Mage Hunter Omnibus (Complete 5 Book Series) (19 page)

“What?” Guthrie asked.

“
Please make sure my child returns to her people. Make sure she is raised as a Dartague.”

Zanbra snorted.

Guthrie nodded. “It will be as you wish.”

The Sword took a step forward as if to protest, but Kroff’s grip on her arm tightened, stemming her words and actions.

Then Ildra threw back her head and screamed to the far roof of the chamber, her mouth open wide and her eyes closed, her face covered in sweat and blood spilling from her lips.

“
I see it!” Guthrie called.

Zanbra turned away, not willing to watch. Kroff let her go as she retrieved his fallen helmet and moved back into the tunnel, but he could not turn from the sight.

There was another cry, more shrill, louder than the one before, and Ildra slumped onto the coldness of the altar. But it was not she who had made this last sound. It was her baby, the child birthed into the waiting gloved hands of the Ursian sergeant.

Guthrie’s dagger flashed and the cord connecting child to mother was cut. He lifted the baby, cuddling it in his arms covered with thick, heavy strips of leather. He glanced about, but there was no blanket for the child. Looking to question the mother, he found Ildra’s eyes open and unblinking, staring flatly at the ceiling.

“She is dead,” Kroff said as he stepped forward.

Guthrie sobbed as he stared down at the baby, a hint of magical aura surrounding the round face. He did not know why he cried. Was it for this woman who had been his enemy, who had slain his own men before him? Was it for this child in his arms who would never know a mother? Or was it for himself?

He raised his arms, showing the babe to the approaching Spear. “It’s a girl,” he said.

Chapter 6

There was no thought to burying Ildra or making some other ceremonial arrangements. She was the enemy, and Zanbra would not allow any consecration of the body. Guthrie nor Kroff argued the point, both men believing the pagan temple was a fitting resting place for a woman who had been a priestess of sorts to her own people.

Wrapping the child in Ildra’s fur cloak, Guthrie carried the girl back along the tunnel to where their horses still waited, the three animals not having moved far from the temple’s entrance. Of Verkain or any other enemy, there was no sign. Another positive occurrence was the opening to the mountain trail had appeared once more on the other side of hidden plain.

“What do we do now?” Kroff asked as he refitted his crossbow and strapped it to the side of his riding beast.

Zanbra removed her helm, put a boot in a stirrup and lifted herself into her saddle. “We go home.”

“What do you mean?” Guthrie said, having some trouble climbing aboard his own horse, the necessity of holding the baby making his task a more difficult one than usual.

When all three were in their saddles, the Sword turned to them, handing Kroff his own helmet. “We came here to slay the wyrd woman. She is dead. We can ride back to camp, then Kroff and I can return home. Without her, the Dartague will crumble, they will turn to their old ways of fighting amongst themselves. This war is practically over.”

“What of Verkain?” Guthrie asked.

“
What of him?” Ildra said.

Seeing his superior officer was not going to offer a direct answer to the sergeant, Kroff said, “We will not be going after him, Sergeant Hackett. There is no need. He is not a known threat to Ursia, thus beyond our current authority. There is also the fact he is a sovereign ruler, and attacking such a man would create a rather unstable situation.”

Zanbra offered a rare smile, one full of teeth, looking more like a beast of prey than a woman. “But it would have been an excellent hunt. He is said to be one of the most powerful wizards alive.”

Guthrie could not comment. He had little knowledge of Verkain, other than the man supposedly ruled his people with an iron fist and was rumored to be more than a century in age. However, Guthrie was glad not to be chasing the Kobalan king. Grinning down at the mewling babe in his arms, the sergeant realized it would be difficult enough trekking through the mountains and across the northern plains while trying to keep the child alive; he only hoped he could come up with some food source for the baby.

Seeming to sense the sergeant’s mood, Zanbra steered her horse nearer to him and pointed at the baby. “She is in
your
care. Remember that. Do not expect those of us within the Gauntlet to lend a hand protecting this child.”

Guthrie could not help himself, though he knew it might mean his head. With furrowed brow he looked up into the Sword’s heavy gaze. “What happened to you as a child, Zanbra? Did your parents send you out to fend for yourself among wolves?”

Kroff couldn’t help but laugh, shielding his mouth with a steel gauntlet. His companion did not appear to appreciate the levity of the sergeant’s words. Her eyes flattened as if a hunter stalking prey, then she tugged on her reins and brought her horse around. Before another word could be said, Zanbra savagely spurred the sides of her riding animal and the beast shot forward, heading to the natural arena’s entrance, the trail through the mountains the three had entered through earlier.

Guthrie allowed himself to smirk and watched as Kroff did much the same, then the two men trotted off after their commanding officer.

As Zanbra neared the trail, she slowed her animal, likely recognizing there was safety in numbers and she was placing too much distance between herself and the others. When Guthrie and Kroff were almost to her, she spun away and edged her animal toward their exit.

Glancing up from the baby, Guthrie caught sight of the familiar golden aura of magic, this time emanating from the edges of the mountain trail’s border and walls. He slowed his horse and slung up a hand, yelling at Zanbra, “Hold there! Do not --”

But it was too late.

The woman crossed the barrier.

And everything changed again.

The three riders were brought to an abrupt halt, finding themselves surrounded by dozens of mounted warriors in black plate armor with dark furs about their shoulders. A circular wall of spears and swords were pointed at the Ursians, the three at the center of a ring of death. They were trapped within a sea of steel, beyond only the walls of the canyon where Guthrie had originally seen the Dartague encampment. Heavy magic was at work here, creating illusion and moving the three riders from one space to another.

A deep chuckle brought the Ursians to glance around. Within the group of dark riders was a taller figure, this one’s armor more intricate than that of the others, the man glowing within Guthrie’s sight. It was Verkain.

The Kobalan king removed his helm, revealing a face pale, deathly, with dark, brooding eyes. Sweeping back from his head were dark locks the color of midnight, a streak of white running through.

“I suggest you surrender your arms,” said the king, “or we will have to slay you here and now.”

Part IV:

Hammered Iron

1,913 years After Ashal (A.A.)

Chapter 1

A splash of water to the face brought Guthrie around. He sputtered and spat as he snapped awake, his eyes blinking, his thoughts reeling. Where was he? What had happened? Crawling through his memories was like trudging through mud, his head fuzzy and his vision blurred. But as his eyes focused upon the dark figure leaning over him, he began to recall the recent past.

He had been traveling with two knights of the Holy Order of the Gauntlet, Zanbra and Kroff. They had been surrounded by Kobalan troops of many numbers, the king of those troops suggesting they surrender. If not for the baby he carried in his arms, the recently-born child of a Dartague wyrd woman, Guthrie might have put up a fight. But as things turned out, he did not have to fight. His companions did that for him, their swords scraping free of their sheaths and swinging for Kobalan heads.

The combat had been brief, though a half dozen soldiers in black armor had fallen before it was completed. Zanbra and Kroff had shown more skill with their blades than Sergeant Guthrie Hackett had witnessed from any other fighters in his decade of military service. Yet it was not enough. The Kobalan king had called out, “I want them alive!” The soldiers had merely swamped the two knights, throwing themselves from their horses to tackle Zanbra and Kroff to the ground.

Several spears had been aimed at the sergeant during the conflict, but he had not bothered to move. He had a newborn in his arms. There was no way he could fight and protect the child at the same time. Still, a burly rider in black had steered near Guthrie and lashed out with a club, knocking away the sergeant’s helm. There had been pain like lightning to Guthrie’s skull, then a perception of falling, the stone ground rushing up.

That had been the last thing the sergeant remembered.

Now he sat, his arms and legs stiff, roped to a chair. He tossed back his head, wincing at the pain of the sizable lump atop his crown, and stared into the unblinking black eyes of a long, thin, pale face with dark hair rushing back from the forehead. About that face was a golden aura, signs of magic only witnessed by Guthrie himself because of a gift or curse placed upon him by an ice witch.

“
I see you are alive after all,” said the pale man, Lord Verkain, King of Kobalos. He chuckled and stood straight, towering over the seated Ursian. “This is a good thing. I was afraid I would have to flay one of my best sergeants for his impulsiveness.”

Guthrie blinked again and stared about. He found himself in a chamber about thirty by thirty feet square, the walls a floating black cloth. He was inside a tent, the sound of the wind flapping against the dark canvas further evidence of this. There was a heavy table of red wood several feet in front of him, atop it a burning oil lamp of bronze, several sheets of vellum, a stone bottle with a feathered quill sticking from its top. As the sergeant scanned the surface of the table, he also recognized his helmet and weapons belt with its iron-headed mace and dagger. Beyond the table was another chair, weighty and large. He almost laughed, feeling sorry for the poor bastards who had to lug their lord’s furnishings into the wilderness.

For the wilderness was where Guthrie presumed himself to be located. There was the tent itself and the wind to give weight to this notion, but he could also hear the familiar noises of an encampment beyond the dark, flexible walls. Men shuffled about. Horses stuttered. Metal scraped against metal, either cooking implements or weapons being sharpened. There were orders being given, shouts made, even the simple talk of soldiers with soldiers. Guthrie could only understand about half of what was being said, Kobalan not being his best-learned language, but the conversations he detected struck him as coming from men on the move, not from those who would be stationed in a keep or somewhere more permanent. He could hear talk of supplies, gripes about sleeping out in the cold, and other, more mundane conversations.

But where was he exactly? The last he remembered, he and his traveling companions had ridden into a valley where their enemy Dartague had camped recently. More curious, the Kobalans were not the enemy of Guthrie and his kind, the Ursians. So why had Verkain captured them?

Guthrie jerked, another memory hitting him. “The baby! Where is the child?”

Verkain chuckled yet again, sliding back along the tent’s grassy floor to settle on the edge of his large table where he placed a silvered mug he had been holding. “You need not worry yourself about the babe. It is being ... tended to.”

“You son of a bitch!” Guthrie shouted, straining at the ropes binding him. “If you’ve done anything to that child, I’ll --”

“
You’ll
what
?” the king interrupted. “Need I remind you, Sergeant Hackett, you are in no condition to be making threats.”

Verkain was right, of course. Guthrie was bound to a chair. He could not be sure of his location or of that of his companions.

“Where are Zanbra and Kroff?” he asked.

“
It is not your place to ask questions here,” Verkain said, his gaze hooded, dark. “I will ask the questions. You will provide answers.”

“
I’m not telling you a thing unless I know about my companions,” Guthrie said, allowing his head to hang so he would not have to look into those black eyes and to save his own strength.

Verkain tutted. “Very well. If it will speed things along ... Those of the Gauntlet, your friends, they are not too far away.”

“Are they alive?”

The king chuckled again. “So far, yes. They have given me much amusement while you have been out of things. I must admit, their training is quite impressive. They were immune to my most probing spells for the longest of times, but eventually even they broke under the strain of my sorcery.”

Guthrie gritted his teeth. “What did you do to them?”

“
The same as I’m about to do to you,” Verkain said. “I’m going to ask you a number of questions. You will provide answers.”

“
Why should I tell you anything?”

“
You are the stubborn one, aren’t you?” Verkain said. “Ildra told me as much.”

“
Ildra?” The sergeant shook his head. There were still too many things he did not know. “If she was your pupil, why did you kill her?”

The wood of the table creaked as the Kobalan king eased back further. “You are intent upon being the interrogator here, aren’t you?”

Guthrie glanced up at the other man. “I have been running around for weeks watching my countrymen slain before my eyes, and I have yet to discover a good reason why. At first I thought it was because Ildra and her kin were tired of us Ursians on their borders, but my thoughts have begun to change. With so much unknown, yes, I have plenty of questions.”

Verkain leaned closer to his prisoner. “And what makes you think I’m going to tell
you
anything?”

“
Because whatever is happening, it is beyond simply you and I in this tent,” the sergeant said. “This involves nations at war, perhaps even Kobalos.”

Verkain grinned, finding something amusing in the Ursian’s words. “You are under the presumption I care one sliver of a copper coin about Kobalos.”

The words were unexpected, and were something else that made little sense. Verkain was king of Kobalos, so it would seem natural for him to at least be concerned with his own survival and that of his lands.

“
I took Kobalos by might more than a hundred years ago,” the king said, watching the widening eyes of his prisoner. “Since then I have ruled as I wish, but all the while I have had further goals than simply sitting upon a throne. Kobalos is merely a means to an end for one such as myself, mortal, so do not be foolish in thinking I am some mere clan chieftain worried about the fate of his people. If Kobalos fell from my grip this very minute, it would mean little more to me than a change of plans.”

It seemed Verkain was immortal, which was a common rumor. Inwardly, the sergeant seethed. Here was yet another magical entity playing games behind the scenes, games that brought about the deaths of innocents. Would this madness never cease?

The king kicked out with a leg, not a solid blow, but enough to catch the sergeant’s attention as Verkain’s black steel boot slapped against Guthrie’s thigh.

“
So, tell me,” Verkain said as Guthrie looked up at him, “is it true you had no idea of your own magical talents?”

The sergeant snarled.

The king laughed. “It is true, isn’t it? Imagine, you are ... what? Thirty years of age? Thereabouts? And you have had no inkling until now of your own skills. It’s simply amazing, a jest upon the world that would make the likes of Ashal himself chuckle. Ildra told me about you, and I admit I was unbelieving at first. But then I saw you in the old temple, and right away I recognized you for a natural mage. I haven’t seen one of your kind in hundreds of years.”

“
It is not an honor I would have wished upon myself,” Guthrie stated, his teeth near clenching.

“
I suppose not,” Verkain said. “You Ursians do tend to hate magic, don’t you? The fools that you are, you don’t recognize the tools of the universe at your disposal. Ah, well, it will be a joy to finally watch your kind crushed beneath my boot.”

Guthrie’s head snapped up as he glared at the king. “So, you admit to seeking war against Ursia?”

“I admit to no such thing,” Verkain said with a snarl. “I have no wish at this time to enter conflict with you Ashal worshipers. Looking ahead a few decades ... hmm, it is not impossible my mind won’t change on the subject. But until then, no, I do not seek war between our peoples.”

“
Then
why
?” Guthrie asked. “Why are you involved with the Dartague? Why am I here in the first place?”

Verkain’s fist lashed out, the steel of his gauntlet raking against the sergeant’s chin, knocking the head back and leaving a red gash. Guthrie’s vision swam, blurred, darkened. For a moment he was afraid he would pass out again, then his sight focused once more. He shook his head to brush away the last of the cobwebs in his vision, then found himself facing the sitting king once more. It was as if nothing had happened.

Verkain’s voice was bleak when he spoke again. “If you continue to ask questions, I will be forced to deal with you more strenuously. I admit to using my spells on your comrades in the Gauntlet mostly because I wished to see what effect I could bring upon them, to find out if my magic would work on them, and I am not afraid to do the same with you. I had hoped to question you civilly, but if you insist upon seeing to your own wants, my methods can become quite extreme. Do you understand me?”

Guthrie nodded.

“Good,” Verkain said. “Then we can get along to business. My first question ... why were you in the temple?”

Guthrie sat up a little straighter, confusion clear on his face. “You mean you don’t know?”

Verkain raised a fist. “I warned you.”

“
I don’t mean to question,” Guthrie said, leaning back in his chair as if he could avoid another blow. “I mean, I would have thought you would have already known why we were at the temple.”

“
I have my notions on the subject,” Verkain said, “but I wish to hear what you have to say.”

Guthrie blinked. “We were hunting Ildra. I had orders from Sword Zanbra to lead her and Spear Kroff to the wyrd woman.”

“To what ends?”

“
To slay Ildra,” Guthrie said. “We are at war with the Dartague and apparently Ildra was behind it all, or so I thought. The Gauntlet, they specialize in hunting those with magical abilities, so they were after Ildra.”

Verkain smirked. “I suppose they have no knowledge of your own talents?”

“None,” Guthrie said.

“
For the time being, it will remain that way.”

Which was fine with Guthrie. If Zanbra and Kroff knew Guthrie was supposedly a natural mage, they would not hesitate to kill him when given the opportunity.

Verkain stood and moved around his field desk to pull out a chair and sit. He lifted a sheet of parchment and stared at it, the outline of a map clearly visible through the paper. After a moment, he thrust the sheet aside.

“
According to Ildra, nearly two weeks earlier you and a captain of the northern Ursian militia followed a mountain trail away from a Dartague camp. Is this true?”

Guthrie nodded. “Yes.”

“Then I can assume you expected the trail to remain the same when you took the mage hunters into it?”

“
Yes.”

Verkain smirked. “Ah, the vagaries of magic.”

Guthrie had no response. His loathing for all things magic was growing by the day. Magic was what had trapped him and his companions. Magic was what had slain priests at one of the region’s temples. Magic was responsible for so much of the terror and pain Guthrie had witnessed over the last weeks. Those who made use of magic seemed to think they were above the morals of all others, that they could use their abilities for their own ends and only those ends. Everyone else must quiver in their wake or pay the price.