Rising like an old man in winter, he limped to the opening in the rocks where he had first begun his climb. Boriahs looked down and felt his lip curl. It would be a lot more difficult climbing down than up. Fifteen minutes of careful maneuvering had brought him to the granite shelf he now rested upon. It was at least another fifty feet before he’d reach the road, and the members of the Red Flange who had not succumbed to the dragon’s flames.
The Tyrant’s servant gritted his teeth again. It had been brilliant, his plan, but it had failed miserably. When Armauld first warned him of the powerful elf-mage’s presence alongside the dragon and the girl, he had been outraged. Tracking them had been unfathomably difficult, and now he knew why. And the elf was sure to keep just far enough ahead of them to stay out of reach, but close enough to sense their own movements. When he’d realized what the elf was up to, he turned to his own magicians.
“Armauld, summon your mages,” he’d growled to his companion.
The dark mage had only looked at him, his expression curious.
“We will stay just beyond the elf’s range of magic. Let them believe one squadron is after them, so that when we do catch up, they’ll be overwhelmed.”
Armauld had grinned wickedly and closed his eyes to pass the message on. For five days, they trailed the dragon and the human girl, staying just out of reach of their companion’s magic. The elf was aware of the first squadron, but not the rest of them. Until the morning one of the other squadrons moved too close.
Boriahs wanted to roar his fury at the men’s stupidity, but he could not afford to lose face at this point in the game. Instead, he took his rage out on the squadron’s leader. The commander smiled wickedly. The other man’s bones would be picked clean by the canyon vultures within a few days’ time. Had the foolish man waited a mere twenty minutes longer, they could have overtaken the dragon and the girl, but no. Instead, Boriahs had led his men around the corner, only to find the Tanaan dragon lying in wait and the girl and the elf gone. He had lost more men than he could afford to the filthy reptile’s fire, and even now, several more were wounded severely enough to be a burden to his army.
No matter, Boriahs thought, forcing his anger into submission. More are on the way.
A cough and the sound of someone kicking a fellow soldier below drew Boriahs’ attention back to the present. What remained of his ten squadrons were stretched out along the road, just behind the protruding mountain of granite that hid them from Cahrdyarein’s view. He would wait. He must wait. And unlike many of those beneath him, he possessed greater patience.
Feeling the need to move, but regretting it meant rejoining the incompetent swine below, Boriahs continued his treacherous climb back down the mountainside. Armauld was waiting for him, the hood of his dark red cloak pulled over his head. The soldiers of the Red Flange stepped aside as the skurmage passed, like oil pulling away from water. Although there was a handful of other dark mages scattered about the small legion, Armauld unsettled them the most. Boriahs couldn’t blame them. His most powerful magic wielder had done … things to others that even the army’s high commander didn’t like to think about.
A sickly sweet smile shone out at him from beneath the dark hood. Armauld tented his fingers and gave a slight bow.
“What is their progress?” Boriahs growled, nodding to those who acknowledged him as they moved through the sleeping bodies in search of firewood.
“The reinforcements will be here in two weeks, three at the latest,” the mage answered, his voice almost a hiss.
Boriahs jerked his head in understanding. He didn’t like the idea of camping out on this unprotected road for that long, but there was nowhere else for them to go. At least there was the cover of trees a mile or so back down the road, and the skies, so far, remained clear of foul weather. So long as they stayed behind the granite monolith, and as long as no one came looking for them from Cahrdyarein, they should remain unseen. The mages’ spells helped in that quarter.
A dark shadow passing overhead drew forth a curse from Boriahs’ lips. He ducked his head instinctively, his eyes searching the sky furiously.
“Peace, Boriahs, peace. My spell holds strong. The dragon will not sense us.”
Boriahs wanted to curse again for looking so foolish. But he had good reason to fear the shadows of dragons.
“Does the shield extend beyond the granite point?” he asked, standing back up as if falling to the ground like a sniveling child was something seasoned warriors did all the time.
Armauld cocked his head to the side. “No, but if you wish to view the wall from that point, I can extend it for a short period of time.”
“Then let us walk,” Boriahs demanded, brushing past the mage, his black cloak streaming out behind him.
The company of Red Flange squadrons had retreated quite a ways back down the road after yesterday’s battle, so it took Boriahs and Armauld nearly an hour to reach the point where they could catch their first good glimpse of the black wall of Cahrdyarein. Their pace had been slow, what with Boriahs’ injuries from the fight and the mage’s tendency to take frequent rests. When the lingering scent of seared flesh and the black scorch marks left behind by dragon fire assaulted their senses, the skurmage held up a hand.
“Halt here, High Commander,” he drawled.
Boriahs obeyed and turned away as the mage muttered some nonsense that he assumed would keep them hidden from sight.
“You may turn the corner now,” Armauld said after a while.
The high commander continued forward without so much as a nod of thanks. The road curved wide around the tower of granite, and when he came out on the other side, Boriahs had to hold his arm up against the glare of the sun. Once his eyes adjusted, however, he tilted his head and peered up at the obstacle that he and about two thousand soldiers would crash against in a fortnight’s time. Rising up from the rugged mountain side was a massive wall, nearly as black as his Master’s eyes. The stone used to build the wall, legend claimed, had been mined from the heart of the Hruhnan Mountains, some of the most ancient, and magical, material in all of Ethoes. Doubt crept into his heart then. Would the might of the Crimson King’s army be enough to breach the wall? And if so, would the dragon and his human still be in the city when it came time to initiate their attack?
Boriahs snarled his frustration, letting his impatience loose where no one could see it. Once his fit was over and he felt, if not better, less wound up, he took a deep breath and let it out. He needed to get back to camp and begin planning, and thinking, about what they were going to do. Before he turned to go, however, he glanced up at the accursed wall … and caught his breath. There she was. Standing in the gap between the crenellations decorating the top edge of the rampart. The human girl, as plain as day. The other men would be furious at this display of arrogance. They would scream for permission to act, to send a dozen arrows in her direction. But unlike most of the men under him, Boriahs realized acting rashly would get him nowhere. He knew exactly what waiting until the opportune moment would do for him.
“Very well, little human,” he murmured under his breath. “You are safe now, but just wait until you discover what I’ve got planned for you.”
Suddenly, the burning ache of the slice across his palm didn’t hurt so much anymore, and the familiar hunger of impending victory flooded his heart. With a malicious grin, he tore his eyes from the scene far above him and turned to head back to his camp, to plan and to wait.