end the threat, only to freeze. What was he doing? That would kill the man.

  Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths and let his arms fall to his side. Sound returned, the man’s angry voice echoing up out of the box, easily drowning out the shouts of his men. Eurik didn’t understand much of it, but he still recognized it as Irelian.

  Slyvair gave him an angry glare before striding off to meet these newcomers, speaking out in the same language as the riders used. Eurik hesitated, unsure what to do. He could let the man go, but what would he do then? The man with the mace began to pound on the box, answering Eurik’s question.

  Lowering his palm, he allowed the plates to sink back into the earth and the nobleman came back into view. Whatever he’d done, it had at least distracted the man from Ghajir because he stormed off toward Slyvair without giving the dwarf a second glance. After a moment, the merchant did follow him, however.

  “That was unwise,” Silver Fang said. “But at least you stopped before killing him.”

  Eurik couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “You noticed?”

  “I may not understand everything about these powers of yours, but I could tell you almost made another move before stopping. Given what you’d already done, I can imagine how that one is supposed to end. More ruthless than I am used to from you.”

  He rubbed the side of his head. “I didn’t think. I saw Ghajir was in danger and I acted. Just fell back on my training, but I am supposed to keep thinking.” Scraping his throat, he looked at Silver Fang. “How badly did I screw up?”

  “That is an Irelian noble, a prickly bunch. They are addicted to offense, both receiving it and giving it. And they are always eager to avenge any they receive. Still, he does not have enough soldiers to do much but posture. I think it would be best if you do not speak to him and give Senan Aldhoub any more ruffles he’ll have to smooth out.”

  ***

  Leraine was relieved to see his nod. Rock might be strange, but until now his instinct had been to use minimal force. She was trying to break him of that bad habit; better to end things quickly than letting them build up. But there were situations where one should keep his sword in its scabbard entirely.

  Shaking her head, she turned her attention to the nobleman who’d reached Captain Slyvair now, his hand still on his sword in an unspoken threat and his face red with anger.

  The man came to a stop a couple of paces away from the group. So his anger hadn’t driven all sense from him. But instead of turning that anger on either Rock or Slyvair, his target turned out to be Herardios. “These are my lands, and now not only do I find you occupying it but you dare to imprison my person?”

  Herardios held up his hands and retreated before the noble’s fury. “I didn’t.”

  “Am I supposed to believe that prison sprang up from the ground spontaneously? Hmm, like those walls behind me! This is my land, spellslinger. I have the right to build fortifications. Nobody else!”

  “You should worry less about innocent travelers and more about the elves that beset them,” Captain Slyvair said, his one hand resting on top of an axe. “We fought off a raid not five hours ago.”

  The nobleman made a dismissive gesture with his unoccupied hand. “That’s what the dwarf said, but he has no evidence.” Did he not see their injuries? “We haven’t had any problems with them all year and now suddenly they attack a group so well protected? Ha, a likely story. No, you’re working for Roiland. How much gold did he pay to prepare my lands for his invasion? Answer me, and you may yet live.”

  Leraine could only stare. He had to be a spellsword—perhaps all his men were. It could be the only reason he was so confident. But even spellswords were not invincible and their current situation was a recipe for defeat. They were outnumbered and spread out so much that they could not support each other. The nobleman had two men with him, his shield bearer and a bodyguard, but those wouldn’t be enough to save the horse man’s neck if it came to blows.

  She ignored the paranoid ramblings about this Roiland, because for all she knew the man was right about this Roiland’s desires upon his land. Horse people, especially their leaders, were overly fond of stealing each other’s lands rather than things they could actually take back home. And they had the nerve to call her people thieves when they had
stolen all these lands from the Nations.

  “Lord Hooghturen, these people work for me,” Senan Aldhoub said as he approached the nobleman. “I shall speak for them.” He inspected them all from underneath his wide-brimmed hat, and his mouth tightened when he saw they’d returned empty-handed. “I say my evidence is right there.” The merchant pointed at an elvish corpse two drivers were carrying between them.

  Lord Hooghturen was silent for a moment. Then he turned away so he could no longer see the body. “Yes, well, that still leaves the matter of attacking my person. Not to mention erecting permanent defenses upon my land without my permission.”

  Senan Aldhoub rested his hands on his belly. “My personnel acted to defend me, as they are obliged to, and did so without touching your person. I say there was no attack. As for the wall, our agreement clearly states that we may erect temporary structures while we travel through your territory.”

  “That doesn’t look temporary to me.” The heat had returned to the Irelian’s voice and he waved at the low wall.

  “But it is. I shall prove it.” Senan Aldhoub gave Rock a glance and spoke to him in Linesan. “Eurik, please lower the wall.”

  “Of course.” Rock lowered himself until one knee touched the ground and placed his right hand on the grass.

  Leraine felt the earth shiver before the wall began to sink, but it had only gone down halfway when the Irelian nobleman cursed. “You! You were the one who attacked me?” He had his hand on his sword again and was already drawing it.

  “Master dwarf, these men look like they’ve recently been in combat,” one of Lord Hooghturen’s soldiers—the one armed with a mace—quickly said. “If the elves attacked your camp, why do these men come from the direction of the Woudanesee?”

  The nobleman froze and looked them over more closely. He truly hadn’t noticed. Meanwhile, Rock had continued to bring down the wall, which was now completely out of view. Breathing deep, he rose to his feet again, looking unconcerned.

  “We drove the elves off,” Captain Slyvair said, his posture utterly careless. “But they still got some of us. I decided to go after them and try to free the captives. Master Aldhoub, I’m afraid I must report we failed to save anyone. We did find one of your people butchered in the forest; we’ll need a sack to collect his remains.”