Mage Hunter Omnibus (Complete 5 Book Series) (16 page)

The officer of the riders who had escorted Guthrie and Werner showed his impatience as he motioned toward the tent yet again. “I believe the duke will want to speak with you immediately, sir.”

Werner turned to Guthrie. “Why don’t you rustle us up something to eat? I can handle this, speaking with the top echelon.”

“
Are you sure?” Guthrie asked. “Heggel is duke of the land, and I’m his only surviving soldier from the northern station.”

“
I can pass along everything you’ve told me,” the captain said. “I doubt there’s anything you could add. If he wants to meet with you personally, he’ll call upon you. But I doubt he will. Sorry, but most nobility consider it beneath them to speak with a sergeant. If I weren’t head of the militia, he probably wouldn’t be calling on me.”

Guthrie had to ponder at that. Werner was older, experienced, and by rights should have been knighted at some point. Had the captain refused such an honor? Or had Werner’s youth been from such a low level that no noble nor the church would promote him above his current station? Either was possible. Grinning, Guthrie thought it most likely Werner had turned down any opportunity at knighthood.

“Fine,” he said to the captain. “I’ll find us a tent and some victuals. If you need me, I’ll be with Manif.”

Werner nodded. “Very well.” Then he turned and marched into the large tent, the head of the escort riders following.

The gathering of militia and soldiers began to break up then, Manif rushing toward Guthrie as the others went back to work at whatever tasks had been appointed them.

All smiles, the youth took Guthrie’s right hand and shook it. “It really is good to see the two of you alive. I had feared the worst.”

Guthrie patted the lad on a shoulder, much as had Werner. Now that they were nearer, the sergeant could see a lengthy scar along one side of Manif’s face where a Dartague sword had done some damage during the fight at the creek bed. The wound was healing well, showing some little redness still. Guthrie was surprised it was coming along as well as it was and not still wrapped, but there had been a mention of priests, and that lot were known for their healing talents.

“
I’m glad to see you made it, as well,” the sergeant said to the lad as their hands parted. “I was concerned about leaving you alone and putting you in charge of traveling back here all by yourself. I feared the Dartague might find you again.”

Manif smiled. “I saw a few outriders, but I managed to give them the slip. By the time I got back here, the army was beginning to show up, and I felt pretty safe about things then.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it after I round up some food?” Guthrie suggested.

Manif nodded and soon they were waltzing through the camp. Guthrie managed to procure a loaf of bread, some dried fruit and a small wheel of pale cheese, typical camp fare for military travelers, and the two settled upon old tree stumps being used for chairs next to one of the village’s stone houses. As Guthrie ate, he watched the activity around him, men coming and going, very few women and no children; what snow had once layered upon the village was now gone, flattened by hundreds of boots, the main evidence of the winter being the sea of white stretching beyond Herkaig and its surrounding encampment. Guthrie wondered if any of the original villagers were still alive somewhere, though he doubted it.

Once the sergeant had some food in him, Manif started talking and would hardly shut up. Guthrie found out the company of soldiers now stationed around the village had come up with Duke Heggel a few days earlier, spearheading a much larger group, two regiments, which were expected to arrive at any time. Herkaig had been chosen as an initial bivouac site until the rest of the new northern army arrived. The destruction of the local keep and church and the presence of the militia had decided the matter for the duke. Word was that Duke Corvus was also bringing north a regiment, but that would be further to the east, nearer to the coast. As for specific plans for the future, Manif knew little, but it was the general impression of those within the camp that a massive blow was to be struck against the Dartague.

“
Invasion?” Guthrie asked, wiping the last crumbs from the scrub of his chin.

“
That’s what everyone seems to think,” Manif said with excitement. “It kind of makes sense, what with three whole regiments being brought to the north.”

“
Won’t be enough,” Guthrie said with a sigh. “The northern army consisted of two regiments, my own company being part of the western regiment. Three regiments total will be enough to hold the border, to protect the rest of the nation for sure, but not enough for an invasion. The Dartague are like smoke. They’ll simply vanish back into their mountains.”

“
We could attack their capital,” Manif piped up.

Guthrie chuckled. “That’s possible, and it would also be a waste of time. The Dartague are a nomadic, barbaric people. Yes, they have a capital, and technically a king, but the city of Dartague is little more than a trading port, and the king is mostly a figurehead, someone the merchants can deal with. No, the Dartague people show little respect and no obeisance to their king. It’s generally only the clan chiefs, and now this wyrd woman, who they’ll follow. Attacking their capital would only slow down the northern trade, little more. But that’s just the kind of harebrained scheme some military genius would come up with.”

“You have a better idea?” a new voice asked.

Guthrie and Manif turned in their seats, then shot to their feet and stood at attention. Standing before them were two tall, armored figures in dark plum cloaks, long swords hanging from their wide belts. Neither figure wore a helm, but etched upon their breast plates was a circle, the sign of Ashal, and within that circle a sword pointing toward the ground. One of the figures was an older woman, though there was no weakness showing within her because of her age; her chin was solid, her eyes the color of the sea and as hard as steel, her hair long and black with a white streak running from her forehead back into her tresses. The man was also older, possibly in his early fifties, his hair shaggy and gray with a similar beard sprouting from his chin; his eyes were gray and stoney, though his look not as piercing as that of his companion.

“At ease, sergeant, private,” the woman said to Guthrie and Manif. It had been her who had spoken.

“
My apologies, milady, if I was speaking out of turn,” the sergeant said.

A thin smile grew across the woman’s face. “You were merely stating the truth, sergeant.”

The man at her side chuckled. “Did you hear, Zanbra? He called you a lady.”

Now it was the woman who chuckled. “Sergeant, you may call me by my title of Sword.”

Manif’s eyes grew the size of gold coins. A Sword of the Holy Order of the Gauntlet? Here in Herkaig? There were only three Swords at any given time, each a top commander among the church’s knighthood of magic hunters, only superseded in authority by the order’s High Sword or the pope himself.

The woman gestured to her companion. “This is Spear Kroff, and I am Sword Zanbra.”

Guthrie nodded. One did not salute a knight unless directly beneath his or her command.

Zanbra turned back to Guthrie and Manif. Her mouth opened. Then slammed closed. Her eyes widened as she spotted something beyond the two men before her.

“Tacklin Merryander!” She shouted out, a small crossbow of iron appearing in her hands from the folds of her cloak.

Manif did not move, obviously too afraid to do so, but Guthrie looked over his shoulder.

A dozen yards away stooped over a cooking fire was the man Guthrie knew as Tack. Around him was seated a half dozen of his fellows, each holding a spoon halfway to their mouths. The entire group had come to a halt, all eyes on Sword Zanbra. Tack’s features filled with dread. He dropped his bowl and spoon, standing to face the woman.

The crossbow raised, the arrow pointed at Tack.

Manif finally found the courage to turn and look.

“
You have been judged!” Zanbra shouted.

The arrow shot forward, spearing into the farmer’s skull between his eyes. His head snapped back and he dropped.

No one moved.

Then Zanbra stepped forward, closing the distance between Guthrie, Manif and Kroff and the man she had just killed. None stepped forward to retard her nor to speak of what had happened. None would.

Zanbra knelt next to the dead man, stared at him for a moment, then grasped at the arrow sticking out of his skull. She tugged, a grotesque tearing sound followed by a sucking noise. Then she wiped the arrow clean on Tack’s tunic, and the crossbow and arrow disappeared within her cloak once more. She stood and stared at each of the men who had been seated with Tack, her eyes as hard as diamonds. Then she spun away, marching back to her own group.

Kroff’s head was tilted back, a questioning look on his face.

“He was wanted in Mas Ober for being apprenticed to a mage,” Zanbra said as way of explanation.

Nothing else was said of the matter, and never would be. Those of the Order of the Gauntlet were empowered to judge and slay any they believed guilty of using magic in any form. No one other than the pope could interfere in such matters, and that rarely happened as those judged usually did not live long enough for an appeal.

Watching the other militiamen at the fire gather up their dead companion, Guthrie shuddered as he turned back to the two members of the Order.

“
I regret the distraction,” Sword Zanbra said to Guthrie, “but justice must be served.”

Before another word could be said, Manif fell to his knees, retching to one side. Guthrie felt pity for the youth. Manif had seen combat, but it wasn’t every day you watched one of your own slaughtered in your midst.

Zanbra sneered at the lad. “
That
one,” she said, motioning toward Manif, “is not needed for our conversation.”

The sergeant helped the youth to his feet, then patted him on his back and sent him shuffling toward those who were to take care of Tack’s body. Guthrie had barely known Tack, but the fellow had seemed to him a good man. Now the northern military would be short one more fighter. Inwardly Guthrie seethed at what had happened, but there was nothing to be done about it. He would say a prayer for Tack later.

“The reason we have looked you up, Sergeant Hackett,” Zanbra continued, as if nothing had happened, “is it is our understanding you have had contact with the Dartague and one of their wyrd women. More contact than any other known survivors here in the north.”

Guthrie tried to put thoughts of Manif and Tack out of his mind. He gave a curt nod. As far as he knew, Zanbra spoke the truth.

Spear Kroff stepped forward, placing a steely hand upon the sergeant’s arm as he stared hard into Guthrie’s eyes. “We want you to take us to her.”

“
Who?” Guthrie asked.

“
This wyrd woman,” Zanbra said. “I believe she is called Ildra.”

Chapter 4

Despite being in the middle of winter, the temperature was rising and the snow was melting. The flatlands of northern Ursia had turned from a cold, hard place to a swampy prairie that reached out in all directions.

Into this muck rode three atop heavy steeds. Guthrie was in the lead, the two members of the Order of the Gauntlet riding next to one another behind the sergeant.

Apparently Zanbra and Kroff had been familiar with Ildra’s existence, though before arriving in the north they had not known of her importance to the Dartague situation. Manif had told his fellow militiamen of words Guthrie had shared, and the youth had told about a mysterious dark wizard who had supposedly been the one to destroy the local church. It had not taken long for fact to become rumor and for rumor to make its way to the newly-arriving army. Zanbra and Kroff had been traveling within the army, sent by the pope himself to deal with any with magical skill within the Dartague. Putting together what little they had known with the rumors spread by Manif’s word, the two knights of the Gauntlet had decided direct action was best. Captain Werner’s report to Duke Heggel had only intensified the knights’ opinion. Zanbra and Kroff had not heard much of what Werner had had to say before they had conferred with the duke, all three deciding Ildra was behind the Dartague attack and thus must be slain. Then the two knights had sought out Guthrie, the one Ursian at the center of all the dealings with the wyrd woman. Of course Zanbra and Kroff did not know everything, as Guthrie had not revealed the complete truth to Werner nor to Manif, especially concerning Guthrie’s ability to seek out magic and his own powers.

Now the three were on a hunt for Ildra. Zanbra had ordered Guthrie to lead her and Kroff to the Dartague encampment where the sergeant had freed Captain Werner. It did little good to argue that the camp was likely moved by now, at least a week later, or had dissipated altogether. These were members of the Gauntlet. They would have their way. Guthrie could potentially advise them, but his opinion was not necessarily wanted, especially by Zanbra.

Kroff, on the other hand, seemed a little more open, more friendly. Which might explain why the older man was a Spear, a lesser officer, instead of a Sword, such as Zanbra.

The Spear spurred his horse gently and rode up next to the sergeant, leaving his companion to ride behind. Kroff pointed ahead to the mountains growing in their sight. “You say there is a trail?”

“A sizable valley,” Guthrie said with a nod. “It is the most direct path. The trail Captain Werner and I took in escaping is further to the north and west.”

Kroff waved a hand at the scenery before and aft of them. “Won’t the Dartague see us coming with all this open land around us?”

“Most likely,” Guthrie said. “I suggested to Zanbra that we take the lesser trail, but she did not seem so inclined.”

Twisting in his saddle to stare at his fellow knight, Kroff raised a questioning eyebrow.

Zanbra’s features soured, the woman bristling at having to explain herself. “The other trail is too narrow, leaving us open to ambush.”

Kroff glanced ahead again, then back to his comrade. “And this route is any safer? It looks to me as if the whole Dartague nation could ride right down upon us.”

“Let them,” Zanbra said, gritting her teeth. “We have the force of right upon our side. These barbarians have no chance against the Gauntlet of Ashal.”

Kroff did not appear convinced, but he was not about to question a superior officer, especially a fellow Gauntlet. He turned back in his saddle to face forward.

“And why didn’t we bring the whole army with us?” he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

Guthrie chuckled quietly, hoping the sound did not reach Zanbra. Yes, Kroff he was finding a more than tolerable traveling companion. Zanbra, not so much.

“I heard you,
Spear
,” the woman said from behind, emphasizing Kroff’s lesser rank. “This wyrd woman is not likely to personally confront our companies, but she might be willing to face only three riders. Even if we allow ourselves to be captured, we would likely be taken before her, much as was Captain Werner.”

Allow
themselves to be captured? Guthrie glanced at Kroff, hoping to see common sense intruding, but was disappointed. Kroff wasn’t going to speak against his commanding officer, and Zanbra did not seem the type to tolerate such. Guthrie believed if the Dartague were going to take them prisoner, there wasn’t much they could do about it. Perhaps they could flee, but even that seemed not likely what with Zanbra thinking they could
allow
themselves to be captured in hopes of facing Ildra.

Staring ahead through the slit of his salet helm as they rode, Guthrie had time to reflect upon his situation. It seemed ludicrous to him. He had been allowed one night’s rest and a few hardy meals, then had set back into the open lands of northern Ursia. During the Spring these flatlands would be teeming with workers planting, then in the Summer various crops would be growing high, but here in the winter the land was flat and barren. Ahead were the mountains, which seemed to change little from season to season.

Glancing back at Zanbra before looking ahead again, Guthrie wondered if the woman had a touch of madness about her. Perhaps such was needed to be part of the Order, though Kroff seemed a decent enough fellow so far. Of Zanbra’s skill, there was little doubt. The sergeant had watched the woman slay Tack with ease, her aim true, no hesitation in her hands as she worked her crossbow. He had no doubt she would make a formidable opponent. Though Kroff had yet to spring into action before Guthrie’s eyes, the man bore himself well as an experienced veteran with little hubris showing. If nothing else, Guthrie would feel somewhat safe with these two as companions in a fight, but if they should learn about his own magical skills, his fate would be sealed.

The mountains loomed closer and closer with each step of their horses. Guthrie wondered if he was to die in those mountains. Since the hostilities had begun, it seemed he had done little more than ride from one place to another, spending days of tedium and near starving and freezing before coming upon the next conflict. Most times he had been alone, or in the company of one other. He had seen little true warfare since all of this had started, his fate relegating him to small conflicts. With Zanbra’s insistence upon hunting and slaying Ildra, it seemed Guthrie’s luck was holding steady. At least he had not been killed. Yet. He could not say the same for many of those who had been his comrades.

He wondered at the causes of all this conflict. In many ways he could not blame the Dartague. For centuries the Ursians had been encroaching upon the border, though usually not in a military manner. Groups of Ashalic priests were always traveling into Dartague to spread the word, and merchant trains were not unknown to cross into the border, later the merchants often bragging about what they had taken from the stupid barbarians in trades that benefited only the merchants themselves. Of physical conflict, there had been some from time to time. Every once in a while Dartague clansmen would surge into northern Ursia in small raiding parties, usually stealing a few cows or bushels of grain, on rare occasions slaying farmers who tried to put up a fight; the Ursian response had typically been one of vengeance, sending a squad into Dartague to retrieve any stolen items and sometimes to kill a few barbarians in the name of retribution. This had been going on for years. Now Ildra has risen to a state of power and the situation had changed. The Dartague had had enough.

The oddity of Dartague’s very existence was not lost upon the sergeant. Ursia itself spread for nearly three thousand miles from the east coast across the mountain range known as The Needles and nearly to the western shores of the continent. From north to south Ursia stretched a thousand miles at least, perhaps more in some places, touching upon the city states of Brome and Trode in the south all the way up to the lands of the Dartague and other, distant relatives to the barbaric clans, the Kobalans and Jorsicans. Ursia took up most of the continent, dominating the northern hemisphere. All along Ursia’s borders were civilized lands, even in the far southeast where the desert peoples of the Pursians dwelled. Only Dartague was a truly uncivilized place, with only one city, one king who was weak in power, and scores upon scores of tribes of all sizes. The border between Ursia and Dartague was the last true frontier in the known world. There was no law nor safety to be found within Dartague for an Ursian, even before open war had been declared.

In another week or so there would be a new army of northern Ursia, and that army would stretch forth its mighty grip across the border and into Dartague. Guthrie didn’t believe for a minute this would do any good. The Dartague were brave but not foolish. They would not go toe to toe with trained Ursian soldiers, not in the open, even if many of those soldiers were fresh recruits. No, the Dartague would not fight openly unless they were assured of victory. Instead they would snipe from cover, lay ambushes, use their wyrd woman’s magic from afar. It would be a conflict that could potentially rage on for decades upon decades with neither side claiming many true victories.

Unless Ildra should disappear. Then the Dartague would crumble, splitting into their separate clans once more. Outwardly not much would change from the Ursian perspective, at least not immediately, but a disunited Dartague would mean few major attacks into Ursia itself. The Dartague would lose interest in the Ursians, once more turning upon each other. Within a few years, maybe a little more depending upon the stubbornness of the dukes and other commanders, it would become apparent there was little reason to assault the barbarians. It wasn’t as if the Ursians would actually attempt a full-scale invasion, because that surely would bring the Dartague together, as well as bring the Kobalans and other northern nations into open conflict with the papal state. Ursia might be the most powerful nation in all the known lands, but open war on several fronts at once would tax the holy nation. Oh, it wasn’t likely Ursia would actually fall prey to its attackers, but the years of conflict would do no one any good and would weaken Ursia for decades to come, perhaps centuries. No one wanted that, at least not the Ursians and the pope.

But would this new border war have happened without the interference of Ildra and those of her ilk? It seemed to Guthrie those with the powers of magic were the ones behind the scenes moving everything, everyone, like pieces in a game. Such a feeling gave him no love for those with magical talents. It was true his own abilities had saved his life, but he had not asked for such powers. In fact, he had not wanted them. Nor had he been able to utilize such powers again, not that he had had much time to think upon the subject nor to experiment. For that matter, he was not sure he
wanted
to experiment. His newfound powers frightened him, in no small part because he feared what they would do to him, the kind of person they could make him into. Guthrie did not want to be some scheming wizard planning and plotting. More and more he was understanding why magic was not tolerated in his own country, why the likes of Zanbra and Kroff existed to wipe out magic wherever they found it.

Guthrie snapped up straight in his saddle and realized he had been dozing. When he looked up, he found they were now much closer to the mountains. He could spy the valley opening only a couple of hundred yards ahead and there were plenty of signs riders had been coming and going in numbers.

Kroff nudged him and pointed ahead. “Fresh tracks,” the older man said. “No more than a couple of days old. Looks like a sizable party has ridden into this valley recently.”

Staring ahead at the mess that was the remains of squashed mud and snow ahead of them, Guthrie had to agree. It appeared a hundred or so riders had made their way into the valley, and he wondered if they were connected to the tracks he and Werner had found days earlier. Were these Dartague riders? Or Kobalans? And if Kobalans, why would they want to embroil themselves in the mess along the Ursian and Dartague border?

As if to answer some unvoiced question, Zanbra said, “We are not watched.”

Guthrie glanced back at her. “How can you be sure?”

“I have my training,” she said, leaving it at that.

“
Members of the Order are trained in tracking and other skills,” Kroff explained off to Guthrie’s right. “It keeps us alive. When going up against magic, we need every edge we can get.”

“
I’ve been wondering about that,” Guthrie said, patting the crossbow strapped to the side of his steed. “From my limited experience, it seems a bow or sword do little good against magic.”

“
We have the righteousness of the Almighty Ashal on our side,” Zanbra said, her voice hard and crisp. “That is all we need.”

Guthrie looked to Kroff.

The older Gauntlet smiled. “We cannot thwart all magic, but there are certain skills and knowledge that allow us to circumvent some. It’s mostly common sense, knowing how to think, sometimes knowing how to move. You might be surprised at the simplicity of some of these tactics.”

“
Why not train everyone in such a manner, at least the regular troops?” Guthrie asked.

“
Takes too long,” Kroff answered. “Most of it is a way of thinking, giving oneself a perception that magic will not harm you. It’s difficult to believe such when a giant ball of fire is rolling down upon you.”

“
I see what you mean,” Guthrie said. “So what do you do in such a situation?”