Lesson of the Fire (36 page)

The Mardux’s Blosin gloves might yet prove
the most dangerous magical application developed in the last
century.

He had linked the recon stone to the one in
the original recon chamber, where a particularly unpleasant series
of traps awaited anyone clever enough to discover the source of the
recon spell. The recon scans themselves were on varied intervals
ranging from one minute to fifteen, both to foil attempts to
exploit the interval and to provide the illusion that a wizard was
scanning the area and not just a recon stone.

Beyond the wall of power surrounding the
town, the defenses were relatively sparse compared to the traps
within. Only a few were more dangerous than the ones Sven had once
used to protect Tortz. In part, Einar did not have the time to trap
every puddle for miles around. He knew Robert and the others would
not make the mistake of ignoring other angles of attack. The traps
outside the walls would deter a more mundane assault and,
hopefully, convince the reds to teleport straight into Leiben,
where they would die.

When they finally did, Einar had no
intention of being in Leiben. He examined his enemies’ progress on
the recon stone. They had reached the perimeter of the traps. Of
the reds there was no sign, but Einar had expected that. Robert
would have kept their movements hidden. The information on the
recon stone could well be an illusion in itself. The farl had
certainly proven himself capable of that elsewhere.

Now to let them know where they can find
their damnen.

Einar gathered the myst and opened a gateway
into the Tempest.

* * *

“The Mardux’s minor magocrats mimic gobbel
tactics admirably,” Robert commented.

“That is the capital of the Protectorates,
then?” Valgird asked with a frown. “With that many defenses, this
could be a long siege.”

Robert shook his head. “No, Weard Geir. That
is what the Mardux intends for us to do. The Protectorates’
reconnaissance network is no longer functional, so we no longer
need to capture this town.” He turned to face Ari and Valgird. “We
will find and capture the other villages and let this one starve in
safety. The Mardux will regret wasting his time on tricks.”

Ari stopped listening and went back to
watching the myst. He had picked up on Robert’s technique of using
Knowledge to scan the myst instead of torutsen, which was in short
supply. The farl used such skills with ease, and Valgird ignored
them as useless. Ari initially strained to control enough Knowledge
to make it work, but he could maintain it for an hour at a time
now.

He saw the pinprick to the Tempest open and
explode into a ball of flame before everyone else. A dozen weards
fell before anyone could react.

“One of them has come out to meet us,”
Valgird growled, drawing his marsord.

Robert did not move. “No. There is no wizard
in the camp.”

Another pinprick opened, and a wave of Power
and Vitality ripped twenty greens in half at the waist, showering
the sedge and ferns of the moors with blood. Seeing nearly one
third of their force die in under a minute put the remaining
mercenaries to flight.

“Fall back!” Valgird shouted at Ari and
Robert.

Robert stood his ground, unfazed by the
display of magic and the resulting carnage. Ari saw the cyan motes
whirling around the three of them, blocking out all magic.

He thinks we’re
safe,
Ari thought, heart pounding. “Robert,
he is right. This is a signature tactic. The spell arrived through
the Tempest, which means we are not facing a cyan or
amber.”

A figure in red appeared in front of them
with the sun at his back. He held a marsord in his right hand and a
javelin in his left. Cyan motes whirled around him as he stalked
toward them with silent confidence.

“The Mardux!” Valgird gasped.

“No,” Ari said in a small voice, taking a
step behind Robert. “It’s Weard Schwert.”

Einar’s javelin was in the air before Robert
could dismiss the Elements shell. Valgird gestured with a hand as
if expecting to deflect it, but he couldn’t seize Power through the
remnants of Robert’s defense. The shaft slammed home in Valgird’s
neck in a fountain of blood, and he tumbled to the ground, too far
gone even to command Vitality to heal the mortal wound.

Einar strolled closer. Ari saw Robert
calling myst to form his Will-Breaker.

Ten more steps before he
throws the marsord at Robert,
Ari thought,
calling a wall of Power to deflect a blow.
He will defend with damnen’s skin until Robert wastes his
Will-Breaker, and then he will use linetel to get behind one of us
with his knife.

“Weard Schwert,” Robert said pleasantly. “I
have looked forward to our first meeting. I suppose I should give
you a chance to surrender.”

“If you wish to surrender, Weard Wost, then
surrender,” Einar said, matching Robert’s tone as he came closer.
“I defeated three consecutive reds for the Chair.”

Ari added yellow motes to
his flow of blue.
Five steps.

“I could have defeated six, if your laws
allowed a farl to sit on the Chair,” Robert said.

Three steps.

“Only six?” Einar held out his gloved, empty
left hand toward them. “With this, I could take on the whole
Council at once.”

Ari opened his mouth to warn Robert, but the
enchanter had already taken the bait. The Will-Breaker shattered
against Einar’s countermagic shell even as the warrior let fly with
his marsord.

The two-bladed weapon turned end-over-end
through the short distance between them. The long, hacking blade
struck Ari’s wall of Power, but the other wizard was already in
motion — a split-second flicker of Mobility. Ari activated his
spell just as Einar appeared behind Robert, knife moving to cut the
enchanter’s throat.

The Tempest swallowed Ari, and he spent the
long silence of teleportation wondering whether he had reached
Robert before Einar had. He arrived with a case of teleportation
sickness that doubled him over with vomiting — the price of such
hasty linetel. Relief flooded Ari when he saw Robert stooped over
looking similarly miserable.

The enchanter’s wand-wielding slaves
gathered around them, their normally vacant expressions suddenly
interested. Ari called the myst to defend himself in case seeing
Domin overcome with nausea would somehow dispel the Will-Breaker.
They made no move to attack, though, simply watching their master
with impotent hate in their eyes.

“I was not expecting that,” Robert said
abruptly, scrubbing his face with a scrap of cloth. “We should
collect our mercenaries and regroup.”

“If they are not dead yet, they soon will
be,” Ari said, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into his
voice. “Weard Schwert is as ruthless as Volund in dealing with his
enemies. He is hardly kinder to those he calls friends.”

“I thought enhanced warriors fought
toe-to-toe. Those attacks came through the Tempest.”

“Enhanced warriors turn battles into duels
whenever they can,” Ari explained. “You are fortunate Valgird was
killed first.”

“I suspect he knew I would flinch.”

Ari shrugged. Robert maintained an
appearance of cool arrogance around wizards, but that was because
magocrats held enchanters in such contempt. He acted more like
himself around Ari, and even then, there was always a little worry
behind those pale blue eyes.

Weard Takraf came to him for knowledge, and
Robert obliged him. Without Robert’s wands, Sven could not have
built the Protectorates and would not have survived Tortz. And yet
Weard Takraf betrayed his teacher as surely as Einar betrayed my
mother.

“You fear Weard Schwert, but you hate him
even more,” Robert said conversationally.

“The same could be said of you and Weard
Takraf,” Ari countered with heat in his voice.

Robert laughed. “That is the Ari Faul I
accepted as an apprentice! Such fire, but I’m glad to say you are
less of a fool than Weard Geir was.”

“So we have lost the day. What is our next
move?”

The enchanter considered this for a long
moment. “Do you think he was telling the truth about knowing the
secret of the Mardux’s Blosin glove application?”

“I cannot say. He did nothing today that he
could not do before, but enhanced warriors love keeping back some
of their power so they can surprise enemies.” Ari scanned the crowd
of slaves again. “It is possible.”

“Do you think we can convince Dux Feiglin
that he was?”

Ari smiled. “I see where this is going, and
yes, I believe you can convince the dux of anything you wish.”

“But we will need reinforcements.”

“First reinforcements. Then revenge.”

* * *

Einar’s recon detected a new force of
wizards led by two reds. The army seemed to have swollen tenfold
since the futile assault by the Flasten greens. He knew immediately
that the enchanter was manipulating his spell to report false
information.

As if such an obvious ruse would fool
me.

It would be dark soon, Einar knew, and even
a red cloak was scarcely visible by night. Naked-eye reconnaissance
was always more accurate than a recon spell, and he might be able
to inflict some casualties before withdrawing to the safety of
Leiben.

Until then, I must save my strength so I can
escape when I must.

It hadn’t taken Einar long to realize the
Mardux intended to abandon the Protectorates.

Mardux Takraf’s own creation, a sacrifice to
the enemy. But had he predicted it would be conquered this way?

Any good strategist would have chosen the
route Sven had. Two armies, one four hundred times the size of the
other, one heading away from your army and one toward it. Which do
you attack? Take care of the big one first, and then clean up the
rest. You did not put out a candle when your house was on fire.

I’m on my own against this invasion.

When Her had vanished below the western
horizon, Einar set out from Leiben, using as little magic as
possible. The torutsen in his belly would warn him of any enemy
spells before they reached him, giving him enough time to defend
himself.

Einar was not encouraged to discover the
wizards had not lit campfires against the night. He crept closer to
where his last reconnaissance spell had detected the magocrats but
saw no sign of the Flasten wizards.

I wish I could believe they’ve
retreated.

At last, he reached the place where the
wizards had been. Only a few scraps and bits of trash provided any
indication that a large army had been here hours ago. He frowned.
Scrutinizing the myst around him with torutsen-enhanced vision,
Einar saw not a mote out of place.

It is a risk I must take. I need to know
where they went.

Einar gathered myst and reconned.

Light flooded the moors around him with
dazzling radiance. His marsord was out in an instant, magic already
flowing around him, awaiting his orders. Two shadows in red
approached. He hurled Energy at one, dove to one side and rolled,
rising with his marsord in his hands and Mobility driving him
forward.

The red crumpled. Einar’s marsord plunged
into the chest of the second, meeting no resistance. A beard
tickled his hand as the red fell.

A mundane!

Einar grabbed cyan motes even as a bolt of
Power slapped him to the ground. A rain of blows, blue motes
gathering in hammers, struck him in the hips and ribs. Then
Elements closed around him, insulating him from further
attacks.

Neither of them carry a marsord. I can beat
them both.

He stood up painfully, head turning from
side to side, searching the darkness for his enemies. Robert
approached from one direction, dragging a cloud of Knowledge and
Elements with him. Another red approached from the other direction
with a flask in his hand, and Einar wondered how his stepson had
gotten involved in Flasten’s gambit.

Regrets bubbled out of a past best forgotten
even as Einar raised his marsord to strike.

Ari’s eyes went wide.

You leave me no choice.

A thick hand grabbed the back of Einar’s
cloak and pulled him backward. Before he could recover enough to
change targets, the long blade of a marsord plunged into his back.
His back arched, and a booted foot kicked him toward Ari, pulling
the blade free.

Einar knew immediately he would bleed out in
seconds unless he healed himself. He dismissed the Elements shell,
and clutched at Vitality. The wound closed even as a bolt of Power
struck him in the elbow, breaking it and sending his marsord
tumbling to the ground.

Ari struck him with Power then, knocking him
back. Einar rolled to the ground, ducking the second thrust of the
marsord. He glanced up briefly and saw not Robert, but Vigfus
Vielfrae.

Robert is still out there.

At that moment, Einar saw the cyan motes
closing in around him, blocking his control of the myst. Mind
racing for solutions, tor grappling for any myst that would answer,
he bit down the urge to panic.

Ari was close now, but his hands were
shaking. Einar kicked the flask out of his hands, using a tiny flow
of Mobility to enhance his own momentum so he landed on his
feet.

He lashed out with simple spells, hoping to
wear down the wizard commanding the Elements barrier while
gradually mending bones with Vitality. Ari picked up the fallen
flask of morutsen. Biting back the urge to call out to him, Einar
kicked him in the groin. Ari fell over, clutching himself in
pain.

Even reds have mundane
weaknesses, my son
, Einar thought with a
grim smile.

A pillar of flame engulfed him. He gathered
Energy to counter the effect. Elements ripped the myst away from
him.