Michael A. Stackpole (26 page)

We spent two full days at the fort resting up, then started off through Menal. While a straight shot to Chaos would have been the shortest route, we would have killed the horses by choosing that route. There was no way we could carry enough grain to feed them and, while the Menal plains made for excellent traveling terrain, open water was not that plentiful. Our course of travel was dictated by available resources, which meant we spent time stopping in various towns or at outposts along the way.

in many ways I did not mind stopping in villages for the night. Stabling the horses saved on our supplies, and a roaring fire in a tavern can do a body a world of good when traveling in the winter. Many folks shunned the Chaos Riders, but as we got closer to the border with Chaos, most folks accepted them, and some even sought them out.

During the day, when on the march, Eirene tended to take the lead and ranged well ahead of the rest of us. Among the other changes Chaos had made in her horse, it had incredible endurance. It seemed, as long as we kept it fed and watered, it would have been willing to carry her to the horizon and back without complaint.

Tyrchon spent much of his time working our backtrail, or positioning himself as an outrider to check what might be on the other side of a line of hills we were paralleling. The few nights we did camp in the open, he tended to shy away from the rest of us. Wolf packs that might have stalked us during the day disappeared at night, and I felt pretty certain that the howling we heard closest to us had come from our lupine companion.

Cruach tolerated the trip very well and, aside from occasionally growling at Tyrchon, seemed to like everyone in the group. He hunted for himself and managed to bag a fairly wide variety of animals, from hares to quail to rodents of all sizes. Best of all, for me, Cruach liked to sleep beside me, which meant my nights were warmer than those of my compatriots.

Despite the obvious hardships, Xoayya seemed to flourish on the trip. She split her time traveling with Eirene and Nagrendra. I don’t know what she and Eirene talked about, but I sensed that Eirene set limits for her and made her operate within a code of conduct, or Eirene would just ride away. The Chaos Rider imposed a discipline on Xoayya that was reinforced by isolation if she did not comply.

The Reptiad discussed magick with Xoayya. Their conversations quickly carried them into theoretical areas of the art that were completely beyond my understanding. Nagrendra seemed to be able to provide Xoayya with simple, direct, and relevant examples to back up the discussions, creating a link between theory and practice. I don’t know if he taught her some actual spells, but with every day we got closer to Chaos I hoped he had and that they were of the combat variety.

In Menal, about 250 miles from the border of Chaos, we made one last stop in the town of Imperial Plains. It had grown up around an Imperial Outpost and served to repopulate a city that had fallen into disrepair during its time in Chaos. As it had taken us twelve days to ride there from the Bloody Dog Mountains, we decided to remain for two days and trade for a few new horses.

imperial Plains was home to the Emperor’s Horse Guards, so Kit and his people reacquainted themselves with their old command. The Chaos Riders and I headed into the portion of the city roughly equivalent to Asylum, and Bishop Osane made her way to the Sunbird temple near the center of town. We found no tavern quite like the Umbra, but we did find a number of places willing to put us up for a reasonable amount of money.

From what little Kit had said of Imperial Plains while we were traveling toward it, 1 had thought the town would be a bit more sleepy than it was. A large number of men and women, Chaos Riders and not, had come to Imperial Plains, and I saw more and more of them arriving throughout our stay. Some looked to be refugees bringing children and everything they owned in overloaded wagons while others looked like mercenaries fishing for work.

When I saw Kit again in his barracks, he confirmed my suspicions about what was going on. “While we have been on the road, Garn Drustorn has started to raise an army. Colonel Grimands sent riders to all the villages in this district of Menal recruiting men and women for the expedition into Chaos. As generally happens when there is a call-up, some people panic and leave their homesteads for the safety of a larger town. They seem to forget the forces of Chaos cannot penetrate the Ward Walls.”

“Until now.”

Kit winced. “You may be right, but we have to remember that we have no solid proof the
Bharasfiadi
you saw came from Chaos. They could have been a clan living in the Bloody Dog Mountains or in the Menal forests for all we know. All we do know is that a
Bharasfiadi
has stolen the Fistfire Sceptre and is likely to be bringing it to Chaos. On top of that there is no evidence to suggest he has the power to cross the Wardlines.”

“Granted what you say is true, Kit, do you want to bet that is not the case?”

He hesitated, and in that I sensed a resignation about what was really going on, but a terrible desire to deny it at the same time. If I was right and we failed, Imperial Plains would be wiped out. All of his friends and their families would die.

“Whether or not I’m willing to bet on which one of us is right is really immaterial. In the absence of absolute proof, to assume the Chaos demons can breach the Ward Walls and spread that word would be criminal. It would cause a panic the like of which has never been seen since the Seal of Reality was shattered.” He shook his head wearily. “People would flock to Imperial Plains for safety, food supplies would dwindle, and prices would skyrocket. Even
if
the Ward Walls were in jeopardy and were to fall, these people would be better off in their own homes.”

There was no denying he was right. It was a point we had seen back in Herakopolis, yet here on the frontier the danger seemed much more immediate. “Your observation is especially true considering the fact that any large
Bfiarasfiadi
army is likely to come and destroy Imperial Plains.”

“I know, and I wish I didn’t.” Kit stood as someone knocked on his door. “Come.”

Hansen opened the door and tugged off his woolen cap. “Tyrchon wants to see you, sir; your cousin, too.”

“Is he here? Show him in.” Kit swung a chair around from beside the door to the middle of the floor. “Tyrchon, welcome.”

The Chaos Rider nodded, then waited for Hansen to shut the door. He rested his hands on the back of the chair, but did not sit. “i don’t really like cities, so I’ve been doing some scouting around-abouts.” His eyes narrowed, and he smiled. “I have some allies here and there, and 1 have heard of an attack on a wolf pack. I think it is the same one you talked about that first night out of Trickle Creek.”

Kit nodded slowly. “All right.”

“Well, whatever did that had a peculiar scent. Out away from here I cut a trail of fifteen horses with riders. They had two remounts each and went by about six hours ago now. They swung very wide of Imperial Plains—and avoided all contact with parties heading into the town. I would have missed them ‘cept I had been directed toward them by my allies.”

I felt a chill running down my spine. “And?”

“And the one they call ‘Packkiller’ is in that group.”

I stared at him for a moment, processing what I’d heard. I looked over at Kit. “Do you realize what that means?”

My cousin nodded solemnly. “Without a doubt. The people we’ve been racing to catch left the capital after we did, and have been killing their horses to get home again.”

21

_I

nside an hour we had all our people gathered up and out on the road heading north. Colonel Grimands agreed to lend us a fourth string of horses and sent three of his riders out with us. In an effort to catch the people Tyrchon had tracked, we rode these new horses hard for two hours, then turned them over to the riders from Imperial Plains, took to our own mounts, arid set off again

Four hours out, riding more conservatively, we stopped and huddled around as Tyrchon knelt in the snow to examine the tracks. With a finger he traced the edge of a track. “See, it’s melted by the sun. 1 would say it was made five hours ago, which means we have gained little or nothing on them. Their strides are longer. If anything, they are getting faster.”

I frowned. “But you said, pointing to earlier tracks, that the horses are nearly dead from exhaustion. How can it be? We’ve been on this track for four hours, and we have not seen them change mounts.”

Nagrendra sat on his haunches and stared at the tracks. He passed a three-fingered hand over his eyes and I saw a blue-white flash from his palm reflected on his green skin. “Magick. They have used a spell to speed their horses.”

“Magick?”

Nagrendra pressed his right hand over my eyes, and the flash from his palm momentarily blinded me. As my eyes cleared I saw a red-gold haze slowly evaporating along the line of tracks. It was as if those horsemen had ridden down a dry road and left a trail of dust hanging in the air.

“1 see. Magick. Can we use a spell to catch them?”

Nagrendra’s “Yes,” collided with an emphatic “No!” from Taci.

I looked at the Reptiad. “Why ‘Yes’?”

The large lizard-man shrugged. “The spell is not a terribly difficult one, and one oft used in Chaos to whisk Riders out of trouble. It could help us catch them.”

I turned to the Aelf. “Why No’?”

Taci’s face hardened. “That spell is fine for emergencies, but not for endurance situations. Tyrchon, aside from the lengthened stride, do you see any indication the horses are in good shape, or are they still tired?”

Tyrchon grinned up at her. “Tired. I think their riders are none too sharp, either.”

The sorceress nodded. “The spell is speeding them up in part by making their passage easier. It is also demanding a great deal from them—the horses can travel faster, but they are still using their muscles to run. When the spell wears off, the horses will be much worse than if they had galloped that distance without magick.”

Nagrendra shook his head. “If they maintain this pace, they could outdistance us rather easily.”

“But they can’t maintain this pace, Nagrendra, that is my point.” Taci shook her head. “We have over two hundred miles to the Ward Walls, and if this is truly their line of march, we will be able to beat them to the goal. They will have to ride around to avoid two inhabited valleys while we can ride straight through them.”

“And if they go into those valleys, steal new mounts, and push on?” Hansen nodded toward Nagrendra. “I don’t really want to disagree with you, Taci, but this is a race we don’t want to lose.”

I held up my hands. “Perhaps there is another solution. Tyrchon, your allies have no love for Packkiller, right?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Good. Why don’t you ask them to harry Packkiller and his people. Nothing dangerous enough to get them attacked, but just enough to make rest difficult. If they can herd them away from settlements so they can’t get new mounts, that would be perfect.”

Tyrchon grinned. “Consider it done. No rest for the wicked.”

Roarke nodded heartily. “Good. That will allow us to make up in shorter distances what we lack in speed. Remember, they just have to get to the Ward Walls. We have a long and difficult journey after that. A magick push makes sense if we close with them, but not otherwise.”

“That’s my read as well,” Kit said, swinging up into the saddle. “Let’s go.”

Taci’s prediction concerning the riders proved grimly accurate. As we were looking for a suitable place to stop for the night we found over a dozen horses half-frozen and mostly dead. They had been abandoned when the riders switched over to their other mounts. Urien spent the better part of the early evening trying to save even one of them, but he could not.

Sorrier-looking horses I had never seen. Lather had frozen against their skin. Their manes and tails were matted and full of ice. Oozing sores covered their backs, and their flanks bled from where they had been repeatedly spurred. They had been practically reduced to skeletons, and their deaths, which came hard, were a blessing.

The tracks at the stopping place told us quite a story. Tyrchon pointed out a large set of footprints as belonging to Packkiller. In comparison to the spoor left by the others, the
Bfiarasfiadi
was in fine shape. “You can see by the crispness of his footprints that he’s not tired and is moving well. His feet come up and out of the snow as he walks, and he hasn’t stumbled.”

Tyrchon knelt beside another set of tracks. “The others are shuffling their feet and have fallen down several times. This one is having trouble shifting his saddle from one horse to another without dropping it.”

Everything Audin had ever taught me about tracking led me to concur with Tyrchon’s read of the signs left in the snow. Packkiller’s compatriots were exhausted. Part of me thought of it as justice for Black Churchers to be driven so hard by a Chaos demon, and another part of me rejoiced at how useless they would be in combat when we caught them. Despite that, however, I felt sorry for them because their delusions were putting them through such a trial and, at the end of it, would probably result in their deaths.

We worked hurriedly during our stop. Half of us fed and curried the horses while the others built a fire and prepared some warm food. We also melted snow into water for the horses and fed them from the grain we were carrying. After eating, we set up watches, and everyone managed to get four hours of sleep before we headed off again.

Shortly after dawn we found the place where our quarry had settled down for the night. One of their horses had been slaughtered for food, but from the butchery and the garbage they left behind, no one seemed to have eaten much of it. The rest of the horses had been fed sparingly and hobbled too far away from their fire to warm them. From the heat of the embers left in their fire Tyrchon estimated we had picked up two hours on them, but he doubted we would close much beyond that.

I agreed when, later in the day, we found five more dead horses and one of the riders. He had a hole burned through his chest and out through his back. The scorched area of his tunic reminded me of the burned ends of my sleeve, so I did not need Tyrchon confirming the stink of Packkiller being present.

“Taci, Kit told me of a spell you cast to locate the place where this
Bfiarasfiadi
killed the pack of wolves, it gave you a direction and time estimate, correct?”

She nodded. “Already worked it on a very low level. We are still four hours out.”

I pointed to the corpse. “How powerful was the spell? Will having cast it interfere with his ability to speed the horses?”

“Strong, and tinged with anger.” The Aelf pursed her lips. “It might force him to rest more or cast a spell of more limited duration.”

Aleix squatted beside me and pointed to the corpse’s knees. “See where his pants have worn through here and there up in the seat? Aside from his coat, he was not prepared for a long ride like this, especially through winter. I would wager he has been complaining for days and just threatened to head off to the nearest town unless they stopped. They did, and he died.”

Xoayya’s cloak puddled on the snow as she knelt near the man’s head. She reached a gloved hand out and closed his eyes. “He was not terribly surprised when this Packkiller turned on him. This man was not the trusting type, nor did he engender the trust of others.”

“That lack of trust killed him and isn’t likely to make Packkiller’s companions much happier about traveling with him.” I shook my head, then looked up at Taci. “Taci, is there any indication the
Bharasfiadi
used the Fistfire Sceptre to cast this spell?”

She hesitated and chewed on her lower lip as she concentrated. “1 felt nothing but pure Chaos and venom, i tried to locate the sceptre, but I got nothing.” She glanced over at Nagrendra for confirmation, and he nodded silently.

“Well, at least he has not chosen to use it yet, but this close to the Ward Walls we have to assume he’s preparing to put it back together.” I smiled grimly. “1 hope he is not saving it for us.”

By pushing our horses, we topped the edge of the valley through which the Wardlines ran. I saw the shimmering, shifting wall of light from over a mile away, yet did not realize how tall it truly was until we drew closer. From where 1 first saw it, I thought it rose up perhaps half a mile, then ended. As I rode up to it, though, I discovered it was much taller, and, from near its base, the sky seemed to curve down to join it.

Any chance I had to speculate about what significance that might have was swept aside as we looked down into the valley. At the very edge of the wall we saw the riders we had been chasing. Amid them stood the black-furred
Bharashadi
I had seen in the sewers, and in his hands he held the Fistfire Sceptre. As I watched he screwed the gold fist clutching the black pearl onto the shaft.

The Black Shadow barked a command at his Black Church companions and they hauled themselves back into their saddles. Drawing steel or setting arrow to bow, they started toward us. Behind them the
Bharashadi
sorcerer began to whirl the sceptre much the way Fialchar had done with the Staff of Emeterio. Above him a glowing red-gold circle began to take shape.

Without a conscious thought, 1 drew my blade and spurred Stail forward. Behind me I heard others of our company draw their weapons, and Kit shouted something, but I did not hear if it was a warning or encouragement. I knew only one thing: I had to stop the
Bharashadi.

The scouts’ black arrows arced over me in a deadly rain. Two horses went down when hit, spilling their riders into hard landings amid the knee-deep snow. Another man rolled from his saddle when two arrows crossed in his chest, and a fourth was wounded. He fell from the saddle, then was dragged through the snow when a stirrup trapped his foot.

Roaring past me, Tyrchon’s ears flattened back against his head. He set his spear and skewered one of the Black Churchers in mid-gallop. The crosspiece stopped the man from sliding up the shaft and blasted him back out of the saddle. Tyrchon cast aside the spear and his first victim, then drew his sword.

The
Bfiarasfiadi
arced the sceptre down and whirled its head toward me. The hollow circle of light spun madly as it swooped in my direction. Six feet across, with its edge a foot wide and of a snowflake’s thickness, it crackled through the air, coming in at an angle that would burn it through Stail and me.

I hauled back and left on the reins, cruelly yanking the bit in Stail’s mouth. The beast screamed and started to go down. I kicked free of the stirrups and let my momentum vault me from the saddle. I knew I would not land neatly or easily, but 1 wanted to be clear of Stail and the magick.

Above me a blue-white fireball jerked through the sky and slammed into the burning circle. They exploded, and the force of the blast hammered me solidly into the ground. The thunderclap deafened me, and 1 tasted blood running from my nose. A wave of heat flashed over me and vaporized the snow in which I lay. Pressing my left hand to the ground to push myself back to my feet, 1 felt soggy, grassy turf and looked down to find myself in a steam-shrouded circle utterly clear of snow.

As the mist curtain evaporated a Black Churcher launched himself at me. Clearly unschooled in the use of a sword, he held his sabre in both hands and had it raised for a crushing overhand blow. 1 sidestepped from the line of his attack, then whipped my sword across his middle. He folded around the blade, and blood sprayed from it in a crimson arc when it sliced free of his flank. He fell face forward in a snowmelt puddle.

Tyrchon, knocked from his saddle by the blast or on foot by choice, cut down another of the Black Churchers. Roarke rode through the cultist formation and split the head of one man with his ax. Osane, Eirene, and the scouts again sent a volley of arrows into the Black Churchers while our two magickers rode around the fighting to concentrate on the
Bfiarasfiadi.

Perhaps the smartest of all of us, Xoayya hung back and did nothing.

A cultist rode his horse straight at me and spurred hard to get the horse to ride me down. Thickly lathered, the horse seemed little of a mind to do his master’s bidding, though he did enter the melted circle. There the horse balked, which, despite his rider’s cursing, was a good thing because two arrows passed through where he would have been just one step forward.

My grandfather had ingrained in me the idea that fighting from the ground against a mounted swordsman is as close to suicide as I would ever want to get. I darted forward and grabbed the horse’s reins real close to the bit, then ducked to the side as the cultist slashed at me. He drew his arm back again for another cut, this time on the side where I had taken refuge, so I shifted over to the other side. Again he missed, so he spurred his horse forward again.

I backed quickly, but tripped over the man 1 had killed earlier. As I went down, I lost my grip on the reins and the horse shied from me. This brought his rider around to attack me, but, luckily, I had fallen beneath his reach.