Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (78 page)

“As bad a liar as he is, don’t forget he is not a big
dummy.  He was smart enough to know when to back off and let matters lie. 
Perhaps he is also smart enough to accurately judge the effectiveness of
whatever dirty trick he has in mind.”

Marik brushed that aside.  “He made all that up about
forest fighting.  He’s no better, and knows it.  I’d say he wanted to get us
outside all along.  We can handle whatever attacks they come up with.  If this
is a trap, then probably his friend Dellen is waiting to help them ambush us in
the horse’s vale.”

“That doesn’t worry you?”

“Not especially.  In the worst case, I can use my
strength working to knock their swords out of their hand, and you’re no slouch
either.  I’d only be worried if there were eight or nine at once against us.”

Dietrik remained concerned as they walked.  Marik
found it amusing.  And useful.  Training was nice but nothing honed his skills
the way a true battle could.

Beld’s smug attitude leaked through his control when
they neared the gate.  Yes, that ox certainly thought he had lured them off
guard, Marik decided.  This would be great.  Honing his abilities in real
combat
and
destroying Beld’s anticipated scheme in the same moment.  His
steps quickened in eagerness.

“You!”

The coarse, demanding shout broadsided Marik
completely.  They all whirled to face the apparition advancing on them.  Marik
did not recognize the gaunt figure, had no idea what this hollow, haunted
creature might be.

“Come with me, mage!” the man growled, and snatched
roughly at his arm.

Only then, with the other less than a foot away, did
Marik finally recognize this stranger as Colbey.

Difficulties plagued Adrian at the same speed with
which reports were delivered to his aides.  Or so it seemed to him.  Never had
any campaign he managed been so fraught with delays, mishaps and unforeseen
obstacles.  He barely finished issuing orders to deal with one dilemma when a
harried subordinate rushed to his side to announce a new setback.

He could not lay the blame on the size of the forces
he commanded.  Three times before Adrian had directed wars where fully a third
of Arronath’s army gathered to participate.  Twice he had conquered the kingdom
of Tillsar on the command of his friend, the former king, Lutehor Soieel.  Both
times the lands were returned after the Oni, a thickheaded ruler his people
were unfortunately stuck with until his death, seemingly learned his lesson.

His experience commanding should have seen them
through, even in a foreign land where many variables were unfamiliar.  Though
the pollen had struck unexpectedly, sudden problems of this nature were
factored into his time schedules.

So why were they nearly a full year behind where they
ought to be?

Adrian stared at his maps, alone since he had banished
the aides until evening.  Too many problems on top of each other.  The
wyverflies slowly died without proper caves to shelter them.  Entire squadrons
were still out of position.  His mages suffered an affliction of unknown
specifics, so for months they had barely managed to move his only Citadel a
scarce mile a day.  Simply maintaining it appeared to require the full effort
of the few capable of performing their spells.

By the time it arrived at the frontline, most of his
fighters would be too old to lift their swords, he reflected.  The map
positioned it sixty miles inland from the coast.  Where he now stood would
require a year to reach at the present rate.

If he didn’t know better, he would suspect the gods
were interfering.

He rubbed his forehead.  A new headache had begun. 
Their initial storm across the hostile kingdom had progressed according to
plan.  Only after they had paused to secure their hold over the claimed lands
did these endless upsets erupt.

They needed to push further.  His reports to the
king’s mages were met with greater impatience on his liege’s part.  King
Lambert wanted Adrian to uncover answers.  Adrian suspected they might lie in
the next kingdom east, in the forested lands of Galemar.  If the dark threat
were rooted there, that could explain the hostilities springing up in both
neighboring kingdoms from its spreading influence.

Except he hesitated to move any of his forces until
they stood ready to support each other.  The remaining Tullainian elements
might be thin enough to brush aside, but Galemar had watched the Arronath
assault.  They knew what to expect and would be prepared to meet them.

The faint creek from the old door hinges made Adrian
glance up in irritation.  Whatever new crisis the aides might be bringing him
had better be severe enough to warrant their violation of his orders.

Instead he found the stony visages of Mendell and
Harbon returning his gaze.  For an instant Adrian could scarcely credit their
uncalled for intrusion into his private office.  Harbon made use of the silence
to close the door.

It jerked Adrian fully from the ponderous inaction his
mind entered when brooding over problems.  “By what notion do you two presume
to enter without first making a request through proper channels?”

Mendell, his face usually composed, made no effort to
conceal his poison at the moment.  He replied for them both.  “
General
,
sir!  It has been weeks since you had us pulled from our assigned duties. 
Duties which I might remind you were assigned by the king’s advisor.”

“The king’s advisor, wise as he may be,” Adrian
responded, “is not the head of this army!  That position and every concern
within the ranks is
my
responsibility.”

This brought a darker glare to Mendell’s expression. 
A slight bow followed that contained naught but scorn.  “We have been awaiting
whatever new assignments you feel are worthy of our talents.  Waiting for our
new orders to be delivered, yet still they have not come.”

“Your orders will arrive when a task I feel is
suitable for you needs tending to.  However, breach of proper protocol such as
this severely hampers your chances of retaining your current rank, much less
earning new assignments.”  Adrian scowled mightily.  Secretly he felt glad of
their intrusion.  At last he had a legitimate excuse to have done with them. 
“In fact, I don’t recall any of my officers ever having the temerity to barge
unannounced into my office unless a crisis of equal proportion existed!  Your
personal feelings are hardly an army-wide emergency.”

Rather than looking cowed, Mendell glanced back at
Harbon.  The look worried Adrian for reasons he could put no name to. 
Contained within that quick meeting of eyes had been an understanding he did
not share.

It only lasted a brief moment, then Harbon addressed
the general.  “Sir,” he said, sounding calmer than Mendell, if much oilier. 
“Our only question regards our future disposition.  Are we to rot in our
quarters as the war proceeds without us?  Neither of us joined the proud army
of our homeland so we could sit and wait like small children.”

Harbon’s icy eyes locked on him in the fixated manner
of a snow wolf spying a rabbit.  Adrian had not become a general by backing
down before others.  “Your future prospects, colonel, are rapidly worsening.  I
suggest you return to your quarters while a court martial remains your only
concern!”

The two traded silent words with their gazes once
again before Harbon fixed him fully with those cold eyes anew.  “Very well,
general, sir.  If that is your final decision.”

Adrian nodded once, meaning to finalize the session,
when it struck him.  Harbon’s eyes pulsed, then the entire room vanished. 
Those cold orbs swelled to fill Adrian’s vision.  The black irises expanded
rapidly until they wrapped around his body in an enveloping void.  Under his feet
the floor vanished.  His office walls disappeared.

He plunged down in an endless dive toward oblivion. 
Black space surrounded him.  The sensation of falling was no mere illusion! 
Whatever had happened, he fell down, down, down as ice pierced his soul and
terror numbed his mind.  There in the infinite darkness, Adrian screamed.

*        *        *        *        *

Mendell peered into Adrian’s blank eyes from an inch
away.  “That’s it?” he grunted.

Harbon nodded.  “He is ready.  I need to stay by his
side to ensure he doesn’t slip.”  He sighed deeply.  “Cardinal Xenos told me
not to do this unless we had no other choice.”

“Don’t worry about that.  He’s impatient to take the
forest.  Just make sure
this
acts natural,” he gestured at Adrian’s
vacant shell.  “I’ll leave for the Stoneseams at first light with the forces we
need.”

With a nod, Harbon added, “I’ll have him order to
renew the offensive.  We’ll push for the border and secure the lands between.”

“Right.”  Mendell squeezed his fist tightly, which
cracked the knuckles.  “This time we’ll take that wretched forest for good.”

*        *        *        *        *

Colbey tugged fiercely at Marik’s arm.  His eyes
blazed in a fashion unlike the usual cool, detached scorn he viewed the world
through.  “Do not tarry!  I call your debt in!”

“Hey!  Colbey…” Marik began, conscious of the other
four men watching this tableau.  “What—”

“Come!” the scout demanded.  The snarl twisting
Colbey’s face left Marik directionless, disassociated from the moment and
wondering what in the world to do.  Colbey yanked fiercely while growling, “You
owe me a favor.  From your own lips you promised me aid.”

“Yes, I did,” Marik replied, his tone lowered to cut
Beld’s crew out from the conversation.  “So what do you want that’s so urgent? 
I’m in the middle of something right—”

“That is not important!” Colbey interrupted, nostrils
flaring.  “We must leave immediately!”

Marik pulled his arm free of Colbey’s grip.  “Leave? 
What are you talking about?”

Beld’s impulsive friend called from where they stood. 
“Hey!  You’re not going nowhere!  You got a match-up with us!”

He obviously would have continued were it not for
Beld’s sudden thump into his head’s backside.  After a harsh stare at the
voluble giant, Beld stepped closer to Marik.  “You thinking about welshing on
my instruction, you?”

“Beld—” Marik began, annoyed, meaning to tell the
giant to have a little patience.  Colbey overran his words before he could
deliver the admonition.

“Instruction?” the scout barked.  “Any common grade
teachings the likes of you may have to pass along are of no value!  Be off and
cease bothering us!”  Colbey reached for Marik’s arm with the obvious intention
of dragging the larger mercenary away to wherever he meant them to go.

“I don’t think you see the picture, little man,” Beld
opined, features clouding in affronted anger.  “He and I got business that
doesn’t concern you.  You take yourself away before you buy more trouble than
you can handle.”

Colbey ignored Beld completely and continued to grab
for his target.  Marik stepped away, adding, “Colbey, what’s the problem?  You
want to explain what’s on your mind?”

“On the way,” the scout hissed through his teeth.  His
eyes darted continuously from Marik to the gate in nervous anxiety.  Heavy
breaths repeatedly expanded and contracted his torso.  “But we must leave with
haste to make our destination within the month!”

“Month?” Marik asked in disbelief.  Beld lashed a hand
out to strike Colbey away.

“I told you to scram!” he declared.  Beld’s blow
missed when Colbey danced aside in liquid agility.  “You better piss off before
you make me angry!”

Marik, still spinning from this sudden confusion,
stepped between the two.  Colbey flowed around him, eyes locked on Beld for the
first time.  The narrowed orbs radiated a malice sharper than Marik had ever
before witnessed.

“Your life is balanced on the edge of a knife blade,”
he muttered, yet clear enough for both men to hear.  “You’d best take to
whatever den shelters you along the straightest path leading there.”

“I gave you a fair enough chance!” Beld bellowed.  He
reached for his blade with the speed that always surprised Marik.

Oh, hells!
 
Marik knew enough not to push Colbey when the scout acted normal.  With him
acting so oddly, Marik feared he knew what response Colbey would deliver.

He leapt at Colbey while the scout’s lightning hand
shot for his own sword hilt hanging at his side.  Marik knew he would never be
fast enough to stop him.  Colbey’s reflexes surpassed every other fighter’s in
the band.  After so many practice sessions against him, Marik was well aware of
the raw speed the scout could summon, but throwing his body forward had been an
instinctual movement.  Already in motion, he could not stop, so he only offered
a wordless prayer that his mail would protect against Colbey’s blade.

Except Marik’s outstretched hand knocked against
Colbey’s arm as the sword cleared the sheath.  Colbey’s blade, slower than
usual, still faster than most, sailed wide of Beld’s chest to bite deeply into
his arm.  Beld shouted in surprise.  His blade fell from his spasming fingers
and he reached for the cut below his elbow.

Marik vaguely took note of the others dashing forward
while he struggled with Colbey.  He pinned the scout’s arm between his own and
his torso, back to the wildly hissing and spitting Colbey.  The scout fought to
pull free.  Marik grabbed his wrist before it could slip through his armpit
while shouting for Dietrik to help him.

Dietrik ran to his side.  Colbey cursed them and
flailed at Marik’s back.  The two of them shouted back, telling him to calm
down.  Seeing this warrior who Marik deeply respected acting so uncontrolled
frightened him.

Colbey suddenly stilled.  The transformation from
rabid wildcat to granite statue occurred with no elapsing time at all.  Marik
glanced over his shoulder to see what had happened.

All his body’s movements had shifted to Colbey’s
eyes.  His eyes seethed in a turbulent cauldron.  They narrowed slightly, only
to widen in astonishing speed.  An unidentifiable emotion roiled inside the
scout with furious abandon.

Marik stepped away, nervous and hesitant.  “Colbey?”

The sound of his name broke Colbey free from his
strange reverie.  His eyes focused, then darted to the men beyond Dietrik.

Beld panted in pain and clutched his arm.  One of his
friends helped with the wound as the other retrieved Beld’s fallen sword. 
After a moment they hurried away without a word, heading, Marik noticed, in the
direction of the chirurgeon’s wing.

When he faced back to Colbey, he found the dark eyes
drinking him in as water falling on parched earth.  He refused to step any
further away from the scout despite the unease it fanned in him.