Aethersmith (Book 2) (15 page)

I broke the horse. I scared the horses. The horses made
noise. They must have heard. They will come to look. They will find me. I need
to hide. No. I need to fix the horse. How? Is it
really
dead? I pulled
out its aether; maybe I can just put it back.

Anzik’s vision was keen enough that he could make out the
hollowed remains of the horse’s Source. Carefully, he directed much of the
aether back where it had come from, filling the Source like a vintner filled
bottles. The Source did not look quite healthy when he finished, but the horse
obeyed his silent command to get to its feet.

Somehow the other horses could sense something wrong with
their comrade. The one in the next stall, bearing a placard that identified it
as “Snowflake,” began to panic and try to break free of her confinement.

No! Stop that! They will come look!

Anzik panicked. It was no good fixing one horse if the rest
were going to give him away. He looked around at the contagious fear among the
residents of the stable, and then back to the horse he had just “fixed.”
Thinking quickly, he pointed the staff at the panicked horse and deliberately
drew its Source dry of aether. The creature fell limply to the ground, its
muscles flaccid and unresisting.

That set off a general panic among the rest of the horses,
beasts intelligent enough to realize there was something horrifically wrong.
Anzik silenced the rest of them as well, and his head swam as the vast wave of
aether crashed down over his senses. He stumbled to the nearest empty-Sourced
horse and refilled it, easing the pain of too much stored aether. Each horse he
fixed made him feel a bit better, both in eased pain and eased worry.

With the ruckus he had caused, it was too much for Anzik to
have hoped that he had not drawn attention. Behind him, he saw a small human
Source approaching the stable: the stable boy.

“Hey now. What’s wrong in there?” the lad called out as he
approached. “Skunk got inside with ya or somethin’?”

The horses were all quiet and gathering themselves up on
their feet again, but the boy had heard too much already. Anzik’s eyes turned
toward the stable door, waiting for the boy’s image in the aether to merge with
the light, to see him as a person rather than just a Source.

He was a boy about Anzik’s own age, perhaps a summer or two
older, but bigger and with the healthy look of a lad raised in fresh air.

“Hey! What are you doing in here, scaring my horses?” the
boy demanded.

I am sorry. I will go. Please do not tell anyone I was
here.
Anzik meant to say it aloud, but the words only echoed in his own
head. His tongue felt like a sack of flour in his mouth, limp and heavy.

“I asked you a question, kid. What you doin’ in here with my
horses?” the stable boy persisted, approaching threateningly.

Anzik held the Staff of Gehlen clutched close to his body,
but it did not seem like much of a weapon in Anzik’s hands, scrawny as he was.

Nothing! I did not kill them! They are fine, see?
Anzik’s eyes widened as the stable boy was not accepting either his apology or
his excuses. He took a step backward.
Please leave me alone. Please!

“Fine, then. Looks like I get to pound ya.”

They were the stable boy’s last words. When Anzik fled the
stable, he left his would-be assailant standing mutely, staring at one of the
horses, slowly leaking unhealthy aether.

* * * * * * * *

“Curse you, Jinzan!” Narsicann scolded, a rarity in open
Council. “You should have told us as soon as it went missing.”

“I had hoped that I would be able to retrieve it discreetly
before it became an issue requiring the Council’s attention,” Jinzan responded
defensively.

“How long has the boy been gone?” Kaynnyn asked, sounding
concerned. “I cannot imagine Anzik on his own in Zorren.”

“Nor could I, until now. I am finding myself impressed with
his resourcefulness, despite the inconvenience he is causing,” Jinzan admitted.

Anzik had always been possessed of more promise than
usefulness.
He has a Source that burns like a little bonfire and a draw many
adult sorcerers would envy. He casts nearly all his spells in his head and sees
aether as clear as daylight. If the latter had not driven him to the edge of
madness as a young child, he might have become a warlock one day.
Jinzan
still held out hope for his son, despite all practical evidence that he was a
lost cause, but it was not his job as a father to give up on Anzik.

“What if someone has already taken him?” Narsicann asked.
“Did you think of that when you decided not to enlist help looking for him?”

“No, but I remembered his pet dog.” There were uncomfortable
looks shared about the table. They all knew that the boy had dabbled in
necromancy recently. “I preferred to send folk he knew and would recognize. He
is young and naive, more so than even most boys his age. He might be taken by
treachery, but I would like to think that if there had been brute force
involved, we would have felt the aether rock under the force of him using that
staff to defend himself.”

“Not all of us notice such things, Jinzan,” Varduk commented
somberly, trying to diffuse a potential argument to get the conversation back
on course.

“If he truly tried to use it to its fullest extent, you
might,” Jinzan said. He had felt the awesome power when he had transferred
himself halfway across Koriah after the Battle of Raynesdark, using the staff’s
draw to give him the aether he needed.

“If they have been turned to undead puppets, so be it. That
staff needs finding. We will be cautious and they will bring no harm to the boy,
but we cannot let it wander loose in the city,” Narsicann ordered, looking over
his shoulder to see that one of his assistants nod to him in understanding and
hasten off to carry out his command.

“Now that we have something being done about that missing
staff, I thought of another question for you, Narsicann,” Feron piped up
cheerily, trying to lighten the dour, contentious mood that was threatening to
cast a pall over the remainder of the meeting.

“Yes?”

“You mentioned that you had lost men in Kadris. Does that
mean we have none now, or are there still assets we can avail ourselves of?”
Feron asked. “I have this idea, you see—”

“The ones left are untethered,” Narsicann interrupted. “They
have general orders, but do not report back on any schedule, and are left to
their own resources. It is safer for them if they do not have our people trying
to contact them. As such, I have no count of exactly how many are left, or
where they are now, but they are men and women I trust completely and whose
loyalty I do not question. Save your suggestion for when we have new recruits
to send in; I will not try contacting any of our current spies in Kadris.”

“Ooh, up to anything mischievous?” Feron grinned. Jinzan was
spared the council's scorn as it turned to Feron and his insipid questions.

“Since word could not reach Kadris in time, I suppose there
is no harm in revealing that there is a plan in place to coincide with the
first day of springtime,” Narsicann relented, trying to placate the simpering
fool of an interior minister. Feron was brilliant in his own work, but he was
so bothersome at Council. Everyone just wanted him to shut up so they could
finish.

“Something for a wedding, perhaps?” Feron pressed.

With no further business requiring attention, a quick glance
among the other four members ended the High Council’s session by mutual
agreement, leaving Feron’s question unanswered as they got up simultaneously
and left. A few chuckles from the outskirts of the room followed their
departure, many from Feron’s own underlings.

* * * * * * * *

“How long will it take us to get there?” Though he looked
like a trader from Gar-Danel, he spoke with Faolen Sarmon’s voice. He sat up
front in the wagon, next to the driver. A team of four horses—fine, strong
animals, native to western Megrenn—pulled them along.

“Three days, at this rate,” replied a man who sounded—but
did not look like—Aelon Beff. Faolen’s magic was making them appear as
foreigners so that they did not attract undue attention as they trekked
northward to Megrenn territory. The wagon, the horses, and the clothes they
wore were taken from actual Gar-Danel traders that had the misfortune of being
in Kadrin at the time Aelon had been assigned by the warlock to find them a
cover story. The goods they carried in trade were plundered from the
Song of
Night
, which Faolen’s magic had fooled into plowing into a sandbar.

“So many people on the road. You would never think that we
were on the very threshold of war,” Faolen commented. Kadrin citizens streamed
southward, seeking safety in the heartlands. Megrenn and other foreigners
ambled alongside Faolen and his companions on their way north, to
Anywhere-But-Kadrin, the continent’s most popular place for anyone not of
Kadrin blood.

“Dunno ’bout that,” Jodoul’s voice came from the back of the
wagon, where he and Tod diced as best they could on the bumpy road. “Folk know
what’s good fer ’em. War ain’t it.”

“Yeah. It’s like them huntin’ dogs what can smell fear,
’cept in reverse,” Tod observed sagely.

Faolen furrowed the brow of his borrowed face, unable to
follow the analogy as it was spoken, but understanding what Tod probably meant.

“So once we got that staff, then what?” Jodoul asked.

“I do not expect to have that question troubling us for some
time yet,” Faolen replied. “Like as not, it is either under lock and ward, or
in the hands of that sorcerer who stole it in the first place. The opportunity
to gain it may take some time in the arranging.”

“Or we might just all die tryin’,” Aelon suggested, keeping
an open mind about their options.

“In the meantime, we will worm our way into their
confidences however we can manage. If we cannot make a play for the staff
immediately, we can find other ways to disrupt them and divert them,” Faolen
continued.

I travel with three who barely speak Megrenn, and speak
it with a Kadrin accent, not a Gar-Danel one,
Faolen thought.
I must
remember that they are the expendable ones here—my cover. I must retrieve the
staff and bring it safely back to Warlock Rashan. Barring that, I must see it
destroyed. I will save their lives if I might, but I must not risk my mission
by it.

Faolen looked to Aelon and the two rough scamps that gambled
in the back of the wagon. He did not
dislike
them or anything …

Chapter 10 - First Strike

The ground rumbled as they advanced, beating a slow,
irregular rhythm. Iron plates as thick as a man’s thumb rang against one
another, covering the enormous beasts they protected like insect shells.
Perched atop his walking mountain of flesh and iron, General Hellmock peered
through the tube of the farseeing lens, and tried to confirm his scouts’
reports.

The High Council had ordered a coordinated assault to begin
on the first day of springtime, but they had not been privy to the reports he
had been given. Kadrin forces were marching to reinforce Temble Hill, his
intended target for the invasion’s first strike. The city was reported to be
nearly deserted, with the peasants fleeing to the interior of the Empire with
whatever they could carry. They were staffed with their normal garrison and the
city would normally be fine to hold off a siege for a few days until help
arrived. That was why they sent the monohorn cavalry.

Three hundred monstrosities lumbered along under Hellmock’s
command, the largest such force in the Megrenn Alliance. Ten thousand infantry
supported them, with regiments from most of the kingdoms of the alliance
represented. Two thousand archers were along as well, but they would play a
larger role in holding the city once it was taken. Hellmock’s army did not have
any siege weapons in the traditional sense—not even any of Councilor Jinzan’s
new weapons, which Hellmock quite admired—but the monohorns had provisions that
rendered those optional.

With the prospect of facing a larger force if he delayed,
Hellmock took it upon himself to order the attack a day early.

* * * * * * * *

On the walls, spotters had been watching the approaching
Megrenn force uneasily. Temble Hill had prepared its soldiers to be ready to
defend the Empire, as they were on the front lines of its defense, but drilling
in the practice yard with spears and shooting arrows into hay bales was unlike
the prospect of facing a charge by monohorn cavalry.

“They are getting close. This looks like the real thing,”
Colonel Polarch called out to the archers along the battlements. “They would
not risk entering our range if they did not intend to continue forward. Bows to
the ready, men. Await my command.”

All along the walls, soldiers and knights ended what
respites they had been taking and got to their feet. There were four hundred of
them left in the city. The rest had gone south to escort the peasantry to
Munne, which was better prepared to withstand Megrenn’s army. Once they had
seen the peasants safely removed, they had been told to turn north and head
back to Temble Hill. If all was going to plan, their return was what had
prompted the Megrenn to attack early.

* * * * * * * *

“Looks like many of the ones up on the wall are knights,
sir.” Lieutenant Carva handed the farseeing lens back to the general. “Maybe
close to half.”

“They must see us with monohorns and know that the fighting
will be within the city gates soon, no matter how many archers they put up
there. The knights just want a better view in the meantime,” General Hellmock
said.

The monohorns were armored to stop ballistae, so arrows were
nothing to them; even the eyes of their ponderous helms were shielded with mesh
cages too tight for an arrow to slip through. The creatures did not see
especially well to begin with, so the obstructed view was no great loss.

Carva and Hellmock watched as a crew worked with a mobile
crane to lift a great battering ram onto the yolks of two pair of monohorns.
The device was the closest they came to a proper siege engine and they brought
but one with them. That one was more than enough, according to the logistics
officers who had to manage the massive, unwieldy weapon. Four docile monohorns
stood by as two dozen infantrymen swarmed about them, the footings of a small
construction site. The caged eyes of the monohorn helms had solid cups that
could be raised and lowered to blind the creatures completely. So long as they
went uninjured, being blind caused them to freeze in place; aeons of evolution
had made them instinctively fearful of loose footing and not seeing where they
were walking. It made the work safer if the beasts kept still.

Once the ram was in place, Hellmock ordered the advance. The
monohorns with the ram took the fore, and the bulk of the heavy cavalry
followed a short distance behind. Monohorns were not swift beasts, but they
could work up to a brisk pace with enough room. They were also not agile
beasts, being somewhat more nimble than turtles—elderly turtles at the least.
However, what they lacked in speed was more than compensated for in their
titanic strength and near imperviousness to most weapons. They carried hundreds
of gallons of armor on their backs, and riders as well, without showing the
least burden. Strip the armor off and their hides could still turn aside many
sword blows. The four with the ram were larger than average specimens and
barely slowed by a ram that must have weighed a thousand gallons.

The Kadrins did not even bother them with many arrows as
they closed the distance to the gates.

* * * * * * * *

“Off the wall. We’re done,” Colonel Polarch ordered. “Light
the ropes and mount up. Get to the south gate. Your lives depend upon it.” The
colonel then followed his own advice and slid down a ladder to ground level.

All around him, men were untethering horses that had been
set waiting for them in the streets. There were enough for every man to make
his escape if they hurried. The Megrenn force was hurrying to arrive in the
city before Kadrin reinforcements could get there, and had not taken the time
to surround the city with even a token force prior to attacking. Marshal
Brannis’s plan had counted on that.

On the wall and in the city just inside it, catapults filled
with fist-sized rocks stood ready to be fired. They had all been rigged with
oil-soaked ropes and piled with kindling. When the long length of rope finally
burned through, the catapults would fire and then be set afire. The rocks would
slow the monohorn charge and might incidentally kill a few if they lost their
footing at a full run.

As he mounted his white mare, Colonel Polarch looked to the
city gate. The runes that normally reinforced it had been scratched to ruins,
leaving the gate nothing but a thick wooden barricade. It would stand against
the Megrenn ram as well as a wicker basket might against a smith’s hammer.
Though it would cost him his life to stay, the colonel wished he could be there
when the monohorns crashed through that gate …

… and into the massive pit dug just beyond it.

Colonel Polarch spurred his mount, and galloped for the
southern gate, near the rear of the organized retreat. He grinned wickedly when
he heard the crash of splintered wood and the great bellowing screams of the
monohorns. By nightfall, his force would meet with the “reinforcements” coming
up the road toward them, and they would all make for Munne to make a stand in
earnest.