The Gate of Bones (33 page)

“That's a thought. We don't need to fight the horses as well. Everyone dismount, and we'll tie them off.”

“I'll show you how to do breakaway ties. If anything happens to us, or the wolfjackals hit, the horse can slip the knot with enough pulling and free itself.” Tomaz held up one creased hand, and they followed him, watching how he twisted the reins into a clever knot about a fallen sapling.

Then Pyra led them to the edge of the small grove, pointing down the pass, and they crouched, waiting for their prey. Above them came a low caw. Jason tilted his head back and saw a dark crow in the tree-tops above Tomaz, its own eyes sharply scanning the pass.

They would see the trading caravan long before it spotted them.

Unless, of course, there was magic at work.

 

Jonnard woke to the sounds of the harness jingling and shouts at stubborn horses and the creak of wagons being rolled into position. He lay on his bed, contemplating the day. With Isabella gone, he could delve into his father's journals again. He thought he had the full sense of what his father had done and what he could duplicate. The only problem seemed to be the draw of power. He had no wish to burn himself out, which meant he would have to steal. Nor would his uncertain ties to Henry Squibb serve the purpose. No, he would have to consider how to get the magic he needed, because it would have to be done deftly and ruthlessly.

He stood and had just finished dressing when his mother's voice rang down the hall. “Jonnard! Are you up and awake?”

He left his room, calling back, “Both, Isabella.”

“Good. I've changed my mind. You're to come with us.”

He shoved the disappointment out of his mind and expression, giving a short bow from the waist. “As you wish.”

Isabella straightened as he joined her, and he could not help but notice the drawn look on her face and the heavy dark circles under her eyes. More aging. Every day now seemed to wear on her, and he knew she was no closer to finding the answer. Would she escalate every moment until she became a white-haired crone, as befit her actual age? Was Magick holding her back or hurtling her forward? He could not answer any more than she could, but he saw the fear in her eyes, an emotion she quickly shuttered away as she raised her chin firmly.

“I think both of us may be needed to keep the drivers in line. I would not put it past Fremmler and the others to think of hijacking these wagons for themselves. If only one of us is there it may tempt them to think they can actually do it.”

“Understood. I'll be ready to leave when you are, then.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it, in the old European way, and she smiled faintly, pleased, as he took his leave.

 

When the time came, Jon saw that Fremmler had dressed in finer clothes, as befit the trader he'd once been, and found a razor to scrape over his face, reducing his looks from grizzled to merely scraggly. He made a note to himself of the man's reaction to being promoted somewhat, as it could be useful to both reward and keep him in line, in the future.

He mounted the bay he used for a second horse, and his mother took the wagon seat on the first, lighter caravan. Then, at her gesture, the fortress gates swung open and they set out into the early day. Dew sparkled the grass and rock rills heavily, and a coldness lay upon the earth that the sun would have to work hard to dispel later. Seasons turned here, as they did at home. Jon put up the hood on his cape, seeking a bit more warmth until that selfsame sun rose higher in the sky.

The road to Naria led down off the butte where the fortress held high ground over the river valley, and wound its way beside that river. Wagon wheel ruts lay heavily grooved into the road of dirt, and Isabella sat, jolted side to side, as the caravans made their ungainly way forward. Jon rode his horse with a grim satisfaction that he had the easy going of it from the saddle as opposed to the wagon. They were nearly two hours out of the fortress, and with the sun finally high enough he paused to drop his hood.

Isabella crooked her hand, motioning for him to come and ride by her. She squinted across the landscape.

He recognized that alert look of hers, almost hawkish. “What is it, Mother?”

“Too quiet. Altogether too quiet.” She unfastened the lacy cuff of her blouse, releasing her crystal bracelet to her touch.

“Shall I ride ahead and scout?”

“I am not sure.” Her fingertips ran lightly over her crystals, brilliant gemstones of incomparable worth, as well as worth their weight in Magick.

Trees lined the nearby river here, and crowded the road through the passes ahead. He saw nothing suspicious nor did he feel anything, but he readied himself to put heels to his horse's flanks to calm her worry.

A caw rang out over the quiet morning air.

“Crow!” Isabella flung up her hand, startling Jon's horse. He wheeled it in a tight circle to keep it in hand as she added, “There are no crows in Haven!”

Crystal light flared, white-hot against the brilliantly blue autumn sky. It shattered as it met lances of light from the groves, and with shouts, the Magickers attacked.

Jon's eyes picked them out. Grown from the boys he'd first met at summer camp years ago, he still knew them. He kicked his horse forward, his own crystal blade coming up as Isabella shouted orders to the raiders driving the caravan behind him. He knew the Magickers well enough to know the weaknesses that would get them killed. He bore down on the big-shouldered Stefan. Frighten the bear out of him and the animal would flee, uncontrollable. Stefan would be the first to go.

Divide and conquer.

S
TEF SAW HIM COMING. Words from Beryl ran through his head.
The best way to meet a blade on horseback is to unhorse him or go for the legs.
Reluctance to cut down an animal made him hesitate, as he felt his friends group at his back, Rich off to his right side, putting up a Shield for both of them. Jon shouted something, beckoning at a raider, even as he drew his sword clear, riding down hard at Stef.

The other rode without hands. Steel shone in his right hand and crystal flared in his left. It took Stefan aback for a second to see that, to see the mastery in the dark-cloaked figure. He knew how difficult it would be to face him on foot, now this! His bear self roared inside of him in challenge as his crystal Shield shattered under the first blow. Rich fell to one knee with a grunt, but cried out to Stef, “I'm okay, I'll have it up in a second!”

He had, but in that second, as horse hooves drummed down on him. Jon swerved at Stef, steel swinging low. He parried. The blows met, with the blades singing out in a low, hard
Thrummm!
Stef stepped back into position, and brought his blade into guard, his shoulders aching with the vibration. Jon dug a heel hard into his horse's flank, pivoting around on one hoof and charging right at him. Stef stood his ground. He bit his cheek until he could taste the blood seeping out, trying to keep the bear down, but his chest swelled with a contained roar of fury.

Something thwoshed through the air, so near it would have sliced him if he'd so much as flinched, and Jon veered his horse with a curse as arrows—one, two, three—slashed past. They hit the ground, burying themselves deeply, their shafts quivering. Jon glanced over one shoulder, then looked back at Stefan.

Then he laughed.

A cold, chilling laughter that infuriated Stefan.

“Archers! Return fire!” Jon waved his blade, wheeling his horse about.

Stefan realized he was about as big a target as he could be. He swiped his hand across his crystal to call up his own Shield. It came up and settled about him like a mirage over the desert sand, a shimmering of light. He heard the thunk, thunk of two arrows hitting close by, and a muffled cry.

Rich toppled over, doubled in pain, an arrow shaft buried deeply in his thigh as Stefan turned to look. Pyra grabbed Rich by the collar and dragged him back as Stef stood in absolute confusion for a moment. “Keep fighting!” she ordered. “I've got him!”

Keep fighting! He roared, and with that poured out all his anger and frustration, and the bear prepared to charge through after.

Jon bared his teeth in a humorless grin. “Send your bearskin after me, boy. He's more of a coward than you are!”

Stefan threw his head back, bellowing in anger. He charged after Jon. He would pull him down from that horse and pull him limb from limb! His head nearly exploded with the beating of his heart and his skin pulled, and pulled, until he knew it would split apart, and the bear would come roaring out.

In mid-stride, Jason's cool voice caught him. From the inside, not the out. The Magick coursed through him.
Center on me, Stefan. Keep the bear asleep. Focus on me!

Stef let the voice sink through him. It cooled the fiery-hot lava of the blood drumming through him, and his skin stopped tearing. He wrapped both hands about his sword hilt and leaped at Jon with all his might. His heavy body arced into the air as if weight meant nothing. He swung.

His blade met Magick. The air shrieked with the clash of it, steel against crystal. The shrill keening sound of it tore at his ears. He came down, all his weight on the blow, felt it sliding away noisily, even as Jon let out an
ooof
and gave way.

As Stefan hit the ground with both feet again, knees bent, pulling his sword back to parry, he saw Jon with one arm out, flailing to stay aboard his mount. Unbalanced, he began to slowly topple to the ground, and he took his horse with him, pulling it about awkwardly as he grabbed its neck with one arm. Stefan scrambled back as the horse fell with a terrified whinny, legs thrashing as it immediately tried to right itself. Before Stefan could blink or gather himself to go after Jonnard, the crystal winked and both Jon and the fallen mount disappeared, to reappear on the far side of the caravan.

Stef let loose a howl of both triumph and disappointment. He fell back to the edge of the trees, searching for Rich and Pyra. He found them where the horses were tied, Rich lying on his back, propped up on one elbow, a shred of shirt wrapped about his upper thigh, his herb bag on the ground and lying open next to him.

A frown marred Pyra's oval face. She shook her head slightly at Stefan. “He won't bleed much, but that's not the worry here.” She pointed at the arrow lying on the ground beside them. “That greenish tinge on the arrowhead . . . it's blackmarrow poison.”

Rich threw Stefan a slight grin. “Not to worry, big guy. It's only a little poison.”

Stefan wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He seemed to be seeing everything with a red veil over it, his heart still pounding loudly in his ears. It faded slowly. He stood over Rich, not quite understanding.

“The arrow's out, right.”

“Yes, but don't touch it. There's still poison on it.” Pyra pulled a small vial from her own herb pouch, tapping it into the water cup Rich held. She had to lean over and hold Rich's hand to keep it steady. “Drink that. It will stave off the worst effects for a while.”

Rich drained the wooden cup in three gulps and shuddered, making a horrible face. Stef could only imagine how bad the stuff must taste. “How long a while?” Rich's red hair was the only thing of color about him. Shock had sent him as pale as Stef had ever seen him.

“Long enough,” Pyra answered tersely. She closed her herb pouch and picked up her bow. “Stay awake and don't let anyone handle that,” she ordered. “Stefan. They're still fighting out there.”

“But, Rich—”

“I'll be right here. You'll have to come to me when ya get hurt, I can't crawl all that fast.” Rich tried to screw his face into a smile, but he just looked all the more pained.

“Not funny.”

“Yeah.” Rich met his eyes. He nodded slowly. “They need you, big guy. Get out of here. I'll be waiting and I want to know what's happening!”

“Okay,” said Stefan slowly. Something knotted in his stomach.

Rich put his hand up. “I'll link my crystal to yours, give you an extra kick.”

Stefan didn't intend to let Jonnard get far, Magick or not. “That's a deal.” He broke into a lumbering run, heading back to the righting field.

 

Jason felt and heard Stefan nearing the edge, but he could not spare a look. The touch he'd braided into Stef grew fainter and fainter, like an insubstantial rope drawn thinner and thinner until nothing was left but a slight wisp. Reality replaced touch as Stef thumped him on the shoulder, saying, “Thanks.”

“How's Rich?”

“Okay, but not good.” Stef gave a bewildered grunt as if to emphasize his words, but Jason had no time to ask him for more. The Dark Hand hit him with all their considerable might and he reeled back into the other's arms. He shook the stun off as he straightened.

“Just keep hitting 'em. They'll break, there's only two, and then we've got the caravan! But watch your crystal, don't drain it out.”

Stef rubbed his nose. He sheathed his sword. “Gotcha.”

Jason narrowed his eyes and brought up both hands, each filled with his crystals. The lavender one seemed warmer than ever, and he wondered if it was because it had already been through a war of wizards and magic. It knew the devastation.

Trent wiggled his way next to Jason. He rubbed his eyes. “They've got Tomaz and Gavan pinned down, but I think I got them out of the webbing.”

“Pretty bad?”

“It was.” Trent scanned the trampled meadow in front of them. “I'd say they're trying the same on you.” He traced lines only he could see through thin air. “Net isn't closed yet, but they're trying.”

“Show me where, one string at a time, and I'll cut it.” Jason's eyes sparkled with the idea. “The game here is to run their defenses into the ground, and then take the wagons. Once the crystals are gone, they haven't much chance if ours hold out.”