Mage Hunter Omnibus (Complete 5 Book Series) (15 page)

The next few hours were spent at work. Guthrie had to backtrack more than a mile along their trail to find their riding animal, the beast now docile. Once back in camp, the sergeant went to work with the captain in making the cougar’s remains into a meal. They cooked as much meat as they believed they could carry, wrapping their future meals within the horse blanket.

“Looks like we’ll be riding bareback for a while,” Werner pointed out.

By then it was early afternoon. The men discussed their options, finally deciding to continue the way they had been traveling. Going back was not an option, the dangers presented by the Dartague always present. Going forward, they decided to keep their eyes open for more potential threats. The Dartague were not the only dangers in the mountains, and Guthrie believed it not impossible Ildra could send another assassin their way, human or otherwise.

When they set out, Werner rode on the back of the horse, his legs hanging to either side while Guthrie held the reins and gently pulled the creature and rider along through the narrow pathway.

They traveled for hours, shadows spreading upon them as the evening came early within the mountains and the confines of the ravine they traveled. As best they could tell, their path had turned to their left, taking them further west.

Before the night fell, the trail before them opened up into a wider valley. There were lesser mountains here, little more than rocky hills, but they spread all around except directly ahead where dark evergreens grew in numbers. Making their way toward the trees, Guthrie paused long enough to climb up upon a ridge in hopes of being able to better see what lay ahead of them.

The sergeant climbed down from the hillside with a grin on his lips.

“What is it?” Werner asked, dislodging himself from the horse’s back.

“
We’re nearly out of the mountains,” Guthrie explained. “The woods ahead, I think they are the northern forest between Dartague and Kobalos. We should only be a day or two from northern Ursia.”

The notion brought a grin to the captain’s features. “You know these lands?”

“Some,” Guthrie said with a nod. “We rarely patrolled here, but I seem to remember a farm or some such once we reach the flatlands again.”

“
Think they’ll be alive?” Werner asked.

The smile died from both men’s faces.

“One can hope,” Guthrie responded, realizing the truth was probably bleak. This area of the frontier was home to only a few farmers and loggers, men who preferred to be alone and lived that way, but still Ursian nonetheless. If the Dartague had decided such people were easy prey, they would not have hesitated to bring their wrath down.

Werner grimaced, pulling the horse along behind him. “Well, we might as well find out what’s ahead of us.”

Chapter 3

The black smoke rising above the forest was becoming a familiar sight to the two soldiers. This was no small camp or hearth fire. The Dartague had been here, pressing their war against Ursia.

It was morning again, the captain and sergeant having camped beneath the trees, and the scent of the smoke had reached them before they saw it. Traveling a few miles, they came upon a clearing, the smoking trailing along the sky ahead of them.

“
Still some miles off,” Werner reckoned.

He reckoned right.

The two men coerced their riding beast along, the bag of cougar meat tied securely to its back, and an hour later they came to where the woods petered away into the known prairie and farm lands of northern Ursia. There was still snow stretching to the horizon ahead, but more than a little of it had melted, leaving large splotches of green and brown here and there.

Less than a hundred yards from the edge of the woods was the remains of a log cabin. The small structure only held one remaining wall, apparently the front one as it sported an open doorway, the door itself burnt to a crisp along with the rest of the building. A chimney of stacked rocks still stood, and within the confines of the burnt husk of the building could be seen charred remains of logs and pieces of what had possibly been furniture.

The two men proceed with caution, though it was obvious the attackers had been gone for several hours, perhaps even since the night before. There were no flames now, and as they approached there was little heat given off by the wreckage of the former home.

“
There was a woodsman lived here,” Guthrie said as they walked nearer the site. “I don’t remember his name, but a couple of times a year he would ride to the temple or the guard house. He usually brought with him some hard liquor he had made from fruits or berries, always wanting to trade for goods he needed.” Guthrie forced a grin. “We always obliged. He seemed a pleasant enough fellow.”

They soon found him. Or what was left of him.

He was splayed out in front of the door to the cabin. Iron nails the size of daggers had been driven through the palms of his hands and his ankles, impaling him into the hard, packed earth that had fronted his placed. A look of anguish was upon the dead man’s features, his mouth widened to either side by slices from a knife or sword, his face and limbs covered with soot from the fire. He was naked, and his body showed signs of having been beaten.

“
At least he is beyond the pain now, poor bastard,” Werner said as the two men and the horse came to a halt. The captain used a finger to draw a circle in the air several inches in front of his chest, starting at his chin before lowering to his belt and then returning to his chin, the holy sign of Ashal.

The two spent an hour scouring the cabin’s warm remains and its environs, hoping to find anything of use, perhaps food or weapons or tools. All they discovered was a rusting hatchet not far from the corpse. Guthrie took the hatchet, figuring it could come in handy with firewood, if nothing else.

Finding nothing more of benefit, the captain and the sergeant began the dreaded task of digging a shallow grave. The work was difficult without the proper tools, but they made use of the hatchet and several fallen tree limbs from the forest floor to aid them in digging. Pulling the dead woodsman free of the ground was no easy task, in the end accomplished only after Guthrie accidentally broke one of the man’s wrists. Soon the body was interred and the two soldiers stood over the fresh grave, each muttering nearly silent prayers for sending the soul of the woodsman to the Almighty Ashal.

“
Amen,” Werner finally said.

As they moved to their horse, Guthrie paused and pointed to the south in the direction they needed to travel. “There’s nothing but open land for as far as one can see. That and the snow will make us stand out. The Dartague could see us from miles away.” His pointing finger shifted to their left where the outskirts of the mountain range they had fled could still be seen encroaching upon the flatlands. “I suggest we travel along the foothills.”

Werner gazed in the direction pointed out to him, then nodded. “Makes sense. We’ll be harder to spot and there might even be a few places to hide if we have to.”

With a weak grin, Guthrie added, “And we’ll be able to see any Dartague riding towards us.”

Soon they were traveling again, this time Guthrie riding their horse while Werner led the way. Throughout the day they took turns riding, giving the other man a rest. By early afternoon they reached the edges of the mountains once more and turned due south.

“
We should be in Herkaig in a matter of days,” Guthrie pointed out. Where else could they go? They were in frontier lands, on the border of what was now enemy territory. The nearest Ursian force of any size was in the village, thus they had to go to the village.

The nights were cold, the men taking turns huddling beneath the blanket and standing watch throughout the dark hours. They dared not build a fire now that they were in the open, but enough of the cougar meat had been cooked to still fill their bellies.

By the third day they spotted a change along the prairie grounds a mile or so east of them, out in the remaining snows. Tracks of a sizable force, both men estimating at least a hundred riders.

“
Dartague, you think?” Werner asked from the back of the horse.

Guthrie lowered a hand from above his eyes, staring into the brightness of the sun settling upon the snows of the flatlands. “Likely. This far north, it might be a Kobalan patrol, but I’ve never known them to travel in such numbers.”

“No chance its our own people?”

Guthrie shook his head. “Anything is possible, but I doubt it.”

As best they could tell without venturing out onto the flatlands to investigate, the tracks traveled from east to west. As the captain was not as familiar with the territory, Guthrie explained it looked to him as if the riders had come from forests near the border with Kobalos and had ridden into the mountains somewhere south of their current position.

“
Sounds like more Dartague to me,” Werner said. “I can’t imagine the Kobalan king wants to embroil himself in our mess.”

“
I agree,” Guthrie said. “There are plenty of Dartague in those woods, mostly Clan Stone.”

“
It looks as if this wyrd woman is consolidating her forces even more.”

“
It would seem so,” Guthrie said, appearing none to happy about it.

They traveled onward, eventually coming upon a rip in the side of the mountains to their left, a valley with a slender stream running down to the prairie. It was here the riders had been headed, their tracks disappearing along the water and into the heart of the rising crags.

“I know this place,” Guthrie said, adding a smile. “We are not far from Herkaig.”

His words were proven true before the day was out.

When they first spotted the village in the distance, they were not convinced it was the place they had been seeking. It was too large, too spread out. Herkaig was a small village of a dozen or so stone hovels, the place having been enlarged somewhat by a small town of tents erected by Werner’s militia, but what they saw was twice the size of the Herkaig they had put behind them more than a week earlier. If this was indeed Herkaig, it had doubled in size since their last visit. Tents were stretched out in a wide circle around the village proper, far more men than Werner had commanded, though still not enough to be a full army. Rising smoke from a half a hundred places, likely camp fires, sprang up to the sky here and there from within the tents, and even as far away as they were the two soldiers could spot outriders and posted sentries.

The place looked like a military encampment. Flapping banners seemed to prove this was so, though Werner and Guthrie were still too far away to tell what type of flags were flying other than they boasted dark colors.

Still, they were in their homeland and there was a sizable military force ahead. This force was obviously not of Dartague origin, being far too organized for one thing. The two soldiers discussed the possibility of this being a Kobalan force, but the likelihood of that seemed remote; King Verkain of Kobalos was a known tyrant, but he kept his tyranny within his own lands, a small nation, and was not fool enough to challenge the might of Ursia, at least not directly.

Seeing nothing else to be done, the two rode forward, crossing the open lands and heading directly toward the village.

They were met halfway by a half dozen riders wearing chain shirts and hoisting spears. Though a ferocious looking force, they wore emblems and the colors of Ursian scouts.

“
Identify yourselves!” the foremost rider roared at the two.

Werner grinned from the back of the horse as he glanced down to his companion. “Think he’ll fill his pants when he finds out who I am?”

Guthrie chuckled as he removed his helmet and used its chin strap to tie it to his belt. “Maybe, but go ahead and tell him.”

The front rider shook his spear at the two. “Identify yourselves now! Or find yourself placed under arrest!”

Captain Werner sat straighter on the steed. He brushed aside the blanket wrapped around his shoulders so the chest plate of his armor was on view. “Sonny, I’ll make sure your commanding officer receives word of your diligence, but right now the captain of the Corvus Vale militia is tired and hungry. Do you think you could fetch us something to eat, and something proper to drink?”

The words had barely been needed. One look at the noble emblem upon Werner’s chest plate had been enough. The leader of the riders stared with widening eyes at the ragtag pair before him, then motioned to one of his fellows.

“Send word to the duke, now!” the front rider ordered.

One of the other horsemen turned his animal about and charged toward the camp.

“Duke?” queried Werner.

The lead rider nodded. “Yes, sir. Duke Heggel is in command here now. To be frank, sir, we feared you dead.”

Werner chuckled again. “Can’t say I blame you. Now about that food?”

“
Yes, sir!” The rider spun his horse around to face the camp. “If you will follow me, I’ll take you to proper accommodations.”

“
Lead on,” Werner said.

It was a matter of minutes before the captain and Guthrie found themselves escorted into the camp they had left behind more than a week earlier. The place was busier than ever, and now there were not only militia members in evidence but actual soldiers of Ursia. There was tension in the air, what with men marching about and weapons being sharpened. More than a few wary glances followed the newcomers, but there were also looks of surprise and befuddlement and, in some cases, even joy.

The escort riders took the captain and sergeant deeper into the camp, finally settling before a sizable tent of the deepest purple, a half dozen heavily armored men standing guard out front and a large banner flapping overhead. Guthrie glanced up at the flag and recognized the silver stitched circle of a noose in the middle of the dark background. They were back among their own kind, especially the sergeant. Weeks earlier Guthrie had been looking forward to retirement from the military, but now he was glad to once more be ensconced within the arms of such a martial force. Even though he recognized the camp likely sported no more than a few hundred soldiers, many of them young recruits from the looks of things, only the largest of enemy forces would consider attacking.

A youth ran up to the captain as he slid from the back of his riding beast in front of the large tent.

“Captain Werner!” the lad cried out.

Werner spun around to find the tallow-headed Manif rushing up to him. A few of the riders and the guards before the tent bristled, but they relaxed as the captain wrapped his arms around the youth.

When Manif could breath again, he leaned back from the captain and looked up into the ice-blue eyes of the older man. “Sir, I thought you dead, I swear.” He glanced to Guthrie. “When the sergeant didn’t return with you in a few days, we all gave up on you. My apologies.”

“
No apologies needed, lad,” Werner said with a hardy laugh as he patted the youth on a shoulder. “I would’ve given up on us, as well. Sergeant Hackett here told me you had survived the fight. I was glad to hear it.”

Manif straightened as if ready to parade, sparing a glance to Guthrie. “I did as I was ordered by the sergeant, sir. We made sure those who fell received proper burials, with priests and everything.”

“Priests?” The captain raised an eyebrow.

“
You’ll find them within, sir,” the officer of the riders said as he climbed down from his horse, “as well as the duke and other ... uh, dignitaries. I’m sure they’ll want to hear what you have to say as soon as possible.”

Werner nodded. “True enough. But about that food?” He chuckled here, glancing around at the men gathering, many of them his own militia members with bright eyes, all glad to see their commander returned, hail and hardy. “I mean no disrespect, but we’ve been living off frozen cat for the last week.”

More than a few guffaws went up from the growing crowd. Even the lead rider cracked a grin. It was one of the few moments of levity Guthrie had experienced with others in some time. He was glad for it, and to be among his own countrymen once again. He recognized few faces, his own regiment having been wiped out in the initial Dartague assault. The sergeant nodded to Manif, and even offered a brief wave to Tack, the farmer who had once been a wizard’s apprentice, a secret that would doom the man if any but Guthrie knew the truth.