At the moment the linkage began to spray apart of its own momentum, Kharl concentrated and surrounded himself with a shell of hardened air.
CURROMPTTT!!!
Despite the shield, Kharl’s ears rang so badly that he could hear nothing. He felt, rather than heard, the successive explosions of the other magazines. For all his caution, he was thrown against the inside of his own air shield, then hurled back the other way, bouncing back and forth.
Stones and stone fragments crashed down against the shield.
Another wave of explosions followed the first, and yet another after that.
Reddish white waves of death cascaded across Kharl, and his guts tried to turn themselves inside out. He swallowed, convulsively.
Another round of explosions shivered the ground beneath his feet, and more stone hammered at the air shield.
More waves of death buried Kharl, each a knife of reddish white, yet a gaping emptiness as well.
The ground shifted, jerking Kharl against the air shield once more. He struggled to stand erect.
Kharl waited until he was sure that not only the explosions had stopped, but that no more rocks and fragments of the fort were falling. Then, he forced himself to expand the air shield slightly, just to make sure nothing was resting on top of it that would fall on him once he released the shield. Several more chunks of stone rumbled and rattled away.
When he finally released the shield, he was standing in a pit surrounded by stone piled somewhat above his head.
Almost a quarter glass passed before he had climbed out of the pit-most carefully-and started back toward Jeka and the others. He stumbled more than a few times, and half fell into the spongy ground on the north side of the stream, coming down on his knees. He struggled upright and jumped across the stream, then searched for a place where he could use roots to help him climb the bluff that had seemed so much shorter coming down.
Jeka and Demyst were waiting at the top of the bluff. They reached out and pulled him up.
“Thank you,” he panted.
“Not much left,” Demyst pointed.
Kharl looked back. Before, the fort had looked solid and gray. Now, sections glowed red, and even in the darkness, the trails of smoke that wound up toward the overhead clouds were easily visible. It looked like a vision from the time of the white demons.
Kharl turned away, almost stumbling again.
Jeka steadied him. “Now what?”
“We find a place to wait where we don’t get too wet. There should be some cots or something near here,” Kharl said tiredly. “When Lord West-or Osten-or whoever-discovers that the fort is gone, they’ll ride down toward Brysta, or they’ll send scouts.”
“If they don’t?” inquired Demyst.
“Then Egen will move his troops back up here to guard the gap to the east. That won′t happen. Even Osten isn’t stupid enough to stay blocked away to the east, not if he wants a chance at succeeding his father. He might not confront Egen, but if his lancers and armsmen are where they could attack, he’ll be in a stronger position.”
“Why haven′t they fought over Brysta?” asked Jeka.
“Because Brysta is what brings golds into their coffers. They fight over the city itself, and everyone loses, no matter who wins.” Kharl took a deep breath. Demons, he was tired. “If the fighting goes on, they might. I don’t think so, because even the Hamorians wouldn’t want Brysta that badly damaged.”
He made his way toward the gelding, hoping he could mount. He really didn’t want to remain too close to the burning ruins of the fort. He thought, tired as he was, that he could lead them back the way they had come, using his order-senses and night sight. He stifled a yawn. He hadn’t been sleeping that well, and he needed sleep. He wasn′t certain that he’d get that much, but anything would help-after they put some distance between them and the destruction he had created.
LXXXII
Kharl did not find a cot or a hut, but they did find a shed with a thatched roof that had once been used to store hay and shelter a flock. After pulling off his damp boots, Kharl had collapsed on a scattering of very dry hay. His dreamless sleep lasted but a short while before the nightmares began.
The first one was almost like the battle against the three white mages, except this time, he could not find a way to break their shields or to get close enough to them to unbind order and release chaos-because there were scores of cannon pounding at him.
Abruptly, he was running through the streets of Brysta, looking for Jeka, because she had slipped away while he was considering what sort of magery to use against the harbor forts that were still held by Egen’s patrollers. After that, he fought against shadowy demons-both black and white. Sometime in the night, however, he dropped into a deeper and dreamless sleep. Or, at least, he didn’t recall any other dreams.
Both Jeka and Demyst were looking at him when he finally struggled awake and sat up.
“Cloudy, but it’s not raining now. Might not, either.” Demyst paused, then added, “There’s lancer scouts coming down that east road.”
“You’ve been out scouting?”
“Took Sestalt with me, ser, but I thought it might be a good thing.”
“It was. I’m sorry. I wasn′t thinking all that well-″ Kharl wrestled his all-too-stiff boots back on his feet, then stood.
“You’ve been doing enough for three men. Time for some of the rest of us to earn our keep.” The undercaptain grinned.
“You’d mentioned that we needed to do something with Osten or Ostcrag …″ ventured Erdyl.
“We do. We’ll need lancers and some support to face Egen and the Hamorians. Whether it’s Lord West or Osten, they need us, or they’ll get burned into ashes. I’d like to meet Ostcrag or Osten, or both of them, on the flat before the ruins of the fort. If it will make them comfortable, they can bring some guards, but not many.”
“Do you think they will?”
“After they look at the fort?” Kharl raised his eyebrows. “If they don’t, then we’ll have to wait until they get beaten, and hope that there are enough left for a second battle.”
“If that happens-”
“We’ll worry about that if they won’t meet me.”
“I don′t know …” muttered the undercaptain. “Don’t know as I like you just riding up there to them.”
Kharl had thought about that, and he didn′t like it, either, but he was the envoy.
“I’ll do it,” Erdyl said. “Besides Lord Kharl, I’m the only one any of Lord West’s people might recognize. It’d be better if I went.”
“Thank you,” Kharl said, hoping that he wasn’t sending his secretary out to his death, but knowing that Osten and Ostcrag were such traditional lords that for Kharl to ride up and announce himself would lessen his stature and increase their contempt for the envoy-mage-despite what he had already done. To overcome that would require more magery and force. He held in a sigh. Magery would probably still be required. “You’d best take both Sestalt and Alynar.”
“I’ll get ready.” Erdyl started for the shed door, then paused and called back, “You ought to eat whatever you can, ser.”
Kharl was already looking for what remained of his provisions. There was some bread, and a chunk of cheese. That was all.
The undercaptain had followed Erdyl, leaving Jeka and Kharl in the shed.
“Don’t like sending him, do you?” asked Jeka.
“No,” Kharl admitted, after chewing a mouthful of bread. “But he’s right.”
“You can′t do everything.”
While Kharl knew that, it had never been easy for him to let others do things for him, especially when he had been a cooper, perhaps because so seldom had they done them well, and he’d usually had to do them over again-or live with the consequences. But then, he reflected, as he felt the uneasiness within himself that suggested he was not being accurate, there were all too many times, especially in the last year, when he had not done so well, and it might have been better in some cases to listen to others.