Blademage Adept (The Blademage Saga Book 3) (19 page)

“Jacek?”

“I was thinking he would be the best candidate,” Kevon nodded. “Aside from Reko, he’s the strongest Mage we have. If we could spare both him and Kaleb…”

“We can’t. My second in command will remain here, and run the camp in my absence,” Carlo added. “I’d like to take two others to help with general duties, cooking, and such. That will bring us to twelve when traveling, and nine when you are
elsewhere
.”

“I would almost suggest Alma and Martin,” Kevon hesitated. “I’ve not spent as much time with them as I’d like since they rejoined us. For such a small group, though…”

“We’d be safer with soldiers?” Carlo asked.

“As they would be here at camp, or back aboard ship,” Kevon agreed.

“It’s the same call I would make,” Carlo cleared his throat. “If we knew more about the road ahead, we might risk taking them instead. We don’t, and we won’t. If you are the one the dwarves seem to think you are, you’ll need to start making decisions like this more and more often. It’s a good start.”

Kevon stared into the fire for a few moments longer, before shuddering at the last swallow of the bitter tea.

“The Hunters collected some eggs this morning,” Carlo said, pointing toward the mess tent. “If you hurry, there might be some left.”

“We’ll gather our gear after that, then?” Kevon asked, shaking the last few drops from his mug into the fire. He looked to where the sun’s rays lit the ocean to the west, throwing a small amount of light back against the cliffs that rose to the east.

“We’ll try to reach the village by the time it lights up,” Carlo shrugged. “I can’t see us reaching the Highplain today. Tomorrow at the earliest. Then we’ll have to look for your throne?”

“The Seat of Wind,” Kevon corrected. “I wish Mirsa had been able to come with us. She’s the only one to have felt the energy of both the Seat of Earth, and the Seat of Light. Reko and I will have to try and locate it by ourselves, as Jacek has no experience with them.”

“Well, you can tell your sister,” Carlo smirked. “I’ll tell everyone else.”

“Visitors from below!”

The cry came as soon as the group rounded the last curve in the path before the village. Curious children hid behind the legs of their parents, peering out to see the newcomers. No weapons were produced, but the shifting grips on long-handled gardening tools were unmistakable.

“What is your business here?” A man built much like Carlo, but younger, a full head shorter, with a circular patch of vertical rust-red hair slipped from between two other onlookers. His light jacket of hardened leather sported small, thin riveted plates of gleaming metal across his shoulders, forearms, neckline, and other targets that Kevon would imagine could use a little extra protection. The braided joints moved with the wearer, rather than against him, showcasing his deadly grace instead of concealing it.

“Is it our concern, Rowyn?”

The onlookers parted, and the speaker appeared. Waves of flaming red hair spilled over armor that was somewhat like the man’s, with smaller, darker metal plates, closer in appearance to noble riding garb in the Inner Cities.

“Ashera,” the man chuckled as she reached his side. “What concerns our neighbors today, may concern us tomorrow. I’m not that patient.”

“
Please. No fighting…
” Ashera strained through clenched teeth, her crooked smile eliciting a barking laugh from Yusa.

“Griffinsworn, may your winds be fair.” Anneliese stepped forward, inclining her head as she spoke. “We mean you no harm, and ask to accompany you to the Highplain.”

“Fair winds to you, Child of Light. Your people have not visited in more than a generation.” Ashera swept forward to clasp palms with the Huntmistress.

“Were fondness in itself reason enough…” Anneliese smiled and released Ashera’s hands. “Supplies for your village?”

“Salt, and fish,” Ashera nodded. “Two things the Plain cannot provide.”

“Any help you require is yours.” Anneliese glanced sideways to Carlo, who could only whisper “
Griffinsworn?
”

Chapter 33

“I don’t like our company being this burdened,” Carlo growled under his breath to Anneliese. He shifted his grip on the burlap sack over his left shoulder, and adjusted the angle of his scabbarded sword with his free hand.

“Four bags,” the Huntmistress teased. “Tripling the amount the Griffinsworn can bring back to their villages will be an ideal show of friendship toward their people.”

Carlo sighed. “If anyone knows where this wind chair is…”

“Seat of Wind,” Kevon corrected, dropping his burden and rolling his strained shoulder. “It will likely be them.”

“Jacek and Rhysabeth-Dane, at least, are not weighed down by this task…” Yusa chuckled, then tilted his head as if listening to something. “Or Reko,” he added with a snort.

“Half our number was already carrying supplies,” Anneliese lectured. “It won’t take much to drop a sack and draw a sword, if it comes to that.”

“It appears we’re to stop for the evening,” Alanna shifted her load to her other shoulder and pressed ahead of the others, pointing to the switchback in the trail ahead where Ashera and Rowyn had paused and were setting their cargo down.

“We should press on,” Rowyn complained, pacing back and forth as the others reached where Ashera had stopped.

“The two of us, without supplies, would make it to the Plain before twilight,” Ashera shrugged. “The others are not what slows us down. Calm yourself.”

“There is not enough sky here,” Rowyn complained. “I don’t like it.”

“Sit down. Look to the south.” Ashera rolled her eyes. “
Be silent.
”

“How far is your village, once we reach the top?” Carlo asked, depositing his sack with the others.

“Three days walking, perhaps,” Ashera assured him. “The supplies will be picked up by other riders as soon as we reach the Highplain. That will make our way easier.”

“Riders on the Plain, yet they use us as pack animals?” Alanna whispered to Kevon as he joined her at the outer edge of the gathering.

Kevon shrugged, slumping down at the assassin’s feet, leaning against his bundled cloak. “Closer to our goal. It’s all that matters.”

“I have not been able to discern which one of them is in charge,” Alanna complained. “Both ask and order, at turns. It’s frustrating.”

“Could it have anything to do with them being brother and sister?” Kevon laughed. “Alma and I were often in disagreements of similar nature.”

“You’re both correct,” Anneliese sat by Kevon, motioning for Alanna to do the same. “Much of their conflict is familial, though they do represent two of the three factions of their society. If I’m not mistaken, they are leaders in those factions.”

“They’re barely our ages!” Alanna scowled at the news. “How could they be in charge of two-thirds of their society?”

“Life on the Highplain is harsh, the old and the weak do not survive long.” Anneliese shuddered. “These two do seem young for their stations. They must be truly skilled, to be Fist, and Claw.”

The Elder Huntmistress took to her feet. “You should join the others, build trust with our hosts. It is the surest route to our goals.”

“I still don’t…” Alanna continued mumbling as she stood and waited for Kevon.

“No sense in being difficult,” Kevon shrugged as he pushed himself up to a standing position.

“You don’t know me at all,” Alanna whispered, eyes flashing wider in exaggerated paranoia.

Kevon fought the urge to laugh, and gave Alanna a shove in the direction the others were clustering.

Rowyn sat away from the fire, talking with Carlo, Kylgren-Wode, and the Stoneguard that had accompanied them.

He surrounds himself with strength
, Kevon thought, glancing back across the fire to where Anneliese sat speaking with Ashera. Beyond the lilting laughter and the animated storytelling that reminded Kevon far too much of Waine, he felt her hawk-like gaze settling on him more than he felt comfortable with. The occasional coinciding squeeze of Alanna’s hand on his leg only reinforced his discomfort.
She looks beyond it.

As if sensing his discomfort, Ashera spoke.

“Military commanders. Dwarven warriors. Immortal hunters. Assassins.” She stood, and circled the fire to sit near Kevon, turning her sky-blue eyes to glare at him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re the one everyone is concerned about?”

“Why, indeed?” Kevon smiled, placing his hand over Alanna’s, squeezing gently to soften her vise-like grip on his leg.

“You wear the rank of your Guild openly, but do not carry yourself like a soldier. You’re built like a miner, one who has not swung a pick in a season or two, but would still know how. You walk like a would-be assassin, as if she has begun to rub off on you… and your eyes hold enough secrets for two lifetimes.”

“Blacksmith.”

Ashera craned her neck, gazing at Kevon and his terse response.

“Not miner. Blacksmith. Everything else is fairly accurate.” Kevon frowned. “And I’ve been swinging the hammer a lot lately.”

“And the secrets remain hidden?” Ashera smiled, shaking her head. “Very well. You have no great reason to trust us, beyond our history with the elves. That will change soon.”

“You seem sure of yourself,” Alanna sneered.

“Bonds that form in life and death battles overcome many things. Once…”

“Battles?” Kevon interrupted. “What battles?”

Ashera looked at Kevon, then to Anneliese. “Oh. The troubles have increased since the Children of Light last visited. I had assumed you knew, as heavily armed as you are.”

“Troubles?” Anneliese moved closer, concern lining her features. “Other than the occasional chimaera, the Highplain has always been hospitable. Are the tribes at war?”

“The tribes are more united than ever,” Ashera shook her head. “The chimaera are the problem. They have overtaken most of the Highplain. Our villages have been under attack since before Rowyn was born.”

“We had no idea,” Anneliese bowed her head. “We would have come, had you sent word.”

“Your aid is welcome,” Ashera frowned. “The tribes have chosen not to involve others. The Highplain is vulnerable to invasion. Our strength has long been the only thing preventing the Lowlanders from moving against us.”

“How has this not spilled over to the lowlands?” Anneliese peered at the Griffinsworn, confused.

“Garrisons at each of the three paths to the lower lands keep outsiders away, and the chimaera contained,” she explained. “Each of the four tribes pledge five Griffinsworn, two Riders, two Striders, and a Meek, to each garrison.”

Anneliese hung her head in dismay. “There were five tribes when I visited last.”

“There are many of the Meek from Seacliff that are scattered amongst the rest,” Ashera continued. “All of their warriors perished trying to retake the village.”

“The fortifications are mostly intact,” Rowyn added, joining the group. “The village spring and defensive perimeter help the chimaera nearly as much as they did the clan. There has been talk of burning them out, to take their safe haven from them.” He shook his head. “The rebuilding would be too costly, the greater numbers of chimaera on the Highplain would overwhelm incomplete defenses.”

“Rowyn has been leading the spring and autumn hunts,” Ashera threw an arm around her brother. “The greatest Fist in three generations.”

“Some would disagree,” the Strider grumbled. “The looks some of the Hiders give me…”

“Meek,” Ashera corrected. “The Seacliff Meek are alive because of you.”

“We should have joined the others in defense of the walls.”

“And lost everyone?” Ashera shook her head. “This is not a game we play once we return to the Highplain. Your decision is beyond question.”

“The law prevents others from questioning, not me.” Rowyn sighed.

“What would you need to retake the village?” Kevon asked. “We’ll need your help once we reach the Plain, I see no better way to earn it.”

“If I had a dozen more Striders,” Rowyn chortled. “I could do something with that. Warriors who had faced chimaera before.”

“I’ll train them.”

Every head turned to look at Anneliese.

“I have fought chimaera here, on occasion,” the Huntmistress shrugged. “Give us a week, we will meet you at Stonespire Camp.”

Chapter 34

Kevon braced his foot against the spasming corpse of the chimaera, shoving and pulling his blade free from his defeated enemy’s body. He circled the thrashing carcass, staying clear of the powerful forelegs. A carelessly defended swipe had set his training back two days at the beginning of the week, the fever from the infected wound finally yielding to a healing potion.

“No arrows,” he called, finishing his examination of the creature. “So this one counts?”

“Expertly done,” Anneliese called from her position near the garrison wall. “Two more, and we’ll all be ready to journey to Stonespire.”

“Nice move, that,” Reko’s voice whispered in his ear. “Taking a wing and the tail in one slash.”

“Unintentional,” Kevon whispered, unable to force the Illusion-speech he normally used to converse with Reko at a distance. He took a stoppered wooden vial from his cloak, and splashed the contents on the fallen chimaera, careful to avoid the liquid himself.

Two more chimaera, two more doses of poison…
he thought.
Easy, right?

A telltale ripple in the waving grasses caught Kevon’s eye an instant before the chimaera leapt from cover. He rolled forward and away from his last kill, slashing upward as he regained his feet.

The beast spread its wings and flapped, checking its momentum enough that Kevon’s attack missed the soft, wooly underbelly and chipped into its right rear hoof.

“Hah!” Kevon twisted, transferring the momentum from his swing into a tighter arc around his body, slashing again between himself and the chimaera before his foe even touched down.

The pull of the blade and the roar of pain brought a smile to his face as he arched his back and threw out his free hand to complete the backward roll to his feet, and pivot to face the enemy.