The Way Into Magic: Book Two of The Great Way (24 page)

“I didn’t. I was lost in my own thoughts.”
 

Kinz helped her up and apologized again. She sounded completely sincere. Cazia limped after Ivy. Fire and Fury, now she was going to be without her magic for at least a day.
 

Cazia’s eyes were aching from lack of sleep when they finally came within earshot of the watchtowers.
 

“Fort Whune,” Ivy said.
 

The gates were shut and the walls--made out of raw logs--where higher than any she’d ever seen. Still, even though she knew the Alliance didn’t have scholars, she’d expected stone. Monument sustain her, but she was tired. Would it make sense to pass the night inside the walls and trust to her ability to slip away later?
 

Cazia saw a commotion on the wall and took hold of the translation gem with her right hand.

“Turn back!” a woman shouted from atop one of the towers. “The gates will not be opened before dawn. Turn back a thousand paces.”
 

Ivy stood on Cazia’s left, with Kinz on the other side of her. As royal retinues went, it wasn’t much, but they weren’t trying to impress anyone. “Attention, lackwits and restless owls!” Ivy called at the top of her thin voice. “I am Vilavivianna, princess of Goldgrass Hill and the daughter of the Ergoll king, Alisimbo of Goldgrass Hill. I order--”

There was a sound like the twang of a bowstring and something flickered through the firelight. A familiar buzzing sound grew louder. On impulse, Cazia stuck her left hand in front of the princess.
 

An arrow pierced her palm.

Chapter 16

Tejohn caught his breath when he saw them. Soldiers. Before his time at the temple, he would not have been able to see them at this distance. Javien would have had to describe the clash. Now he could crouch behind a tree partway down the hill and watch.
 

The little squad did not have archers or skirmishers, which didn’t surprise Tejohn at all. There was no reason to field soldiers kitted for mobility against grunts. The squad lifted their shields and slammed them together--the clash echoed through the valley--then they raised their spears high. They were short spears--the kind Tejohn had always fought with. What they lacked in range they made up for in maneuverability.
 

The grunt bounded over the fence and skidded slightly on the wet grass. It huffed three times, then roared.
 

Tejohn realized he was gripping the tree so hard that the rough bark dug painfully into his fingers.
 

Helpless. It was one thing to be down there with them… Not that he knew them at all. In fact, they would probably receive a reward if they dragged him back to the city bound and gagged. Still, humans were fighting grunts and he wanted to be there with them. He laid his hand on the knife at his hip, his only weapon. The fight would be over by the time he could sprint down the slope, vault the fence, and climb the hill on the other side, but a small, foolish voice inside him urged him forward anyway.
 

The soldiers had the high ground and they meant to make use of it. All five spears pointed unerringly at the grunt, swaying from side to side to follow it. The shield wall stuttered to the right, trying to keep the beast from flanking it.
 

It didn’t work. The grunt was too fast. As it raced around their flank with the speed of a grass lion, the soldiers tried to turn with it in a hinge maneuver, but now the steepness of the hill worked against them. They couldn’t shift fast enough on the dew-wet ground and a soldier at the end of the line slipped in the mud. He sprawled on his backside, the woman beside him turned to help, and then it was too late.
 

The grunt rushed the two nearest spears, ducking under their points at the last instant. Then it was inside their defenses. It grabbed the bottom of a man’s shield and wrenched it upward, knocking him and the man beside him to the grass. They hadn’t even fallen fully to the ground before the grunt had bitten down on the first man’s calf.
 

He screamed, and the sound had more despair in it than pain or terror. One bite. That was all it took.

The spear on the ground had just enough time to reach for his short stabbing sword before the beast struck him mercilessly on the side of his helmet, stunning him. Then the spear in the middle went on the attack.
 

He was good, Tejohn could see. His footwork was expert, even on a slope. His point control was solid and his shield steady. If the man had come into the palace gym, Tejohn would have invited him to demonstrate his technique for the prince.
 

It wasn’t good enough. The grunt weaved from side to side. When the man’s attack came, the beast slipped it and caught the haft in its left hand, snapping it like a reed. Then it grabbed the man by the wrist and dragged him away from the others. He struck it with the edge of his shield just as he lost his balance; the sound of the blow was powerful enough that Tejohn could hear it from where he was hiding. It didn’t matter; the grunt bit down on his hand and backed away.
 

The last two spears had recovered their footing but were now downhill from the beast. Tejohn could see that they were perfectly competent fighters: their spears were steady, but they took too many little steps. Both of their points followed the creature as it circled them. Again, they tried to pivot on a hinge as the beast flanked them. The woman had to raise her spear over the helmet of the man beside her, and that’s when the grunt rushed them.
 

Again, it feinted around the spear point and bowled into the soldiers. Before they’d hit the ground, the woman had received a bite on her ankle and the man took one on his shoulder.
 

The grunt backed away, circling them. The first soldier, who had taken a wound on his leg, had cast away his spear and drawn his sword. He faced the grunt on one knee, shield and weapons at the ready. The third fellow, who had anchored the center of the line, threw down his shield and drawn his sword in his off hand, holding it like a big knife. He looked ready to make a suicide charge.
 

He didn’t. Neither of them did. The grunt watched them carefully, barely moving, while their sword points wavered. Finally, they lowered their weapons, burying the points in the dirt. The woman knelt and turned her sword to her own stomach, as though she intended to take her own life, but she wouldn’t--or couldn’t--push the point home.
 

The grunt crept carefully forward and, with the gentle touch of a mother caring for an infant, bit the stunned soldier’s forearm.
 

They had lost. Five to one—and it wasn’t even one of the larger creatures—but it hadn’t been enough. Fire take the whole world, how could they defeat an enemy like this?
 

The grunt took hold of the stunned man’s collar and began dragging him off to the right, toward the road. The others stood uncertainly, looking from one to the other as though one of them might be able to save them. The beast dropped the injured man and raced around them in a circle, growling and roaring at them.
 

The soldiers threw away their weapons and let themselves be herded toward the road.
 

“Monument sustain me,” Javien whispered. “We have to get away from--”

“Follow me,” Tejohn said. They moved uphill, keeping to the trees as much as possible, then went into the farmhouse.
 

The place had been torn apart, which was no surprise at all. Tejohn picked through the torn cloths, burst straw mats, and shattered crockery. Javien found three small unbroken jars of pickled compote, which they crouched by the hearth to eat. Tejohn thought it was very similar to the compote they served in Peradain, nothing at all like the smooth, sour paste he remembered from his youth.
 

“We shouldn’t linger here,” Javien said as he finished his breakfast.
 

“They won’t be back. Didn’t you see it piss on the wall outside? It was marking its territory. It won’t return today.” Tejohn heard the certainty in his own voice and he wondered where it came from. He was no expert in grunts.
 

Those soldiers should have been able to defeat that grunt. Failing that, they should have been able to drive it away. Even a bear or grass lion would retreat from a line of spears. But this…

In war, soldiers would line up in squares and charge each other, stabbing and shoving to break the other side’s formation. They were trained to move forward or brace to hold their position. The grunts, though, were incredibly mobile. If humans were going to win this war, they were going to need new tactics.
 

Tejohn glanced at the doorway, half expecting to see a grunt standing there, teeth bared. Part of him hoped to see it, so that he could throw himself against the creature with nothing but his knife and whatever strength Fury gave him.
 

Which would be suicide. A dismal recklessness had come over him—even his rush to enter this house came from his urge to be pulled into a fight.
 

But today was not the day for noble, hopeless battles. Maybe someday, when he was sure he could never see his wife and children again, had no hope of retrieving the spell Lar asked him to find, and could never stop the spread of the Blessing, but not today.
 

“They’re closer to Ussmajil than I thought,” Javien whispered. “Beacon Veliender believed the creatures were still farther south, barely penetrating Raftlin lands. The Raftlin holdfast still stands--or it did, before we left the city.”
 

“The grunts are not an invading army. They aren’t interested in capturing towns and lands, ruling over farmers and shipping home all their wealth. And they’re not stupid, either. They’re...”

The beacon stared at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence. Tejohn could feel the man’s attention on him.
 

“Finish your meal,” he finally said. That dismal recklessness was becoming keener, like the tip of an iron spear. It was time to
do
something. “Then change out of that red robe. We have to take a detour in our mission.”
 

“We can not,” Javien insisted. “You saw what happened to those spears. If humankind is to have any hope at all, we will need that spell.”
 

Assuming it exists.
 
No, Tejohn was not going to give voice to the nagging doubt that had dogged him since he had set out from Fort Samsit so long ago. “We do. But we also need to know as much about our enemy as possible.”
 

The faint, misting rain continued as they crept down the hill toward the site of the little battle. Again, they kept to the trees, straining their ears to hear the sound of a grunt moving through the grasses, but there was nothing. They could have been all alone in the world.
 

The soldiers had thrown aside their weapons and gear as they’d been led away, leaving them lying in the grass. Tejohn pressed a scabbarded sword and belt against Javien’s chest until the young man took it, then strapped one on himself.
 

They were made of poor iron but they were better than the knives at their belts. It felt good to feel the weight on his hip again. The tall, rectangular shields were heavier than he liked, but workable. The spears were fine—sturdy but unremarkable—but none of the helmets fit. He dropped the last one back into the grass. Better to have no helmet than one that could twist and cover your eyes.
 

The beacon could not be convinced to take up a shield and spear; Tejohn didn’t push it. The man was a scholar and a priest. He probably didn’t have the strength to hike all day with them.
 

Tejohn stood and stared out toward the road. The grunt had dragged the soldier through a stand of wheat, leaving a clear trail to follow. It was headed generally south-southwest. Did the thing have a den? A nest? He had to know.
 

“We can’t!” Javien whispered as he followed Tejohn toward the road. “We should turn north!”
 

Tejohn ignored him. Five soldiers had fought bravely and fallen. He needed to see what had happened to them. They hadn’t been killed, and he was fairly certain they weren’t being held prisoner in the way he thought about it.
 

He had to know what the grunts did with their “unborn young.” If that was recklessness, so be it. As long as he didn’t let himself be drawn into a fight…

They followed the trail of broken wheat stalks to the road. There was no one to bring in this harvest, of course, nor any of the other crops on the other farms around them. If the grunts kept quietly dragging farmers away, there would be starvation during the winter, spring, and—worst of all—summer of next year.
 

Assuming he could stop the grunts somehow and return human beings to this land.
 

They lost the trail once they reached the road. There was nothing to mark a dragged body, and no footprints in the packed stone road. They continued westward for a little while, knowing it was dangerous to travel so close to the ditches. It was Javien who noticed a bloody mark on the gatepost of a farm on the south side of the road. One of the soldiers must have leaned against it when they entered.