“I’d say it’s the least he can do,” agreed Sorgrad. “How about we go and talk to this Guard commander and find out who does Lord Pastiss’ horse-trading? I don’t see any need to worry Sandy with anything more than the bill.”
Which would also needle Darni, who fancied himself a judge of horseflesh. I got to my feet and turned my face determinedly to the next stage of this seemingly endless chase.
The Great West Road,
2nd of Aft-Summer
Eresken moved cautiously through the sun-dappled woodlands. The spicy fragrance of spruce and fir in the heights gave way down here to a damper, earthy aroma, rich in the warm, motionless air beneath trees thickly cloaked in summer greenery. Distaste distracted him. The evergreens hadn’t been so bad; similar trees grew in the more sheltered valleys of home, even if to scarcely a fifth the height. The lowland forests had looked truly beautiful from a distance, clothed in their delicate swathes of fragile green. Close to the trees were positively ugly, each one grown randomly in all directions, marked by vine and damaged by weather, new growth warped by the scarring. Eresken lowered himself slowly to kneel behind the thick bole of a misshapen tree, the nubby bark moist with moss.
Teiriol joined him, taking pains not to stir the leaf litter of countless autumns beneath his heavy boots. “What do you see?” The younger man’s face was set with anticipation.
Eresken pointed, the pale skin of his hand now tanned and scratched. “This is where we will hit them, my friend.”
Teiriol frowned. “On the open highway?”
Eresken laid a hand on Teiriol’s mailed shoulder, part reassurance, part mute warning. “I will make sure there are no witnesses. If anyone comes upon us, I will use Sheltya skills to simply wipe the recollection from their minds.”
“When do you think they will be here?” Teiriol looked up in vain for the sun, hidden by the dense canopy of leaves. There was an unhappy note in his voice.
“Very soon,” promised Eresken. “And it is imperative that these all die, you do understand that?”
Teiriol nodded but gnawed at his lip. “Some of the men have been worrying about violating travelers, the truce is sacred—”
“Sacred to us, yes, but since when have lowlanders and wizards observed such honor?” Eresken’s smile was warm though his hand rested more heavily on Teiriol’s shoulder. “And now we know that the villains of Hadrumal are not only using their false magic to plant their power within the Forest, they are allying themselves with the mages of Solura. Remember what the bones of the sokes told Sheltya at Solstice?”
“The Solurans have always shown us good faith.” The doubts in Teiriol’s voice were strengthening. “They trust us to keep eastern passes closed to Mandarkin. What if they close the lower valleys to us, cut off our trade?”
Eresken gripped Teiriol’s shoulder until the pressure made him turn his head. “I don’t understand these wizards’ plots but we all heard how they are using sorcery to beguile the Suratimm, didn’t we? We must deal with this threat first, to keep the Forest dwellers out of our fight with the lowlanders in the Gap. Didn’t Jeirran explain?” Eresken’s green eyes stared unblinking into innocent blue.
“Yes, he did, of course.” Teiriol’s bemused expression cleared to reveal new determination. “And killing these wizards will warn off the rest. This way we keep our quarrel with the lowlanders a fair fight. Misaen will either prove the justice of our cause with victory or condemn us to the beaks of the ravens.” He sounded like a child reciting its letters by rote.
“This way, the fewest possible need die.” Eresken released his gaze and his grip, satisfaction smoothing his brow. It was time these mages learned a little humility. Their cursed ability to defile the elements had been murderous when they’d had a boat full of wizards to call on, but this would be different. “Get yourself and your men in position. You’ll know when to move.”
Teiriol made his stealthy way back up the hill and soft chinking noises betrayed the armored force easing themselves closer to the road. Eresken moved to a vantage point above a large boulder tangled with undergrowth in a thicket of smaller trees. He closed his eyes with a cruel smile. “Right, you redheaded bitch, a little humiliation before the death you owe me and mine.”
The clatter of hooves on the hard surface of the road struck echoes from the tree-lined sides of the defile. Eresken began to breathe deeply, words of enchantment a slowing rhythm on his lips. His eyes fluttered, rolling up in his head as the trance took him. That part of him that stayed aware hovered expectant in the back of his mind. Birdsong floated overhead, the sun was hot on his neck and the breeze stirred a fugitive scent of flowers. The peace was ripped apart by the terrified neighs of a horse, a scream was cut short and a cacophony of male curses came from several directions at once.
Eresken blinked and looked down at the chaos on the road where one man had been instantly thrown from his terrified horse. A feathered hat was trampled in the dust as the panicked animal believed itself assailed on all sides. That was the Soluran mage, Eresken noted with satisfaction. The wizard who’d come so foolishly spying in the uplands gave up the unequal struggle to calm his steed and kicked his feet free of the stirrups. Eresken bared his teeth and the animal shrieked, twisting away from unseen tormentors. Eresken cursed as the Soluran dragged the fallen mage from among thrashing, iron-edged hooves, saving his balding head at the cost of a deep gash to one thigh.
Where were Teiriol and his men? The only blond heads he could see were the two who had sold themselves to the false magicians. Both had abandoned their horses at the first hint of trouble and stood back to back in the center of the road, hands drawing the swords from their belts. Eresken hissed with disgust. They had not been so armed in the uplands. No matter, neither wore mail or breastplates to save their skins.
Where was the redheaded slut? He moved for a better view and nodded with cruel glee. She was struggling to stay in her saddle, fingers twisted in reins and mane as her maddened mount writhed and plunged, driven to madness by the terror raking its mind. The big man forced his own horse beside hers, mastering the animal with main force and sheer brutality. Bloody foam from the beast’s mouth spattered its chest and legs, eyes rolling white edged in its head.
“Vengeance later, whore,” Eresken promised silently before reciting the precepts of trance once more. Where was Teiriol?
Teiriol was hesitating in the gully beside the road while the horses shied and balked at unseen terrors. The doubts that seemed so foolish when he was with Eresken assailed him with redoubled force. Yes, he’d heard the arguments for a strike against the Forest. Jeirran had carried everyone along on the flood of his eloquence. Why was he no longer so certain? Teiriol felt suddenly wretched at the prospect of explaining himself to Keisyl. What would his mother say? How had he fallen for Jeirran’s blandishments?
But it wasn’t just Jeirran, was it? Aritane had summoned other Sheltya and all had brought the same tale from the dark mysteries of the ossuaries of the different sokes. He shivered at the thought of those hidden bones, silent until the Solstice sun linked Misaen’s realm to Maewelin’s not five days since. The wisdom of ancient blood could not be denied. After thrice ten days of waiting and preparing, it decreed now was the time to carry battle into the lowlands.
“Do we go?” Beard’s sly face was eager, the man licking his lips with an unpleasant relish. His mail was already rusting and smeared with dirt, but his sword was bright and keen.
Another uncontrollable shudder rippled through Teiriol. “We go!” Sword before him, he scrambled out of the gully, Ikarel at one shoulder, the beggar boy Nol at the other. Unreasoning fury spurred Teiriol irresistibly on. These lowlanders would die beneath his blade to recompense him for being born to such a straitened bloodline. Their blood would requite that snowfall that robbed his father of fingers and feet. These spoils would make amends for the pitying glances from girls guessing his miserable patrimony down to the last pennyweight. The lowlanders were responsible for everything, with their greed and deceit, the foul magic of their wizards! His confused grievances dissolved into a killing rage.