High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (69 page)

My solution had been two-fold.  The first involved procuring the surplus cotton barges in dry-dock . . . and having them fitted with make-shift steel runners underneath.  The wide, flat barges made ideal transports for personnel as they did bales of cotton.  I’d had to show the Gilmoran smiths at Durrow how I wanted the blades shaped, and they’d depleted their stores of iron to do so, but I had twenty large barges that could skate across ice, now. 

They weren’t the sturdiest craft – they were used primarily to transport the bulk of the cotton harvest downriver, and were therefore built for capacity more than for durability.  They were also outlandishly painted, as each Gilmoran trading house tried to attract business with their transports.  I’d sent Tyndal and Rondal ahead to secure them and prepare them for their means of propulsion.

That’s where Ithalia came in.  I’d noticed both in Gavard and at Anthatiel that both the fell hounds and the local mongrels had no difficulty padding across the ice with minimal slips.  So I’d had Ithalia and her folk gather as many dogs as possible from the abandoned kennels of the Gilmoran manors they were passing, and transgenically enchant the ones most suited to the task. 

It had been a tall order.  Fell hounds were massive because they’d been secretly bred that way in the mountain lairs of the gurvani over generations.  The average Gilmoran hound is no more than fifty pounds, and the breeds were tended with very specialized tasks in mind.

Ithalia had settled on a mixture of racing dogs, herding dogs, and hunting dogs, though she had found a few mutts who had been bred for fighting (a popular, though disreputable sport in genteel Gilmora) and had adopted them personally.  Apparently the assignment had inspired a serious case of puppy love in the rustic Alkan noblewoman.

After the laborious process of transgenic enchantment the dogs were five times their original size.  Hounds that had once herded sheep were now large enough to herd horses.  Racers that had once chased rabbit skins around a track now chased sheep . . . and ate them.  Hunters who had once pointed and retrieved ducks and pigeons for their masters were now large enough to retrieve a hart with little difficulty. Ithalia had delivered two hundred and fifty giant dogs to the converted barges at Durrow, and with Rondal and Tyndal overseeing their harnessing (hemp rope, not leather – it was all we had time for), were eventually able to get the hounds leashed to the boats with a lot of helpful spells from Ithalia and her Alkan kin.

An hour after dawn, the first of our makeshift sleighs rumbled up the Poros, Tyndal standing triumphantly over a team of seven, surrounded by giant dogs who were enjoying the ride.  He explained to me later that the massive mutts seemed far more eager to pull the barges if they got a regular turn at riding.  The psychology of dogs is beyond me, but there was no denying the expressions of abject joy on the dogs who were riding.  Tongues lolled.  Tails were wagged.

The appearance of the first barge elicited a profound outpouring of wonder and respect.  There had been a lot of speculation on just how I’d planned on getting everyone in our little army several hundred miles west.  Now they knew.  While it wasn’t as classy as the waypoints, the gaudily-decorated cotton barges and the barking, panting, scratching giant dogs who pulled them got a lot of appreciation. 

The Kasari were enchanted with the dogs, and a sea of green cloaks and colored triangles soon surrounded the rangers.  It didn’t take long before they were all hugging and petting the massive beasts like puppies, up to and including rolling around on the ice with them.  The dogs seemed delighted at the change in perspective, including the amplified barks they could muster.

“I feel like I’m in a bloody temple procession!” chuckled Azar as he stowed his equipment in the lead barge.  “Are you sure that there aren’t any sweetmeats aboard that I can throw to the kiddies?”

“Here are your sweetmeats,” Sarakeem the Archer said, throwing five bulging quivers into the barge from the ramp.  “Be generous.  Don’t skimp.”

“Are you certain that’s enough?” Lorcus asked, as he hopped in the boat.

“These are just the ones I’m bringing with me,” he nodded.  “I have more in my baggage, with the Alka Alon.”

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” said Lorcus as he made himself comfortable and took an apple out of his bag.  “This is a damn sight better than most of the shit boats I’ve been on.”

I had the enchanters among us detailed to see to the blades of the odd craft.  Each one was magically enhanced for durability, friction, and soundness before we left.  The barges were enchanted to reduce drag do to air friction.  You’d be surprised just how much that can impede progress at any real speed.

And of course the dogs, themselves, were enchanted.  Ithalia and her folk laid spells of endurance and energy upon them, and did some Alkan trick that made them all behave perfectly when in harness. 

When we were all loaded up and packed, our three thousand warriors were spread out over twenty boats, each one pulled by a team of ten dogs.  Additional hounds were scattered among the boats to cycle out as we journeyed.  The goblins had taught us that much.

I was riding in the lead boat with many of my best people.  Arborn elected to join me there.  I noticed he and Pentandra having some close words nearby, before we boarded.

“Do me a favor, Min,” she whispered to me, after she had bid him farewell and he’d climbed the ramp.  “Can you . . . keep an eye on him for me?”

I stared up at the six foot three-inch tall muscular warrior, whose dark eyes and dour look made him appear a hero out of legend.  In comparison, I felt like a market conjurer.

“Uh, sure, Penny,” I said, gently.  “I’ll keep the little tyke out of trouble.”

“Do that,” she urged.  “At least you get to go with him.  I’m stuck here with Dunselen the Dreary.  Even Isily has snuck off to get away from him.  The man is repulsive. Unfortunately, he’s also a decent thaumaturge.”

“You’re in charge of knocking out that spell,” I reminded her.  “If I have to hold your crush hostage to get it done, I’m not above that.”

“He’s more than a crush, Min,” she said, just above a whisper.  “I’ve never met any man like him.  He’s so . . . pure.  Good.  He’s too good to be true.”

“I’ll remind you that you said that, later,” I promised.  “We’ll come back.  We’ll all come back.”

“Do that.  I’ll handle my bit.  I’ve got the brightest minds at Alar and Inarion Academies working on the thaumaturgical end of it.  We’ll come up with something,” she assured me.

“I hope so,” I agreed.  “Your bridal shower depends upon it.”

“Don’t even joke about that!” she said, adamantly.  And seriously.  In the face of that kind of response, I found other things to do.

Dara and her wing of three hawkriders would be accompanying us, providing cover and intelligence from the skies.  She and the Alkan Emissaries had successfully cast the spell on six birds total, now, but only four were adequately trained to bear a skyrider.  Her crew included the hawkmaster, who cared for the birds, and a collection of young people of humani and Tal Alon descent who rode them.  She had pushed to get two more riders aloft for the journey.  That only left two of her giant birds without riders.

I had high hopes for the project, but there were misgivings all around.  The riders were young and inexperienced, their birds were still skittish about the transformation, and there was plenty of danger inherent to the task.  They had all volunteered nonetheless.  Dara’s brother had accompanied them, too, a deadly-looking young man who had been in charge of guarding Caolan’s Pass for the last year.  He looked as eager as any in the company.

I went to each of the twenty boats to inspect it for myself, introduce myself, describe the plan yet-again, and thank everyone for their trust, faith, and fearlessness.  What we were attempting had never been done, and there would likely be sagas written about the attempt, whether it was successful or not.

As I was climbing into the lead barge, the dogs anxious to be underway, I heard a shout from below.    Just as I was about to pull up the ramp, Lady Varen appeared at its foot.

“Master Minalan,” she called in her bell-like voice.  “I bid you farewell, and with all the speed your gods can grant you.  For I have just received word from Master Haruthel.  Two dragons have appeared over Anas Yartharel.  They are attacking the citadel.”  That was bad news of the highest order.  Anas Yartharel was the Alka Alon’s greatest fortress.  I didn’t think it was dragonproof.

“Dear gods!” Lorcus said, from behind me.

“That is not the worst.  Three dragons have appeared over Anthatiel.  They are attacking the gates in preparation for the army’s assault.  You must hurry.  Every hour you delay may spell our doom!”

Chapter Thirty-One

Journey Up The Frozen Poros

I had no idea just how long it would take us to get up the river.  The goblin army was ahead of us, moving slowly but steadily, and we had a lot of distance to cover in a very short time if we were to get there in a timely fashion.  The entire operation was impromptu, and our ability to improvise was challenged every step of the way.  With no time to test our novel transportation, once we got in the barges and actually set the dogs to pulling, I was pleasantly surprised to feel the monstrosity lurch forward and begin the journey.

It took two drivers to manage the team, and for the most part it was the Kasari who volunteered for the duty.  They encouraged the enchanted dogs to make as much speed as possible . . . and that turned out to be considerable.  We passed by the first of the towns despoiled by the goblins within an hour, and it was twenty miles upriver from Gavard.

With the enchanted sleigh runners and the enchanted dogs, we made far, far better time than I could have dreamed.  We were nearing the fifty mile mark in the afternoon when we made our first stop to water the dogs.  They barely seemed winded. 

Along the way we passed the tell-tale signs of the army we were pursuing.  Burned-out villages, barges frozen midriver and burnt to the ice, and wherever some poor fool had been unlucky enough to be caught by the army, their grisly remains were artfully displayed to warn others of lingering too long.

The army had stained the ice black with its passing.  We tried to avoid the faint rut that ran down the center of the frozen river and stick to one side or the other.  The dogs would slow at every fresh sign of the gurvani and whine a bit at whatever bit of offal they had left behind.  Unsurprisingly, many times that refuse was composed of individual gurvani who had been unable to keep up.  A few times we came across headless gurvani.  Apparently Shereul occasionally had discipline issues.

The worm droppings we could have done without.

Late on that first day we came to the site of a battle, the aftermath of which was inconclusive.  There were hundreds of bodies of both goblin and man piled up on the side of the river, and the entire area was stained with blood.  A broad smear nearly a mile wide told us the encounter happened before the army passed . . . and they had not stopped.

The night slipped by like the trees on the banks we were speeding passed.  The entire barge vibrated as the long steel blades were pulled over the rough ice.  It produced a kind of loud rumble that soon pervaded your very bones.  At first it was unnerving, but then everyone got used to it and eventually it became kind of soothing.  It was too difficult to talk at length over the noise, so most contented themselves with sleeping or speaking mind-to-mind.

I was doing the latter most of the night.  I was still receiving updates from the few folk we’d left back at Gavard Castle with Count Salgo.  King Rard had been calling through the Mirror, but Salgo had put him off, explaining I was on a short, urgent mission and would return directly.  That hadn’t pleased His Majesty. 

Rard wasn’t exactly aware that the bulk of his kingdom’s magical protection was now rumbling up an icy river in a desperate attempt to save a realm he barely knew existed, much less cared for.  Nor would he have approved.  That was precisely why I hadn’t asked him. 

That was a breach of protocol of the highest order – after all, he had made his intentions clear.  I was skirting a technicality by declaring this a mission of the Arcane Orders, as opposed to a strictly military operation.  And since I had not used any of Rard’s paid troops (excepting the former remnant of the 2
nd
Commando) I had not technically broken his edict.

But I knew he’d be plenty pissed about it when he found out.  I couldn’t help that.  All I could do is hand him a victory that would mean something, in the long term.  Not mere piles of goblin heads, or even dragon heads, but a real, tangible sign of progress in the war.

Until he discovered me, I had a job to do.  That included extensive mental conversations with a variety of people to discuss the thaumaturgical end of the freezing spell, and while I love to talk shop about thaumaturgy I prefer to do so over a mug of ale, not freezing my ass off flying like an arrow down an icy road toward an uncertain doom.  Worse, the conversation soon went way beyond my capacity to follow it.  We were dealing with gurvani magic of a very specific type, and that was causing some difficulties.

Overhead Dara and her brave falconers were scouting ahead and ensuring there were no traps for us to contend with. Apparently the gurvani were not anticipating pursuit, for they left nothing behind to discourage it.  Dara’s birds were adept at discovering bands raiding on either side of the river, but with time so critical I could not in good conscience order us to stop.