Draconis' Bane (16 page)

They made their way
over to the hill leading into another valley camp and a chill ran
along Tristan’s spine. He looked around, trying to find the cause
for the chill, though nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The heat
from the day was fading away, but it wasn’t cold at all. He shook
his head, clearing his thoughts for the pending battle. In the
distance he heard a bow sing as the whistle of an arrow followed. A
man in the camp screamed as Tristan’s force scrambled over the
hill.

It was then that
Tristan saw the reason for the scream; the arrow had struck a man
in the shoulder, spinning him into the fire he was sitting in front
of. He was still screaming, running from tent to tent looking for
help as fire consumed him. The image burned itself into Tristans’
eyes as he rushed down the rise with the west and east forces
meeting inside the camp already.

The wounded man was
effectively setting the whole camp on fire as every tent he touched
burst into flames. Some of his more clever soldiers began cutting
tether lines causing the burning tents to collapse on their
occupants. The hair on the back of Tristan’s neck rose instantly as
a ball of fire erupted from the bonfire and struck a large group of
his men. His eyes focused on the fire, though he could see no one
around it. At the edge of the camp though he could make out a man
in a concealing robe, he waved his arms around in an arc and
another ball of fire erupted from the bonfire as his men leapt out
of the way.

Tristan ran for the
robed man as an arrow sung through the air. It stopped a few feet
in front of the man, burst into flame and the ashes blew away in
the breeze. A soldier made it to the robed man before Tristan did
and before his sword fell he was thrown backwards by an invisible
force and landed painfully on top of other members of the
7
^th
.

The Prince stood in
front of the magician, his sword and dagger ready. The magician
laughed and moved his hands in an arc, Tristan felt strong pressure
pushing him back, he crossed his blades trying to force himself
forward and the pressure stopped immediately.

The robed man’s eye
widened in shock and he waived his arms around in another arc.
Tristan rushed forward and drove the hilt of his sword into the
magicians face. His hood flew back as his head snapped back and he
crumpled to the ground; unconscious. Around him Tristan could hear
his men cheer as they gathered up the last of the enemy
survivors.

It was then that
Tristan noticed a chain around the magicians’ neck, a large silver
chain with a roaring black dragon pendant. Tristan pocketed the
pendant and then sheathed his sword, knelt and used his dagger to
cut a strip of the robe off the magician and bound his hands behind
his back. He lifted the man over his shoulder and hauled him back
to the bonfire, where he dropped him unceremoniously in the
dirt.

“How many did we
lose?” he asked.

“Twelve in that
fireball and another three by their soldiers, two more are mortally
wounded and won’t make it through the night.” Captain Robertson
answered.

“Damn.” Tristan
answered his head dropping.

“We lost Halvorsen.”
He added.

“
Damn.
”
Tristan slumped down, sitting on a log. “Get the men organized and
whatever prisoners we have ready to move. I heard some horses,
let’s see what we can find to make our trip faster.”

“We head for Irudin?”
Robertson asked.

“We head for Irudin.”
Tristan answered.

Two hours later a
ragged band rode into Irudin town. They had found a wagon into
which they crammed all of the surviving prisoners while two of his
injured soldiers drove the team of horses. The 7
^th
had
also found ample mounts for their surviving members. Tristan took
the largest of them as he draped the still unconscious magician
over his lap. After a quick word with the guards at the gate they
were given an escort through town while a runner was sent to the
keep to rouse the Baron.

The keep drawbridge
lowered and Tristan felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to
rise again. This time, he realized what it meant and drew his sword
and drove the hilt into the back of the magicians head again,
rendering back into unconsciousness. The hairs immediately lowered
and he smiled grimly despite his anger at himself for losing so
many men. The gate swung open to reveal Gerald standing in his
nightshirt. Tristan laughed out loud in spite of himself.

“Wake you did we
Dana?” He asked.

“I’m running out of
room in my dungeons young Prince.” Gerald replied
sarcastically.

“You’re just going to
have to build more of them then.” Tristan replied laughing as he
dismounted, allowing the magician to slide out of the saddle and
land painfully on the ground.

“Who’s this?” Gerald
asked, indicating the unconscious prisoner.

“That’s what I intend
to find out.” Tristan replied. He turned to Robertson. “Please see
to the men Captain. They’re going to need plenty of rest; we’ve got
the return trip yet.” He instructed.

“Sir.” Captain
Robertson replied, and then he saluted and marched off to see over
his men and the prisoners. Tristan grabbed a handful of the back of
the magicians’ robes and turned to his former teacher.

“Now, might you
recommend a place to question our robed friend here?” Tristan
smirked.

Gerald returned the
smile and motioned for the young Prince to follow him as he led him
down into the dungeons, far below the keep. Tristan had never seen
these before. He assumed the dungeons outside along the keep wall
were the only ones Irudin possessed. Dragging the unconscious
magician behind him, Tristan descended another staircase into a
solitary room. It held many contraptions, both large and small
along all four walls.

Behind them, Tristan
heard footfalls as the torturer entered the room, covered from head
to toe in black cloth. “In the seat if you please my Lord.” He said
in a deep voice.

Tristan complied,
dumping the mage into the chair and then pulled up a chair of his
own as two more guards entered the room, closed and bolted the door
behind them.

“He’s a magician.”
Tristan informed them.

The torturer nodded
once to the young Prince and then turned and opened a cabinet on
the nearest wall. He pulled out an amulet, a large red gem set
inside a silver circle on a thick chain, which he put around the
magician’s neck. He then proceeded to prepare the tools of his
trade.

He pulled out a small
vial of white liquid from the cabinet, which he put on a small
table he brought over next to the magician. Tristan noticed that
various sharp and lethal looking objects were also arrayed on the
table. The torturer walked over to the corner and stoked the fire
in a small brazier built into the wall. He pulled a few instruments
down from the wall and put them into the fire.

Tristan watched,
fascinated but also strangely hesitant as torturer uncorked the
vial and waved it under the magicians’ nose. Instantly the
magicians head snapped back as he tried to shake the smell out of
his nostrils. He eventually came around completely and began to
look around the room he was in.

“What are you doing
with Terum soldiers?” Tristan demanded.

Their eyes locked and
Tristan tried his best to look calm, crossing his arms and leaning
them over the back of the chair facing the magician. The robed
man’s eyes drifted to Tristan’s sword hand and his eyes widened, he
tried to get up but he’d been tied down by the guards while the
torturer was preparing. The magician stopped his squirming and
focused his eyes on Tristan, obviously attempting to cast a spell.
Tristan made a move to get up, but the torturer motioned for him to
sit, and then pointed to the amulet, which had begun to glow. The
magicians’ eyes narrowed as if he’d finished his incantation, the
amulet flashed slightly and then went dark again.

Perplexed the
magician tried in vain three more times until he finally looked
down, seeing the amulet there he grunted. His head snapped up and
he spit at the Prince, Gerald made three strides over to the
magician and back handed him clear out of his chair. The torturer
sighed as he motioned for the guards to lift the mage back into his
chair. He looked at Tristan, who nodded his approval as he picked
up a pair of pliers from the table. The guards finished chaining
the magician to the arms and legs of the chair.

The torturer grabbed
a hold of the mages hand, bent it back painfully and clamped the
pliers on the nail of his middle finger, in one swift motion he
yanked the nail free. The magician screamed out as the color
drained from his face. His heavy breathing was interrupted by
Tristan’s renewed question.

“What are you doing
with Terum soldiers?”

The mage shook his
head violently. The torturer walked calmly over to the fire and
pulled out a red hot pointed iron. He walked back and grabbed a
hold of the magicians hand again, slowly digging the iron into the
tender flesh revealed under the removed nail. The mage screamed
before passing out from the pain. The torturer waved the vial in
front of his nose again. When the magician regained consciousness
the torturer nodded at the Prince.

“What are you doing
with Terum soldiers?”

~

A few hours later the
magician died, but not after revealing everything to them. He had
been sent as part of a force of soldiers. They were given little
instruction, just told to stay at their designated camps until they
were called into action. Tristan and Gerald were now discussing
this in the Baron’s council chamber. It was much like Kevin’s, only
more elaborate and there was a great polished marble fireplace
where a fire danced merrily. A tray of food and wine had been
brought in and placed on the table.

“What do you make of
that?” Gerald asked regarding the information obtained from the
magician as he tossed a pendant the dead mage was wearing onto the
table.

“Well, we know there
are similar camps along the Eastern Road, from your soldiers’
reports and now confirmed by the magician.” Tristan began. “What’s
this?” he asked holding up the pendant.

“It’s the only thing
the magician had; he was wearing it around his neck.” Gerald
answered.

Tristan examined the
pendant, a roaring dragon carved out of atacamite, which was
attached to a silver chain. “Anyway, what bothers me is how clumsy
it was done.”

“How so?” Gerald
asked.

“It was just so
poorly planned, you’ve got twenty some odd companies out there
acting like bandits and generally making a mess of the
countryside.” Tristan explained.

“Isn’t that the
point?” asked Gerald.

“I don’t think so.
It’s just so…random. It doesn’t make sense, what’s their purpose?”
He asked. “To cause trouble? We’ve got plenty of our own trouble
without a thousand men wandering around the main roadways.” Tristan
explained.

“There’s the matter
of the embezzled funds.” Gerald persisted.

“True. But why
embezzle money from businesses that are already being robbed by the
bandits and yet still making profits?” Tristan asked. “Wouldn’t it
serve their purposes more to either rob the businesses blind, or
call off the bandits and embezzle
more
money?” The young
Prince asked exasperatedly.

“Because that is not
their true goal.” A familiar voice called from the doorway behind
them.

“Father!” Tristan
announced with a smile.

King Dion stood in
the doorway, looking windswept and travel weary. Tristan stood and
walked over to embrace him.

“Your mother and Euri
are here as well.” His father began as he strode into the room and
sat down at the table. He accepted the offered glass of wine from
Gerald, picked a couple chunks of cheese and wrapped a slice of
meat around them then wolfed them down.

“We need to talk, so
you can visit them later.” His father said between chews. “I’ve had
word that your failed assassination attempt is creating panic in
Terum. They assumed you would die and we would observe the old
traditions.”

“Old traditions?”
Tristan asked.

“It’s traditional for
the funeral to take place at the first full moon.” Gerald
commented.

“Exactly. You were
attacked the day after the full moon, and you lay unconscious
through another. The plan was to wait until you died and then
spring the trap.” Dion concluded.

“I’m confused.”
Tristan said.

“Until you and Kevin
arrived in Irudin the plan was to hold Kenting to siege, bringing
troops around it and into lands already held by their companies of
men. An enormous army would then march from Golshy Pass and stage
from Irudin to strike north into Metao.” His father explained.

“How did you learn
all this?” Tristan asked.

“A spy was caught and
tortured. He knew far more than your magician would have.” He said,
taking a gulp of wine. “After you and Kevin ruined their staging
point they had to come up with a new plan. Everyone seems to have
been in the dark about it though. The various companies of Terum
soldiers just started carving out little kingdoms of their own as
soon as they stopped getting orders from Samuel.” He chuckled.

“The east is mostly
cleared of Terum soldiers my lord.” Gerald offered.

“The west has a small
fort and a small company left.” Tristan reported.

“The stragglers in
the east and the remnants in the west are being seen to already.”
His father stated. “The Terum conquest is crushed and we’ll likely
go back to sending envoys to each other and tossing a few stones.”
He scoffed.

“So, why are you here
then?” Tristan blurted.

His father turned to
face him, smiling; “You did very well, I’ve spoken with Captain
Robertson. He was most impressed.”