‘I’d like your soldiers in a line, two-deep, running out from the river, maybe five hundred paces through the forest, longer if you can keep them all headed south at roughly the same clip,’ the major went on, pointing.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Hershaw answered smartly. It was a ridiculous order, but he would ensure his men complied as best they could. Marching all day spread out in a line five hundred paces long would guarantee that by nightfall, he and his lieutenants would spend a half-aven retrieving everyone who had been lost or had fallen behind. No matter; they would weather this temporary storm, and Colonel Pace would reward him for it.
Tavon went on, ‘And you, Captain Denne, will remain here along the river.’
‘Why?’ Denne, a career soldier with more than two hundred Twinmoons’ service, was incredulous. ‘Why stretch Hershaw all the way out into the forest while my men remain bunched up here?’
A momentary look of irritation clouded Major Tavon’s face. She didn’t appreciate having her strategies questioned, even by a seasoned officer. ‘Because, Captain, we are tracking an extremely crafty and resourceful prey, a Larion Senator and a young sorcerer of tremendous ability.’
‘Two men?’ Denne said. ‘We’ve run the entire battalion down here for two men?’
‘Two very powerful men, Captain. And while I expect they will stick to the river, they probably know we are coming and might try to sneak off to the west and work their way around us. They are hauling a large and cumbersome cargo so their progress will be extremely slow, but I do not wish to lose them because I failed to dispatch at least a token force to keep an eye on western routes around our line.’
‘You’re mad,’ Denne said.
‘Captain, don’t-’ Hershaw interrupted, but Denne ignored him.
‘You’ve lost your mind; you realise that?’ Denne gripped his saddle horn with trembling fingers. ‘We’ve lost men coming out here. Our position north of Wellham Ridge is compromised. Our soldiers are collapsing with fatigue, and for what? For two men – one a Larion Senator? – hauling a wagon loaded with a cargo so large and heavy that we could take them with a squad, never mind an entire battalion?’ Denne’s voice rose as he continued, ‘Please, Major Tavon, I’m begging you to turn us back to the Ridge. You need to see a healer, a team of healers.’ He glanced at Hershaw and Blackford for support, but finding none, he pressed on. ‘People are dying, Major, our people, and more will die if we march all day today!’
The spell struck Captain Denne in the chest, ripping through layers of leather and cloth to his flesh, crushing his ribs, perforating his lungs and tearing his heart free with an audible ripping sound. Blood splashed Captain Hershaw’s face, but it was not the steaming fluid that caused him to shudder, but the unholy sound of whatever Major Tavon had called upon to eviscerate Captain Denne going about its work. He had never heard anything at all like the sound of his colleague, his friend, being torn to pieces in front of him.
Captain Denne, his body torn apart, pumping out blood, gurgled incoherently and tumbled from the saddle.
‘Captain Blackford,’ the major said, emphasising the field promotion, ‘see to it that your men are ready to accompany me along the river. Captain Hershaw’s soldiers will fan out, two-deep, to our right and make their way through the forest today.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ The newly minted Captain Blackford was quaking too furiously to hide it.
Major Tavon didn’t seem to care. ‘Very good.’ She looked down at Captain Denne’s carcass. Blood had bubbled up between his lips and one eye was half open. ‘I’m glad to see I can still do that.’
Captain Hershaw swallowed hard. This was no illness; Major Tavon was a demon, possessed by something evil, perhaps from Welstar Palace. He had never been there himself, but he had heard the legends. Clearing his throat, he asked, ‘Might I be excused, ma’am? I have preparations to make.’
‘Of course, Captain, of course,’ Major Tavon said. ‘I’ll see you for dinner tonight.’
Hershaw’s mind was blank. Should he run? Should he order the major taken under arrest? Should he direct his soldiers to sneak away during the day, to circle back and meet him in Wellham Ridge? He needed time to think, but she wasn’t giving him any. He swallowed again, wiped Denne’s blood from his face and said, ‘Very good, ma’am.’
‘One last thing,’ she added. ‘If you should come upon these two men, I want you to keep them alive for me. They can be broken, battered, missing limbs and crying for mercy, but I do need to speak with them before they die. Is that understood, gentlemen?
Blackford and Hershaw answered in unison, ‘Yes, ma’am.’
As he accompanied a trembling Blackford back through the lines of sleeping soldiers, Captain Hershaw overhead Major Tavon say, ‘I’m going to find you, Steven.’
*
‘Where were the moons last night?’ Garec asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Steven said. ‘They were in the north two nights ago. The clouds were heavy, though, and I didn’t see them for more than a moment.’
‘I haven’t noticed either,’ Kellin said.
‘So we don’t know how long it’s been?’ Garec said.
Steven said, ‘We can figure it out.’
‘All right. We left Traver’s Notch the same day Gita sent a rider to Capehill to get that magician, the one Gilmour is going to knock senseless.’
‘Stalwick,’ Gilmour added.
‘That’s him,’ Garec said, ‘and then we were… what? Fifteen days crossing the plains? It was so rutting cold out there, I can’t remember. Was it fifteen days before we ran into that cavalry battalion?’
‘I think so,’ Gilmour said, ‘then two in Wellham Ridge, three days to reach the glen, four more days to get here and one day to excavate the spell table.’
‘That’s twenty-five days,’ Steven said. ‘That should be enough time for Stalwick to get back to Traver’s Notch, right?’
‘Assuming they found him,’ Garec cautioned.
‘We have to take that chance,’ Steven said. ‘We have to contact Gita and get her marching on Capehill – we need the distraction to get the spell table out of here and hidden somewhere Mark will never think to look for it.’
‘Wellham Ridge?’ Kellin asked.
‘How about Orindale?’ Garec said.
‘I was thinking more like South Dakota or Paraguay or New Zealand.’
‘Ah,’ Garec said, ‘your side of town.’
‘Exactly,’ Steven turned to Gilmour, ‘and why not? We have the portals; we have that book. All Mark has is the keystone. If we get rid of the table, he’s screwed.’ Steven sounded childishly hopeful.
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Gilmour said.
‘But it would at least allow us to focus on Mark,’ Steven clarified. ‘Except for whatever damage he’d be doing with the occupation army – and I’ll grant that could be significant – he won’t be able to open the Fold. Evil’s ascendancy will be delayed, possibly for ever.’
‘He will come for us,’ Gilmour said, ‘for us, for the portals, and for our knowledge of where the table is hidden.’
‘Exactly. He’d be where we need him to be. We’re the only ones who have a chance of standing against him, and if he’s pursuing us, we’ll know where he is and what he’s doing. Gita can occupy the military in the east for a while, hopefully long enough for us to face Mark on our terms.’
Gilmour nodded slowly. ‘By now the forces called in to secure Orindale will be back on their normal patrols. Gita will face a relatively small force when they march on Capehill. She might just take the city.’
‘That would certainly agitate things over here,’ Garec said. ‘It’d buy us time and a much-needed distraction to get rid of this table.’
Brand interrupted, ‘But if Mark has infiltrated the occupation army, would he not have sent word to Capehill that Gita’s planning an assault?’