Magic Astray (The Llandra Saga) (11 page)

He tried to convince himself that he felt a little better at the conclusion of his morning business, but it was a lie. He still felt like death warmed over, and changing into his clothes seemed like a monumental task.
If only my healing talisman were working better
, he mused absent-mindedly.

The talisman! Randall’s hand flew instinctively to his chest to where the talisman normally rested. It was gone. Jolted into sudden wakefulness, he quickly ransacked his pile of clothes, but there was no sign of the artifact.

“Berry! Have you seen Erliand’s talisman?” Randall asked the donnan. “I was wearing it at dinner yesterday, I am sure of it. I never take it off.”

The imp tilted his head in the gesture Randall had come to know as the creature’s shrug. “Was sleeping,” was its chittering reply.

Panic tightened Randall’s chest as he raced to dress. His excitement seemed to infect the donnan, and the imp scampered around the room, searching for the talisman. Not that there were many places to look.

“I’ve told you twice already, it’s not in the chamber pot,” Randall barked in annoyance as he stamped on his second boot.

Berry shrugged again and clambered up Randall’s leg and onto his customary place on his shoulder. Stepping out into the hallway, Randall was met by a uniformed guard, standing just outside the doorway.

“Sir, Field Mage Mikkelsen has requested your presence in the officers’ mess. If you will please come with me, I will escort you.”

Randall nodded curtly. He wasn’t sure that he could find his way to the dining room unaided in any case.

Kirsti smiled broadly and stood as Randall entered the room. “Randall! I am glad to see that you survived the night.”

Randall approached her table with a scowl. “You have taken something that belongs to me,” he stated flatly, letting the accusation hang in the air between them as he solidly met her gaze.

The Field Mage looked hurt for a moment before regaining her composure. “Well, yes—I did,” she answered, before fishing the talisman out from the pouch at her waist and sliding it across the table toward Randall. “You asked me to. You insisted that I keep it safe. But judging from your expression, I imagine that you do not remember it.”

She smiled again, gesturing at the chair across from her as she took her own. “Please, take a seat. You will feel better after you have something in your belly.”

Randall stood for a moment longer before sitting. “I am so sorry,” he said, putting his head in his hands. “I don’t remember much of what happened last night, and when I couldn’t find the talisman this morning, I feared the worst.”

“Do not let it trouble you,” the Mage said sympathetically. “Clearly, the talisman is quite valuable, even in its present state. It is a shame that its power is nearly depleted. Do you mind if I ask what it does?”

Randall considered lying for a brief moment, before discarding the idea. The Field Mage had shown herself to be trustworthy; she could have easily kept the talisman for herself after making a mock show of searching the fort for it. She seemed to be an honorable person, unlike so many that he had run into since leaving home, and she deserved as much of the truth as he dared reveal.

“I shouldn’t say,” he answered. “My master told me that it was a very rare magic, and that some might seek to kill me to possess it.”

“You said as much last night. If it has such value, then perhaps it is for the best that you keep it a secret,” Kirsti said.

“Speaking of last night,” Randall started. “How did I get undressed? I found my clothes neatly folded near the bed.”

Kirsti laughed loudly, causing him to wince from the pounding in his brain. “Randall, you are a very good kisser,” she said with a wink.

“Eep! I kissed you?” he asked, his voice rising to a squeak. “Uhm, did we...uh, I mean...” Randall fumbled in embarrassment, searching for the right words. “You know,” he stated at last, failing to find a way to delicately ask the question.

“You were quite amorous, I must admit,” Kirsti said with another laugh. “It was sweet. But in truth, I do not take advantage of young men who are so deep in their cups. At least not often,” she said with a mischievous smile. “Perhaps, tonight might be a different story.”

Randall’s cheeks burned intensely as he buried his face in his hands. “I...I...” he stammered, at a loss for words.

At that moment, a loud horn sounded throughout the fort, causing Randall to wince with pain as the sound of it seemed to penetrate into the center of his brain. Kirsti quickly stood, looking alarmed and knocking her chair over with the force of her movement.

“Breakfast will have to wait. Come with me,” she ordered before making her way to the door at a brisk pace.

“What’s going on?” Randall asked as he scrambled to follow.

Once in the corridor, the Field Mage broke into a sprint. There seemed to be guardsmen everywhere, rushing from one point to another with hurried precision. Another blast from the horn sounded throughout the fort. Berry chittered in agitation from his vantage point on Randall’s shoulder.

“Hey! What’s happening?” Randall asked again, trying to catch ahold of the Mage’s arm.

“We’re under attack,” she said, shrugging her sleeve from Randall’s grasp. “We must hurry.”

“Attack? Where’s Nia?” Randall asked, flooded with sudden concern for his friend.

“She chose to practice in the courtyard while you slept. We’ll meet her there. Now hurry,” she implored, once again breaking into a run.

They arrived at the courtyard moments later, where a company of guardsmen stood at attention in formation. Nia stood nearby, looking out of place in the otherwise orderly scene. She waved at Randall as they arrived, and moved to stand close to him.

Kirsti stepped up to a lone guard standing in front of the troops. “What is your report, captain?” she asked in a way that was more of an order than a question.

“A hundred and fifty or more armed men coming directly toward the fort, Field Mage,” he replied.

“Rebels?” she asked.

“Possibly, Ma’am,” he said. “They do not seem disciplined; they are not moving in formation, and don’t have any cavalry or siege equipment.”

“They would never breach our walls with so few,” Kirsti mused. “We have to assume that they have a Mage among them. Why else waste their lives so foolishly? We can only hope that they do not know that we have such power, too,” she said, looking to Randall with a wicked grin.

She turned back to the guard and barked out her orders: “Captain, assemble the troops at the gate. We will let them break themselves on our walls for a time, while Randall and I observe from the battlements. At my signal, you will sally forth from the gates and attack.”

“If it would be all right, I would like to join in the attack,” Nia said, interrupting the captain before he could acknowledge the order.

“Nia, no,” Randall cried. “You could be killed!”

The elf snorted and a wry smile twisted her lips into a look of disdain. “If my fate is to be tied to yours, Randall, I will make myself useful in times of need. I am a hunter. For my people, that means soldiering as well as bringing home game. I’ve been trained as well as anyone here, and I would guess better than most. I can take care of myself.”

Kirsti glanced at the captain, who nodded in agreement with the elf’s assessment. “It is settled, then. The elf will be under your command, captain. Randall, come with me. We have no time to waste.”

Randall wanted to protest further, but he couldn’t do so without insulting Nia’s honor, or undercutting Kirsti’s authority. He didn’t know what the guardsmen or Mage saw when they looked at the elf, but all he could see was a little girl heading out into battle. The idea left a sinking feeling in his stomach. Regretfully, he followed the Field Mage up the stairs to the top of the battlements.

Across the grasslands, a small army was assembled. The captain was right; they lacked any sort of real organization, and instead were spread out haphazardly across the expanse. Randall strained to get a clear look, and while the group was armed, there didn’t seem to be any unity or cohesion in the weapons they carried. Pikemen, swordsmen and bowmen were all intermingled together, and none of them seemed to be wearing armor of any sort. Then Randall saw something that caused him to do a double-take. He held up his hand to his forehead to shield out the sun in hopes of getting a better view.

“Is that man carrying a pitchfork?” he asked incredulously.

“Most likely,” Kirsti replied. “Most of the well-organized rebel forces were stamped out months ago,” she explained. “Any remaining today tend to be disgruntled farmers or out of work mercenaries and the like. If they don’t have a Mage among them, we’ll let them come up to the walls and rage at us until they get tired and go home.”

“And if they do have a Mage?” Randall asked.

“Then, we’ll get to have some fun,” Kirsti answered with an eager grin. From the look on her face, Randall guessed that she meant it, too, though “fun” wouldn’t be the word he’d use to describe the upcoming battle. He thought about the last time he’d had to use his power to kill, and felt sick to his stomach.

“Cheer up,” she laughed, clapping him on the back. “It will all be over very quickly. They don’t have any siege engines. We’ll be done in time for dinner.”

Long minutes passed as the pair of Mages watched the army draw nearer. As they approached, Randall thought he could hear singing coming from the back of the throng. The sound was faint, but carried clearly over the clank and jostle of the oncoming horde. Randall cupped his hand over his ear, straining to hear.

It took him a moment to make out the words, and even longer to realize that the song was in elvish. The song was an epic tale, much like the kind Tobsen used to compose around the campfire. It told the story of a siege, and how a small but noble army fought a valiant but doomed battle against a cowardly foe that refused to come out from behind their castle walls.

As Randall listened, his blood began to boil. He was no coward, and there was no honor in sitting here, hidden behind iron and stone. He would earn his share of the glory in the coming battle along with the real soldiers below.

As he turned to race down the battlement steps, two arms wrapped themselves around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. He struggled to break free, but a voice whispered a word into his ear.

He had heard the word once before, but it was so long ago that he had nearly forgotten it entirely. Erliand had used that spell when he had met Randall in Geldorn, pretending to be Old Earl, the caravan master. As the magic echoed in his mind, the rage drained out of him completely, leaving him numb.

Kirsti held onto him for a moment longer until she seemed certain that he had calmed. “It’s a spell,” she explained, pointing to the gate below them. “Our plans are undone.”

Below the two Mages, the gate had been opened, and the troops from the courtyard were pouring out from it, having lost all sense of discipline. They were screaming with bloodlust, and taunting the coming army to fight with them hand-to-hand.

“They outnumber us, and under the influence of the spell, our men will lose the benefit of their training. We will lose,” Kirsti said flatly, without emotion. Randall realized that she must be under the same calming spell that she had placed upon him. They watched the army approach in silence.

“I have an idea,” she said suddenly. She licked her finger and held it up into the air, nodding to herself. “Can you call forth fire?”

Randall nodded, not following her line of thinking. He might be able to take out as many as a dozen men with the spell, but it wouldn’t be nearly enough to turn the tide of battle.

“How much variation do you know?” she asked. “Can you make the flame, thinner and longer? I don’t need a great column of fire. I just need a lick of flame to reach the enemy. Can you push it out that far?”

“I can try,” Randall said.

“Good, because I will need to push myself to the limits if we are to have any hope. Get prepared,” she ordered.

Randall nodded as Kirsti began chanting a spell of her own. It was only a half-dozen words, repeated over and over again, but he could feel her pushing every bit of power she could muster into the spell. The spell had a guttural, rasping quality that was clearly demonic in origin. He closed his eyes, and sought the bright pinpoint of light in his mind that was his connection with Llandra.

The power flooded into him, burning away the emotion-draining spell that Kirsti had placed him under. It was no match for the promises of power that the magic whispered into his mind. He opened his eyes and looked out across the plain with a sneer on his lips. The men on the battlefield below were puny. Insignificant.
I could crush them all
, he thought derisively.

A sickly yellow fog hung in the air, drifting over the oncoming army. As it enveloped the attackers, they began clutching at their sides and coughing, halting their advance. Within moments, the whole army was engulfed in the noxious substance, hacking and vomiting.

“Now!” Kirsti cried suddenly.

Only momentarily startled, Randall barked out a word of his own: “Arkala.” He clamped down hard as the magic spooled out of him, twisting and merging with the spell, willing it to stretch all the way to the oncoming army. It was a trick he’d learned long ago while playing games with Berry on the open road, but he’d never tried to push the fire so far before.

Pencil-thin and white-hot, a lance of flame raced from his fingertip toward the oncoming army. The magic was bleeding out of him too fast, and he was certain that the spell would fail before the flame reached its target. Suddenly, he felt an influx of power, and felt a soothing purring sensation from his shoulder. Berry was helping—the flame was going to make it!

Then the fire touched the edge of the fog. There was a tremendous roar as the entire cloud exploded in a flame so bright that it seared Randall’s eyes, causing him to see spots. An instant later, a hot burst of wind knocked him from his feet, hurling him backward off the battlement and into the courtyard below. He landed flat on his back, driving the air from his lungs and awareness from his mind.