The Blood King (35 page)

“We won’t call the wolves to their slaughter. Although I believe you’ll hear them, beyond archers’ range. And come dusk, our guests may see a cloud of bats like never before.”

“Your mage talks… to bats?” Soterius said dubi-ously.

“A land mage can ‘speak’ to all things living, and persuade them to aid his cause.”

“Persuade?” Soterius questioned. “He gives the bats a choice?”

“That’s the difference between a mage that serves the light, and one that serves darkness. A Light mage doesn’t force any living thing to act against its will, or take from the land and seas what can’t be given back.”

. “When you’re done asking the bugs for permis-sion,” Soterius replied, “We’ll be down teaching the villagers to fight.”

Soterius and Mikhail found the villagers in the enclosed courtyard milling about nervously, several dozen in all, their few belongings tied up in sacks. The villagers greeted them heartily. Every able-bodied person who was not needed to suckle a child or tend an elder heeded the call to arms. For several candlemarks, Soterius and Mikhail trained them in the basics of castle defense. They separated those who could serve best as lookouts from those strong enough to help defend the gates. Together they worked with the villagers until the late evening bells tolled.

As the sound of the bells faded, Soterius paused. At first, he took the distant humming for the con-stant noise of the birds. But within a few seconds the hum became a roar, a force battering against the double wooden doors of the courtyard. “There’s something out there trying to get in!” one of the vil-lagers cried.

Once again, the wind roared and something ham-mered again at the doors.

“Quiet everybody!” Soterius shouted above the din. “Quiet!”

“We’re going to move for higher ground,” Soterius explained in his calmest voice. “Let’s start to move quickly to the stairs—”

The doors gave way.

A rush of freezing air swept through the court-yard, nearly taking men off their feet. As screaming villagers scrambled over each other to reach the stairs, the air began to swirl, growing colder and colder. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m not staying to find out!” Soterius shouted above the din as Mikhail struggled to herd the last of the villagers into the main citadel building. Soterius signaled frantically to a few stragglers who were attempting to lug their packs with them.

The swirling wind caught up the debris in the courtyard like the tornados that sometimes laid waste to the Margolan plains. Bits of straw, splin-ters of wood, and shards of broken glass were hurtling through the air, embedding in the wooden posts.

“Come on!” Soterius urged, hanging onto the door. The two stragglers, realizing their folly, began to run, their path blocked by the swirling wind that kept even Mikhail from intervening.

Soterius’s eyes grew wide as the icy spiral seemed to anticipate the stragglers’

lunge for freedom. He threw up an arm to protect himself as the vortex enveloped the stragglers. Their screams filled the air; blood spattered the courtyard walls as the vio-lent wind cut them to ribbons. Soterius threw his weight into closing the massive inner door, praying to the Goddess that it might withstand the onslaught. Mikhail joined him, adding his super-natural strength. Together, they managed to seal the door and throw the bolts just as the wind slammed into it.

“What was that?” Soterius asked breathlessly. Beyond the door, the vortex howled. In the hallway, babies screamed and children shrieked in terror, while the villagers, still clinging to their weapons, flattened themselves against the opposite wall, their faces pale with fright.

“An Elemental.” They turned to find Fallon behind them,

“A what?” Soterius breathed, still feeling his heart thud.

“An Elemental,” Fallon repeated. “Called by a mage.” She sighed. “Perhaps we can be thankful that it’s not a fire Elemental.”

“Will the door hold?” Mikhail asked, still braced against the force.

“It’s spelled to resist magic from the outside. We didn’t spell the common gate because there had never been a need.” She looked pained. “An oversight.”

“Then we’re trapped,” Mikhail said, looking lev-elly at Fallon. “Water fouled, our escape cut off, our source of food limited. Unless there’s a way to stop that thing.”

“There’s a way, but it isn’t easy. An Elemental, once called, can only be destroyed by the one who called it, or by breaking the concentration of the mage that cast it. I imagine,” she said, her dark eyes weary, “that the mage is out there, among the soldiers. And our only way out, with the stable blocked, is through the archers’ slits, too narrow for any man or child, or from the roof of the tower itself.”

Soterius’s eyes lit with inspiration. “If someone could get down there, how could the warding be broken?”

“A mage could do it with a word. Or a mage might put the spell on a small chit, a piece of pot-tery that bears her wizard’s mark, to send it with someone else.”

She frowned. “But no one here can fly. And if we send a mage closer or try to move the chit by magic, their mage will surely detect it.”

Soterius exchanged glances with Mikhail. “Either of us, by our own means, can get to the ground. I come from the high country, where climbing up and down cliffs is as natural as breathing. I’ve climbed the walls at Shekerishet many times. Give me cover, hand me the chit, and find me some rope and the leather to make a climbing harness. I’ll get it there.” He looked thoughtful. “And a few other ingredients our friend Carroway used for distractions might be useful, too.”

“Absolutely not,” Mikhail said. “I’ll go.” He held up a hand to stay Soterius’s argument. “I’m faster. I’m stronger. I have more natural defenses,” he said. “And I’m already dead.”

Fallon shook her head. “We’ve already tried. The Margolan mage placed a warding that drove the vayash moru back. They were unable to cross.”

“Then send me,” Soterius argued. “Anything’s better than waiting here to be cut to ribbons or starve to death.”

Fallon was silent for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “They sensed our mages as quickly as they sensed the vayash moru. We have no other experienced soldiers. There is no other choice.”

“If I can’t go, then let me get Ban safely to the ground,” Mikhail cut in. “I can fly.

I can have him at the tower base in a fraction of the time it would take to climb, and without the exposure.”

Soterius remembered Gabriel’s demonstration back in the salle in Principality City. “I’m willing.”

Fallon folded her arms. “Then it’s settled. In the meantime, rest. We’ll provision you.” It took Soterius much of the next morning to mix, by trial and error, smoke and light pellets like the ones that Carroway had used to highlight his songs and tales. He rested for the afternoon, rising at the supper bells to get ready for the night’s work. As he fin-ished, Fallon appeared with a thin, angular woman. “This is our land mage, Latt,” Fallon said. “She’ll raise a fog at moonrise and call the creatures of the wood to give you cover.”

“I’m ready.” Soterius looked at Latt. “You can talk to the bats about that cover.”

Fallon smiled at the characterization. “Our mages have been doing a great deal more than conversing with bats and wolves,” she said as they climbed the twisting stairs to the top of the citadel. “Our fire mage attempted to strike, but there’s a powerful warding which let a direct hit bounce away harm-lessly. Our water mages have called on the springs to bog down the ground, making it a sea of mud, which should hamper their use of war machines. Latt’s spell to spoil their food may have worked, in which case, you may find them… indisposed.”

“I used to think a mage would just look at some-one the wrong way and ‘poof,’

they’d be gone, or burned to a cinder,” Soterius said. Mikhail joined them at the third landing, climbing with them in silence. “After hanging around with Tris, I get the idea that it might not be quite that easy.”

“It’s taking a considerable amount of our mages’ energy to avoid going ‘poof when their mage sends something our way.” Fallon replied. “Which I’m sure is why Arontala added the mages.”

They reached the top of the tower. The moon was full and bright. Soterius frowned, wishing for clouds to dim its light. “I wish you well,” Fallon said.

“Wait until the twelfth bell. Then listen for the bats. They will be your cue.”

“I was kidding about the bats,” Soterius said with an anxious glance. “Never really liked bats,” he added beneath his breath.

“Latt also called a fog, which should help to hide your movements,” Fallon added. She handed him a folded cloak. “This cloak has been spelled to be magic-neutral. It will hide the spelled chit from detection, and may protect you from magic direct-ed at you.”

“May?”

“We don’t know the skills of the mage Arontala has sent. The cloak should shield you, but it can’t protect you from everything. Use caution.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t forget this,” Fallon said. She stretched out her palm, and her opened hand revealed a

plain-looking piece of buff pottery, stamped with an intricate design that seemed to blur and move. “It’s a wizard’s mark. This chit has been spelled to break the mage’s warding and destroy his Elemental. You must be within an arm’s length of him for it to work, and it must touch his body.”

“What if he has some sort of, I don’t know, pro-tections or something?”

“You’ll have to improvise.”

“Great. Anything else I should know?”

“The cloak will let you pass among our mage’s traps without harm,” Fallon told him. “You need fear nothing from the wolves, or the bats. But beware of the Elemental.”

Soterius raised an eyebrow at her tone. “The way you say that makes me worry.”

Fallon frowned. “Elementals are unpredictable. They’re a temporary creation, wholly created from the will and power of the maker. I can’t predict what will happen when you break the wizard’s warding.” “Meaning what?”

“Meaning that the Elemental may dissipate or—”

“Or what?”

“Or it may return to its maker before its energy is spent.”

“And I have to be within reach of its maker.”

“I’ve not seen many Elementals,” Fallon said. “Because of the danger they pose to the maker, wiz-ards of the Light rarely call such things. I have no way to know how spent its fury may be if it returns to its source. It could destroy the wizard alone—or the entire camp. Even the cloak can’t protect you completely from the energy of an Elemental,” she cautioned. “I suggest you escape quickly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Soterius retorted. Beneath him, the bells tolled eleven times. “I’d like to study the lay of the land from here,” he said. It wasn’t the first time that day Soterius had climbed to the tower’s top to survey the enemy. But in moonlight, the terrain took on a different look. He wanted to prepare, knowing there would be no time once he reached the ground.

“Goddess go with you,” Fallon said, making the sign of the Lady. “I’ll leave you now.”

“Thanks,” Soterius said, as she moved to the door. “Keep a watch out. I’ll need someone to let me back in.”

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THE CANDLEMARKS SLIPPED away, and soon the bells tolled midnight.

Soterius drew a deep breath, ready for the night’s work. He wore the mage’s cloak and the spelled chit hung beneath his,

tunic in a pouch on a strap around his neck. His sword hung ready and his dagger belt crossed shoulder to hip.

Just then, Soterius heard the velvet rustle of a thousand bat wings.

Soterius stepped up to the edge of the wall. He tried to quiet a primal panic as the vayash moru stepped up behind him, encircling his chest with inhumanly strong arms. In one smooth motion, Soterius felt his feet leave the ground. Then they were aloft, over the top of the crenellations and descending so quickly it made Soterius’s stomach flip.

They touched down lightly, and Mikhail released his hold, seeming to vanish in the next heartbeat.

The night air was cold enough to frost Soterius’s breath, and he was grateful for his heavy cloak. He looked up. Just as long as I don’t have to climb back in, he thought, adding a short, fervent prayer to the Goddess.

The cool mist of a thick ground fog greeted him, and Soterius dropped to a crouch. He lifted the spelled cowl over his head. He made his way through the mud, silently cursing the effectiveness of that particular spell. The cloak shielded him from the worst of the chill. Ahead, the fires of the camp burned brightly, their light diffused by the fog. From the woods beyond the camp, Soterius heard the howl of a wolf, and the answering cries of the pack. A shiver ran down his spine, despite Fallon’s assurances that the wolves had been warned of his approach. He had met up with wolves on campaign more times than he liked to remember, and the flash of their teeth and hunger of their snarls were clear in his memory.

Heart thudding, Soterius approached the camp, careful to skirt the rim of firelight, staying well into the shadows. How do I tell which one is the mage?

The troops wore the livery of Margolan, he noted bitterly. Close enough to see their faces, he watched the soldiers move about their camp, looking for anyone he recognized, surprised at how cold he felt inside at the thought of making war on men he once trained. The officers’ tents were close to the center of the camp, while the enlisted men’s tents circled the periphery. Soterius could spot the cook tent and the latrine, and a small wooden enclosure that served as a temporary stockade. There were more than enough soldiers to keep the citadel imprisoned

for quite some time. To his relief, the siege engines and catapults appeared to be mired in deep mud. It was obvious that the commanders were prepared to play a waiting game.

Soterius had made nearly a full circle before he spotted the mage, a solitary figure near the center of the camp. His shadow was outlined by the light inside his tent, his arms raised, a scrying ball sil-houetted beside him. Soterius smiled coldly, his target in view. This part of the job he understood completely.

It was joyous to do the work of a soldier once more, and he rose to the challenge. With a practiced eye Soterius set a course for himself, making use of what little concealment the camp provided. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to walk pur-posefully across the camp as if he belonged there.