From Across the Clouded Range (92 page)

Another jaw-popping yawn racked Ipid’s
body. His eyes drifted relentlessly shut. He caught himself just as
his head was dropping to the ground and pulled his eyes open. To
keep himself awake, he thought about what he would see if he were
watching the battlefield rather than the flap of a tent. The city
had gotten word of the invaders almost a week before their arrival,
and that had allowed them to gather and arm over ten thousand men,
but only a fraction of those had any training beyond a week of
siege preparation. The others were craftsmen, farmers, merchants,
the too old, and the too young. They were poorly equipped and
barely trained. Ipid had spoken with every unit, had told them why
the battle was important, had told them everything he had seen, but
they had enlisted to shuttle supplies, repair defenses, push back
ladders, defend walls. As harrowing as that would be, it was a long
cry from standing on an open field against the demon stoche, giant
Darthur, and an army that outnumbered them many times
over.

A ruffling sort of knock at the flap
of his tent roused Ipid from his thoughts. He looked up in time to
see a black hood duck inside. “May I join you?” a familiar voice
said.

Before Ipid could respond, Eia stepped
through the flap and deposited herself on the ground facing him
with her knees almost touching his in the small space. “I promise
not to kiss you, if that is your concern.” She pulled the hood back
from her face. The sparse light of the tent radiated from her pale
skin and wild curls of luminescent hair. Despite the rain falling
outside, it did not look like a drop had touched her
robes.

“
You’re not supposed to be
here,” Ipid managed to whisper. Arin had made it clear that he was
supposed to wait in his tent
alone
.

“
Do not worry.” Eia placed
a hand on his knee – he could feel the chill of her fingers even
through the wool of his pants. “The camp is as empty as the Great
Waste. No one has seen me, and if I so desired, they would not see
me even if they stuck their heads through this flap.” She closed
her eyes and mumbled a few strange words. When she stopped, she
faded from view until she was gone.

Ipid searched for her with his hand
and found her heavy robes and the slender arm beneath. He held her
arm in disbelief as he reached down to where her knee pressed
against his. His groping hand came down on her slim thigh. Eia
giggled and slowly reappeared.

“
You have broken my
spell.” She smiled around a giggle and a glance at his hand resting
far too high on her thigh. “Touch me with two hands and I cannot
maintain the deception. It is not a very good use of the gift. It
does not work in full daylight or if several people look at me at
the same time.”

Ipid snapped his hand back, but it was
the least of his concerns. His mind swam. Things like that were not
supposed to be possible, and if that was not a very good use of her
power. . . . He wondered what else his new friend could do, and
what her real motivations might be – he still remembered what
Valati Lorenzo had said about the Exiles.

“
Why are you here?” he
asked more accusatory than he meant.

“
Are you not happy to see
me?”
Eia
made a false pout
.
“I told you I would not kiss
you, you great prude.”

“
I don’t have time for
games,” Ipid snapped.

“
I am sorry.” Eia found
his hand and put hers on top of it – it was made of ice. “The Belab
has asked me to keep you company this day. He has asked me to help
you, and I gladly agreed.”

“
I don’t want company. The
people fighting out there are my friends, my servants, my workers,
my countrymen. Please try to understand how that makes me
feel.”

“
You don’t think I
understand?” Eia’s eyes blazed. “I was there when our order was
slaughtered. I have the scars to prove it. If I had not chosen to
stand with the Belab, I would have been butchered like the rest of
those who held their oaths. It is a shame and a memory that I live
with every day. Do not tell me that I do not understand. More than
anyone, I understand, we understand.”

Ipid was set back as Eia’s flirtations
turned cold. She did not raise her voice, but she did not have to.
He did not know what to say. How could he have been so insensitive
and selfish, especially after what Belab had told him? He stammered
to apologize.

“
You need not apologize.”
Eia's face softened, malevolence gone as fast as it had come. “It
is I that should apologize. I do understand what you are feeling.
If I were you, I would not want me here either.” She paused, and
Ipid thought that she might actually leave. Suddenly, he wanted
nothing less. “But,” she raising her eyes to his, “I have something
that may change your mind.”

Ipid opened his mouth to tell her that
was not necessary. Her finger covered his lips to silence him. She
began chanting in the strange language that seemed to be part of
her magic. She put her hands over his eyes and held them there. A
second later, a charge arched through his body in a single spasm.
When it was gone, he was no longer looking at Eia or the tent. He
was looking down on the Thoren common lands from a nearby hill.
Horsemen surrounded him on all sides. The city folk were arrayed in
the field in the distance, stacked in a series of long rows. At
their sides were the few mounted men the city could muster. It was
just as they had drawn it the day before.

Immediately in front of him was a mass
of black that could only be the stoche. Their numbers were far more
than Ipid would have guessed. There must have been thousands of the
creatures stretching the entire length of the invaders’ line as far
as the eye could see in each direction. The creatures churned in a
frenzy that did not allow his eyes to fix on any one of the things.
It made them look like a single entity with cruel blades, teeth,
and claws each catching the sparse light in turn. It reminded him
of something he had seen before, but he could not remember what or
where. A mass of black with shining teeth, claws, and wicked eyes.
. . .

He felt cold hands on his ears.
Another spasm of power hit him just in time to hear the deafening
peal of Thorold great horn. It was echoed by the sound of others
from further along the line and then the roar of thousands of men
all yelling together.

Looking behind him, Ipid saw the
Darthur in row after row leading down the hill. Behind them were
the non-Darthur warriors in every array and configuration. All told
it was more armed men than he had ever seen assembled in one place
or ever cared to see. All of those men were well-armed,
able-bodied, and seasoned. The city folk did not stand a
chance.

Turning his eyes forward,
he saw the wave of stoche flying down the hill and across the
field. "Do you think there will be any of them left by the time we
get to them?” Suddenly terrified, Ipid turned to the familiar voice
and looked into Arin’s clear blue eyes.
What has Eia done?
He tried to run.
He rose to his feet, tripped backward, and nearly collapsed his
tent as he fell into the back wall with a thud. When he hit the
ground, the image was gone. He was looking at Eia. She was
disoriented and rubbing her eyes.

“
What . . . what
happened?” He checked himself and his surroundings. He was still in
the tent. Arin was nowhere to be found, and he was thoroughly
confused.

“
I used my power.” Eia
sounded distant and tired. “I was allowing you to see the battle.
When you pulled away, you broke the spell and created an influx in
the power I was drawing upon.” She reached out and grabbed his hand
in her soft, but ice-cold, grasp. “Please, calm down. It will help
me recover.”

“
How could you do that?”
Ipid concentrated on slowing his panting breaths and pounding
heart. “Did he see me?” The thought sent another wave of panic
through him. Eia groaned in response.

“
Please, be still,” she
insisted. “I am very sensitive to the power right now, and you are
creating it with your hysteria. Arin did not see you. You never
left this tent.”

Ipid sighed in relief. “So what can’t
you do with these powers of yours?”

Eia smiled, looking better. “My gift
is nothing next to that of the Belab and the Belan Hilaal. These
tricks are mere parlor games in comparison. I am Caliele Hilaal. My
gift is to draw on the ebbs and flows of the power of Hilaal. I am
not as strong as many of my fellows, but my gift is more subtle and
I do not need as much power to use it.

“
The Belan Hilaal, in
comparison, draw on the full magnitude of Hilaal’s gift. They use
vast amounts of energy but can only do so in short bursts. Their
powers are far more profound than mine, but they need a much larger
source to draw upon and tend to struggle with the more subtle
aspects of our craft. In a battle such as the one taking place
outside your city, their abilities are almost unlimited, but in a
quiet forest grove or a sleeping village, they would be
helpless.”

Eia looked at Ipid. He was
not sure that he had understood a word of what she had said
–
what was this power anyway?
But he suddenly remembered the battle raging so
close by, and his questions seemed frivolous.

“
It is all far more
complicated than that, but you could probably care less.” Eia
laughed. “I am sorry that I have bored you. Again, there are more
pressing concerns than my philosophizing.”

“
No. I actually have
countless questions. I am sorry if I did not seem interested.” Ipid
did have a thousand questions waiting on his tongue, but Eia was
correct about more pressing concerns.

“
Please. You do not need
to apologize. I am feeling better now. If you would like to see the
battle, I can use my gift again. This time, I will warn you.
Please, stay calm, and keep hold of my hands. If you want to ask me
questions, we can talk as normal. Remember, you are not there. You
are only seeing and hearing what is there. No matter what happens,
you are still here with me in this tent.”

“
I understand.” Ipid
nodded and moved closer so that they could comfortably hold hands.
“Thank you for doing this. I am sorry I was short
before.”

“
Apology accepted.” Eia
smiled then began mumbling. Ipid felt the power rush through him
and was back on top of the hill, watching the battle. It was purest
anarchy.

#

Dasen dreamed that he was sleeping in
a soft bed covered with a thick feather comforter between sheets of
sumptuous silk. Huge pillows were piled about his head. Soft music
drifted through the room from a quartet of musicians. A warm fire
burned in the hearth. Firm glass and thick velvet curtains covered
the windows to shield him from the cold, wind, and rain. A
breakfast of sweet breads, soft-boiled eggs, milk, tea, and
sausages waited on a table near his bed. And he knew that no matter
when he rose, that breakfast would still be hot.

A baleful note sounded. The dream
shook. A brightly colored man with a horn appeared. He blew into
the horn and unleashed a string of harsh notes as he danced around
the room knocking over the breakfast, throwing open the windows,
ripping off the sheets, tearing it all apart with his horrible
little horn. Dasen covered his ears with his hands, but it was too
late. The beautiful dream was coming apart. The lovely room, the
bed, the breakfast all faded until the only thing remaining was the
sound of horns in what now seemed the distance.

Dasen sat up abruptly from what was
left of the sod bunker. He rubbed at his eyes and shook from the
cold. The day was grey. A misty rain fell. He was covered in mud,
grit permeated his every pore, gummed his eyes, filled his ears,
and clung to his hair. He spit in a futile attempt to clear the
soil from his mouth. Through all that, his body ached in a way that
had become sickeningly familiar. His stomach rumbled. And his head
throbbed. He yawned and looked toward the sound of the distant
horns.

Miseries were forgotten. He reached
for Teth, began shaking her blindly, unable to pull his eyes from
the nightmare that his dream had become. Even as he studied the
dark shapes surging toward them, his mind struggled to believe what
it was seeing. Hundreds of creatures were charging at them,
sprinting toward where he sat in the middle of an open
field.

Dasen sprang from the ground. He
grabbed Teth at the same time her head rose from the hole. She
looked at him groggily. Her clothes were black with mud. They were
soaked clean through and clung to her. Huge clumps of grass stood
in her hair as if they had grown there.

“
Goodmorn . . .” she
began.

“
Run!” Dasen yelled.
“Don’t say another word. Just run!” The momentum of his first few
steps pulled her from the ground, almost toppled her forward. She
looked over her shoulder as she stumbled, gasped, cursed, and
ran.

The fatigue that lingered
in his legs forgotten, Dasen hit his full stride and looked up. He
very nearly turned back around. Fifty paces in front of him was a
row of spears pointed out toward him like a steel-tipped fence.
Teth pulled up beside him, and they stared in confusion.
This can’t all be for me
, he thought.
By the Order, the
entire army is out here.