A Solitary Journey (10 page)

‘Vision has taken the drug?’ Vale asked.

‘Yes,’ Reason confirmed, ‘and it has freed his mind to amplify his Blessing.’

‘What else can he do?’ Weaver asked.

‘Fire is his Blessing,’ said Reason.

‘Let me try it,’ said Onyx, opening the phial.

Diamond snatched it from him. ‘Vision is an experiment,’ he warned. ‘We’re waiting for any side effects.’

‘Side effects?’ Onyx queried.

‘Bad reactions to the drug,’ Reason explained. ‘We’re seeing how much he can take and how much stronger his Blessing becomes with higher doses. You’ve seen the effects on the addicts in the city slums. Continuous use or too much at once can kill.’

‘We need to see what the limitations are,’ said Diamond. ‘When we know, then we can all start to use what is appropriate.’

‘This drug is a gift from Jarudha,’ said Onyx. ‘We are indeed on the verge of Paradise.’

‘Yes, we are,’ said Diamond. ‘Yes, we are.’

T
he Kerwyn soldiers in their distinctive red leather armour ran along the street with flaming brands, yelling encouragement to each other. One stopped to fling his brand through the window of a butcher’s shop, while his companions ran on—headlong into a storm of arrows. Screams of alarm and pain were drowned by battle cries as Shessian soldiers charged from the buildings to engage the ambushed Kerwyn and in a few bloody moments fifteen Kerwyn were dead and the rest in desperate retreat.

On the city outskirts, a citizen militia skirmished with Kerwyn soldiers between the burning ruins of houses, attacking and running and attacking again. Kerwyn thundermakers boomed over the yelling and shouting men, cutting down individual targets, but the Shess men avoided massing to reduce the impact of the thundermaker magic.

The main Kerwyn army was crossing the River of Kings with hastily built ferries to circumvent the Shessian protection of the bridges, but the crossing was slow and Warlord Bloodsword expected it would be two days before his full force was marshalled to attack the city. In the intervening period he sent in skirmishing
troops to harass the Port of Joy citizens and wreak havoc by pillaging and burning the city outskirts. The priests had abandoned his cause and escaped to join their treacherous brethren in the city, much to his delight. He had never trusted the southern barbarian priests and their faith in their single god. No one god could be responsible for the world and for everything in it. His faith was rooted in many gods, each with particular virtues and vices according to his or her responsibility. Sword-of-Fire, God of War, was his favoured deity, and Sword-of-Fire had never let him down in all of the battles that he’d fought and won.

He rose in his saddle to estimate how many troops were settled along the near river bank. Satisfied that he had enough to send a small force to capture the southern section of Port of Joy, he sent his orders to Hordemaster Swifteyes and waited for events to unfold. The barbarian king had no choice but to capitulate within a few days because his city was besieged, his armies spent and scattered, his navy destroyed and his people hunted into extinction in the countryside. The battle for Port of Joy was underway, but the war for Western Shess was already won.

Hordemaster Swifteyes relished his duty to capture the southern quarter of the barbarian city. He marshalled his troops, issued orders, and they began their attack. Believing that he had little to do but to observe and wait for news that the area was under Kerwyn control, Swifteyes dismounted and challenged his four guards to a game of knucklebones. Into the third game and winning, he was interrupted by two soldiers. ‘Hordemaster,’ one gasped as they arrived, ‘the barbarian priests.’

Swifteyes dropped his four knucklebones and glared. ‘What about them?’ he demanded.

‘They come against us, Hordemaster,’ the soldier told him.

‘Then kill them,’ Swifteyes said disdainfully. ‘Show them the wrath of Kerwyn for those who dare to betray us.’

‘Their magic is too strong, Hordemaster.’

‘Bullshit!’ Swifteyes straightened up and looked over the heads of the cowering soldiers at the smoke-draped city. A ball of fire erupted among the buildings. Already, men were retreating. ‘You and you!’ he snarled at two of his guards. ‘Go turn those gutless curs around and cut them down if they don’t obey you.’

The guards rose and strode towards the deserting troops, drawing their swords as Swifteyes saw another fireball explode, this time among his Kerwyn soldiers on the city fringe. ‘See?’ a soldier insisted. ‘Their magic is strong.’

Swifteyes slid his weapon from its scabbard and lifted it before the frightened soldier’s sweaty face. ‘See this?’ he said. ‘This is the only magic you need to fear.’ He flicked his wrist, twisted the sword and stabbed the startled soldier in the stomach. ‘Feel the raw power of
that
magic,’ he said, staring into the dying man’s wide eyes. He glanced at the second soldier. ‘Are the priests this powerful?’

‘No, Hordemaster,’ the soldier stammered fearfully.

‘Then you know what to do.’ The soldier backed away three steps before turning and running into the battle. Swifteyes wrenched his sword from his victim’s intestines and let the man collapse with a quiet groan. ‘Clean that,’ he told the remaining guard as he handed him his weapon. ‘Let’s show these bastards who has power.’

Mounted, Hordemaster Swifteyes cantered towards the centre of chaos where his men were massing, caught between retreating and rallying. On a flat roof fifty
paces from the main body of soldiers, Shessian archers stood with two of the blue-robed barbarian priests while Shessian soldiers and city militia were frantically barricading the street entrances. Swifteyes reined in and held up his hand to order silence, until the chaotic hubbub faded. ‘An empty spell or two!’ he yelled. ‘That’s all you run from! But you know the mediocre tricks these pathetic priests use—a little magic—not enough to stall an army of five thousand Kerwyn men.’ He pointed to the Seers on the roof. ‘Archers! Bring them down!’

Kerwyn soldiers broke from the main body and lined up, unhitching bows and readying their arrows. Swifteyes grinned with anticipation. The range was good. The Shessian archers were aiming their weapons, but the Seers were not trying to escape. Instead they were raising their arms as if praying for help. The Kerwyn archers fired and their shafts whistled across the intervening space as the Shessian arrows also took flight. Knowing that he was not in the incoming path Swifteyes watched the rooftop as the storm of Kerwyn arrows rained down—and saw the shafts harmlessly disintegrate in puffs of flame an arm-span short of their targets. The only effect of his archers’ attack was the instinctive cower of the Shessian archers who expected to be struck. Realising their impunity, the Shessian archers reloaded and fired again, their missiles maiming and killing, spreading panic through Swifteye’s troops. ‘Attack them, you cowards!’ he bellowed, and wheeled his horse to intercept three escaping men. ‘Get back there, you gutless dogs! Men of Kerwyn don’t run!’ Afraid of the red-faced Hordemaster, the men retreated to avoid the circle of his wrath before they scattered and bolted for safety. A swathe of arrows thudding into men and armour and the ground close to Swifteye’s position warned him that he was within the enemy’s
range, but instead of retreating he turned his horse, yelled for his horsemen to follow, and spurred towards the buildings.

With the wind in his dark mass of hair, his horse’s hoofs thundering across the ground, his sword glinting in the sunlight, Swifteyes rode into battle to sweep the enemy aside, enveloped in the invisible mantle of tradition and heroism passed down from his great-grandfather who had fought and won honour in the High Mountain Wars. Riders with him formed a rough rank and they charged towards the building where the barbarian priests were trapped.
I will show my men what true courage is,
thought Swifteyes as he urged his horse on.
I will show them that the only magic in this world is the terror of a warrior’s sword.
Fifty paces from the building, arrows bouncing from his shield and shoulder armour, Swifteyes felt a rush of engulfing heat as the leather reins melted in his hands and the world evaporated.

‘How successful was it?’ Diamond asked, studying the stupor on Vision’s face as Seer Weaver led him into the garden.

‘Amazing,’ Weaver half-whispered, unable to mask his awe. ‘He created a fireball as large as a thunderclap. It was a true Blessing—a miracle!’

Diamond turned to Weaver and witnessed the rapture on the man’s face. ‘So euphoria magnified his Blessing as I promised?’

‘Redefined it,’ said Weaver. ‘It is as if he can cast—can conjure a Blessing at will.’

‘The Kerwyn went into full retreat when they saw their leader vanish in Jarudha’s flame,’ added Gold. ‘I was with the men building the barricade and they all vowed to pray every day having seen what Vision can do.’

‘A little violence is always conducive to increased religious fervour,’ Onyx noted wryly. ‘We should have been using it a long time ago.’

Diamond glared at Onyx before he turned to Vision and said, ‘How does it feel?’

‘You’re wasting your time,’ warned Weaver. ‘Reason gave him enough to make him cognisant of his Blessing for the better part of the day. That means he can hear us but he can’t respond.’

‘The drug heightens the senses,’ Reason interrupted, walking from the temple towards the group, ‘but it comes at the cost of communication and free movement. Vision can hear you and he can reason what he hears, but he can’t tell you what he thinks of that.’

‘So that’s one side effect we have to watch,’ said Diamond.

‘I also think Vision is at the limit of his dosage,’ said Reason, studying Vision’s demeanour. ‘Any higher dose will kill him.’

‘With what I saw this afternoon, what he can do is enough,’ said Weaver.

Diamond nodded as he stroked his straggly white beard. ‘Then it’s time for someone else to try the drug,’ he said and looked at Onyx.

Onyx’s left eyebrow rose and he looked to Reason for support, but Reason only confirmed Diamond’s suggestion. ‘We know enough now to know the limits,’ he said. ‘It’s safe enough for others to try. I think we could try it on a younger man as well,’ and he looked at Weaver.

‘I would be honoured to serve Jarudha in this way,’ said Weaver. Onyx’s expression wrinkled into a scowl of disapproval because he knew that he had no choice but to serve the call of Jarudha and his colleagues.

Smoke above the city outskirts confirmed Warmaster Cutter’s fears and the reports brought to him as his army marched north that the Kerwyn were determined to take Port of Joy. From the hilltop he surveyed the size of the Kerwyn army. It outnumbered his force five to one at a quick estimation, but the barbarians straddled the River of Kings, cut in half as they were making the laborious crossing. If Cutter wanted to save his city he had to strike swiftly. He sent orders to his Shieldmasters who marshalled the soldiers. Cutter would lead the cavalry. The concentration of troops in the northern section of the Kerwyn force on the western riverbank was the most likely place to find the Kerwyn leader and he would have the cavalry strike there, swiftly and with purpose. A Warmaster had the luxury of leading from safety on a hilltop, but he was unaccustomed to the role of watching a battle, and expediency demanded a strong commander.

Grey clouds dulled the midmorning sunlight by the time his troops were in position. Seagulls circled in the west over the bay and crows drifted on the currents ahead.
Strange omens,
Cutter thought as he considered his army’s chances of success. If the Kerwyn knew he was coming, the odds were even more against victory.
Sometimes,
he pondered as he waved for the assault to begin,
our lives are determined by nothing but a roll of the dice.
He checked the progress of the foot soldiers and when he was certain of the timing he led the five thousand-strong cavalry in a sweeping arc towards the city.

When the Shessian cavalry thundered over the closest crest to the Kerwyn troops Cutter saw that the presence of his army was unannounced as the startled enemy soldiers scattered to avoid being trampled by five thousand charging horses. He crouched over his horse’s neck, urging the animal on, relishing the wild ride
through the enemy ranks. To his left, the grey and white city buildings were broken by smudges of smoke and ruins of destroyed buildings and to his right the Kerwyn army was a seething wall of red armour. Ahead, city and enemy merged. He crouched lower and yelled in his horse’s ear, ‘Through them, Bravesteed!’ and braced for the impact. He felt contact with Kerwyn soldiers shudder through Bravesteed’s shoulders and withers as the horse burst through the ranks, faltered and returned to a gallop.

He was aware of riders around him, but he focussed on the red pennant marking the position of the Kerwyn leaders. A hundred paces on, when another wall of Kerwyn soldiers appeared, Cutter gritted his teeth and dug his heels into Bravesteed’s flanks. The Kerwyn stood tall and Cutter saw a wall of white smoke burst from their ranks. Around him horses fell and riders somersaulted to the earth. His left leg and shoulder felt as if they’d both been punched and started stinging, and Bravesteed broke his stride momentarily, leaving Cutter to wonder what strange magic had been cast, but Bravesteed recovered and they broke through the Kerwyn line and were charging their target.

The Kerwyn massed in his path and he reined Bravesteed in, wrenching his sword from its sheath to slash at hands and weapons reaching towards him. His riders pushed into the battle, hacking through the mob. Some were pulled from their horses, disappearing under the brutal crowd, but the cavalry made headway. Cutter’s left arm streamed blood and lost its usefulness, as he slashed at the enemy furiously with his right sword arm, pushing for the red pennant and his goal. Bravesteed stumbled and to Cutter’s shock collapsed, pitching the Warmaster into the crowd. He kicked and thrashed on the ground, surrounded by legs and screaming men, desperate to stop the enemy from
pinning him, and winced as something bit into his side. Then he was under a horse and more horses’ legs strutted around him, driving the Kerwyn soldiers back from their trapped quarry. Grateful for the reprieve, he went to stand, but his left leg buckled and he grunted in agony as he landed on his right side. For him, the battle was over.

News reached the King in the afternoon that his courageous Warmaster had broken the Kerwyn attack on Port of Joy, forcing the enemy to retreat across the River of Kings. Together with the earlier reports from the previous day that the Seers stopped the Kerwyn sacking the southern quarter of the city, the news meant King Future had enough military strength to force the Kerwyn king to the bargaining table. He spread the map across the war table and studied the lines and notes scribbled during the Kerwyn invasion by his mother’s advisers. The same men were working for him, as if nothing had changed. He smiled ruefully. Nothing
had
changed. He was desperately defending the kingdom just as his mother had been defending it from him.
This is what she felt like,
he realised, and sighed.
I caused her this much pain.