Read Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen Online
Authors: Scott Rhine
Legato sighed. “Kid, you’re okay. I’ll take you on one of my squads any time. But you’ve got a lot to learn about the gods.”
Pinetto woke up on the packed earth floor of a tent, entangled in Sajika. He was wearing only his protective cape. His paramour had teased him about the cape, but the budding wizard had insisted. He’d used up half his suppf Emperor’s Sand to etch a circle of safety around them. When he sat up, he saw the large, black squirrel hanging from the entrance flap, staring at him. How long had it been watching? Belatedly, the former astronomer realized that he had forgotten to dispel the foul vermin after it completed its last task.
When it saw him move, the spirit dropped what it had been carrying in its mouth.
Pinetto began groping around for his belt pouch, which had luckily landed inside the circle when the impatient Sajika had wrestled him to the ground. His movements caused her to stir. “What is it?”
Seeking for a positive spin on the event, he said “My little sentry. It brought me some sort of present, like a cat we once had would bring Mom dead mice. Stay inside the circle.”
As soon as his hand made contact with the proper life-stone, he willed the squirrel back inside. Unfortunately, the creature couldn’t cross, causing both summoner and spirit to experience a sharp cranial pain. The black squirrel saw the angry gleam in his eye and hopped outside the tent.
Pinetto gave chase. It almost escaped, but he tossed the stone at it, clipping it in the back. “In!” he commanded, and the squirrel vanished.
“Good shot,” said a sentry on the rocks above him. “Do you often hunt rats naked in the dark?”
Sajika came out in her dark red robes, and handed him his loincloth. “Your spirit brought you a blue eye,” she said.
“Imperial,” agreed Pinetto. “Probably one of the dead. The last order I gave was for it to rip out the eyes of any archer who got close to me. I guess I wasn’t specific enough.”
“This one’s still warm,” she said. “It came from someone still alive.”
“This close?” he mused. “A night raid!”
“Sound the alarm,” Sajika ordered the sentry. To her lover, she said, “I’ll wake the prince. Take my spyglass and locate the enemy position.”
“I can’t just wake everybody because of intuition,” said the sentry.
“Tell him who you are,” said Sajika as she ran off.
The sentry stared at Pinetto as he climbed the rock and hopped into his undergarments in front of the whole camp. “I’m Legato’s new scout wizard. The perimeter spirits just reported incoming.” He looked through the eyepiece as he continued in a distracted fashion, “If you want to keep living, run like your ass is on fire.”
The man was well on his way when Legato arrived, wearing a studded, leather coat that reached his knees, but no sandals or underclothing of any kind. “Where are they?”
Pinetto scoffed. “You mean where
aren’t
they. I count three groups of seven swords each. The center group is the only one close enough to tell details, but they’ve got summoners on point. Looks like the wolf pack that chased me earlier.” He was sweating from the fear.
“That’s over 105 men plus special units. Range?” demanded the rogue.
“Two minutes till the shock troops hit. We get everything in less than ten,” the astronomer guessed.
“We need t pull back,” said the smith, wandering up from behind. Only he was fully clothed.
“There is no back. We have to hold the line. This is the most defensible ground around,” said Sajika.
Legato shook his head. “In the unlikely event we survived this hammering, as soon as it gets light out, the Gardener will finish us off.” The Kiateran prince began issuing orders to those gathering loosely about. “We must cross the river. That way, their armor and size work against them. We turn the surprise around and lengthen the killing box. Pinetto will lead the archers across first and cover the rest of us as we cross. Oxen and support crews with Sajika. Leave whatever you can’t get your hands on by the time he reaches the other shore. My boys will kill any of their leaders we can reach and swim across after you.”
Sajika was accustomed to hours of discussion, but that was a luxury they didn’t have. She stumbled off to gather supplies and recruit her wave. The smith unsheathed the Defender of the Realm and said, “I’ll hold the anchor till you get your feet dry. Just be sure to whistle loudly.”
Legato asked, “Any other ideas?”
“Light the spike pits,” suggested a grizzled sergeant. “It may buy us an extra minute and help us see them almost as well as they see us.”
“I’ll tell the Prefect about their attack,” said one messenger.
“I appreciate what you’re doing to give her . . .us the best chance of escape,” Pinetto told the smith. “I want to do the same for you. Watch the wolves. When they come at you, lure them into my tent. I’ve put all my remaining mana into those wards. Stand back-to-back in the circle until the spirits retreat.”
The smith clasped his hand. “Brothers.”
An only child, the astronomer repeated the word softly.
Legato shouted, “Move!”
Pinetto found the group of about a dozen archers hurriedly grabbing their personal gear. One was breaking down a tent. “Leave it! We cross now,” he ordered.
The sentry he’d met before handed him two wooden racks with handles on the top almost like a croquet set, but much heavier. Inside were rows of foot-long metal darts. “I’m Strongbow. Those are for you.” Strongbow was a Semenosian with a bow made from magically hardened holy wood. Most men in the company couldn’t even string the beast let alone fire it. This gave the archer a certain informal command status among the troops.
“I’ve never used anything like this before,” the wizard protested as they hustled to the banks of the river. “What do I do?”
“Pretend the people coming toward you are trying to kill you. Kill them first.” Then no one could be heard over the splashing and shivering in the river. Fortunately the water level never rose as far as his testicles.
Pinetto guided them to the easiest landfall. When Strongbow arrived, he began to bark orders. “I need a forty-five degree arc of coverage. The wings aim long and fire at will. Center gets the hostiles that reach the water.”
“What about me?” asked the fledgling wizard, chilled to the bone.
“No pressure,” said Pinetto unpacking his toy darts and planting them in a circle around him. There were thirty darts in all. His bolo was still in the tent.
The spike pits were torched, lighting the beach, as his fellows finished their meager preparations. The wizard felt helpless as the action started. His darts didn’t have the range to even cross the river. But he could see what was happening in startling detail, better than anyone else. When a bright, white column flared into the sky, Pinetto explained with a grin, “We just killed their first spirit. One for our side, boys.”
The tent was cut to ribbons by the spirit assault, but the smith and the prince held the wolves at bay, the Defender slashing the nose or flank of any wolf that got too close. After losing two or three of their best spirits, the summoners recalled the beasts. A cheer went up from the men of the South.
The first few ox herders got lost in the dark and began to drift with the river current. Pinetto called out to them. “To me, anyone who wants to live! Over here.” Once a line of men and goods stretched across the river, maintaining it was easy. Unfortunately, men from both sides of the conflict began pouring into the water. Before long, the wizard had to launch his first dart to protect a herdsman from a charging Imperial. The dart only hit the man’s leg, but was sufficient to discourage pursuit. The next target took two throws before he collapsed into the dark waters.
The more darts Pinetto threw, the more he prayed. Soon, he got good at both. Eventually Sajika showed up to guard his back, and a growing number of scouts covered his flanks. He had injured at least twelve men and had only five darts left when the smith clapped his friend on the shoulder.
“Leap frog up the hill behind us,” the smith said, covered in gore.
Pinetto nodded. This leg of the trip was easier. He needed only three darts before the leaders declared it safe enough to huddle.
“Over thirty of ours made it,” announced Legato.
“Gods,” whispered a few people.
“Your wizard did well,” said Strongbow. “Killed as many as I did, and that’s saying something. How many you figure we cost them?”
Legato shrugged. “No telling. I say we cut them down two for every one we lost. Not bad for an ambush against us.”
“What’s wrong with your foot?” asked Sajika.
The prince winced. “I cut the bottom on an Imperial helmet lying in the river; the nose-guard was steel. I’ll be moving a little slow for a while.”
“Allow me,” said Sajika, taking out some wine and dressing the wound while they rested.
“Now what?” asked the smith.
“What about the catapults?” asked Pinetto.
The prince shook his head. “Not today. We can drop caltrops and a few trees across the road on this side to slow them down, but as a war unit, we’re finished. There are just over sixty of us who can still fight, and I’d guess only about a dozen honors. In these conditions, standing orders are that such a unit goes guerrilla and harasses the enemy.”
Everyone around the circle nodded assent, or at least understanding. The prince continued, “We’ll take a few bits to get our clothes and boots on, but then we don’t stop moving till morning.” Throughout the empire, the coin system was the same as the time system: seventy heartbeats per bit, seventy copper bits per silver hour, and so forth.
Pinetto desperately wanted sleep, but went along with the experts. He took the opportunity to catch up with his friend the smith. “Well, we’re heading to the mines like you wanted.”
“I hope that this sort of thing doesn’t happen every time we delay,” said the smith darkly.
“You really don’t think the gods work like that, do you?” said Pinetto.
The smith said nothing, but cleaned pieces of skin and hair out of his hilt. The wizard sat beside him in silence, hoping that his nerves would calm down.
Once she sewed Legato’s foot wound closed, Sajika joined them. Along with the rest of his clothing, she gave Pinetto his bolo and a kiss. “You were a hero tonight,” she told him. “Will it ever be safe to sleep?”
The smith laughed. “Welcome to the scouts, Ambassador.”
The chief steward winced, even as he delivered the news to a pregnant and temperamental Lady Kragen. “Milady, your new flagship waits for you at the docks.” He handed her the papers for the vessel as well as the bill of lading.
“I’m the head of this family, and I need to be at the center of the action to plan properly,” she replied. Humi was smaller than most Imperials, just beginning to blossom into womanhood, with a hint of her mother’s dusky, exotic skin. Lord Kragen’s last written instruction had been to acknowledge Humi as his wife and the boy she carried as his heir. Wizards, underworld figures, and a large shipping industry now bowed to her formidable will.
They’d intercepted a message meant for the generals laying siege to Innisport. Because of recent turmoil caused by widespread assassinations, Bablios had abandoned its hold on Tamarind Pass. Without guards on the mouth of the Tamarind River, the Kragen navy could strike along the waterway faster than any land-based force. With the help of the Brotherhood, she intended to storm Silverton, the capital city of Zanzibos. Troops were already being ferried out of this city in secret.
“Your p-pardon, milady, Innisport will be p-poorly defended. You and your unborn child might be captured. No conquest is worth that,” the steward recited rapidly. As a storm gathered on her face, he invoked the name of calming. “General Morlan was explicit in his instructions, and the Sept has agreed with him. The safest location for you is in the center of the vast territory you control, protected on all sides.”
Morlan, the Imperial bodyguard, had been stabbed through the throat while defending Lord Kragen, losing his voice in the process. Humi had personally nursed the young, broad-shouldered, strong-jawed fighter back to health. Largely due to Morlan, every bold plan she proposed for House Kragen had succeeded. Because of his undying devotion to her and the regard that the Brotherhood of Executioners held him in, she’d promoted the bodyguard to general in charge of the invasion.
Glancing at the papers, she complained, “This is a merchant vessel.”
“The fastest available, madam. Our only other choice was the protection of your warship, and your orders were clear for that in the campaign. Prolonged land travel might endanger the Kragen heir.”
Mollified, she looked for some other flaw in Morlan’s usual, iron-clad reasoning. “It’s an awfully large ship for me and my honor guard.”
“The ship had to be large enough to bear the highest-order spirit wards.” The steward handed her the orders for the increased contingent of guards. “He has made provision to protect you against every danger.”
Reading the cargo manifest, she snorted, “A luxurious provision it is. We couldn’t eat half this.”
Being a mute, Morlan was impossible to argue with. This left the steward to face her wrath. “Before marching north against King Zandar, he left you a letter explaining everything,” the steward said, holding up the parchment like a ward.