War of Shadows (15 page)

“We know,” Blaine said. “I was going to warn you—and offer an alternative.”

“I’ve never held much with magic,” Verner said. “Didn’t care for battle mages before the Meroven War, and a great deal less
since then. But I understand that an army needs every weapon it can get.”

Blaine nodded. “We’re up against a group of mages who were quite powerful before the Great Fire, and who have plans, I believe, to become powerful again. Their leader, Vigus Quintrel, wants power.”

“Magical power?” Rinka asked. The tilt of her head revealed her distrust.

Blaine shook his head. “Quintrel sees a world where mages are in control.”

Rinka sniffed. “Wouldn’t it help if his magic actually worked?”

Blaine shrugged. “We don’t know whether the new magic is really still broken, or just changed into something different from what it was before. Sooner or later someone will figure out how to fix it, or how to use what it’s become. Quintrel will use those mages against us.”

“What do you want from us?” Tormod challenged.

“Information,” Blaine replied. “If your mages find and use magical objects, share what happens. If you get the magic to work, tell us. We’re going to need to ally our magical forces the same way we ally our troops.”

Rinka and Tormod conferred quietly. Verner was silent for a moment. Finally, Verner looked up.

“I think we should go farther,” Verner said. He looked from Blaine to Rinka. “Right now, our mages are experimenting. Some of those experiments won’t turn out well. If our mages are working separately, and an idea doesn’t work, three mages could die, one in each group. They have no way to share information.”

He leaned forward. “But if they work together—at least until they figure this all out—then the bad experiments take a lesser toll. The good experiments get shared. Once they understand
what they’re dealing with, our mages come back to their own territories, to protect our holdings.”

Blaine nodded. “I like that. The mages would also know each other’s power, which would make it easier if they had to work together against a common threat.”

“Exactly.” Verner leaned back, pleased with his contribution, as if daring Tormod to object.

“The mages in this central location become hostages of a sort,” Tormod said. “Each group, under the eye of the others, within the reach of each warlord, just in case.” He gave a cold smile. “In the last war, the mages created a weapon they couldn’t control. This time, we make sure they have more… supervision.”

“Then, are we agreed to this alliance?” Blaine asked, looking to the others in turn.

Rinka and Tormod conferred quietly for a moment, while Verner appeared deep in thought.

Verner was the first to break the silence. “I’m in.”

Rinka and Tormod ended their whispered discussion and exchanged a final glance. Rinka met Blaine’s gaze. “We will ally with you.”

Just then they heard hurried footsteps on the stone stairs. The Solveigs’ bodyguards moved closer protectively, as did Verner’s soldiers, but Piran and Kestel moved toward the stairs as Niklas hurried toward them.

“My lords,” Niklas said with a hurried bow. “A large force is moving toward us from the north. We think it’s Rostivan. I hope you’ve worked out your differences, because within a candlemark, we’ll be under attack.”

H
OW DO WE KNOW YOUR PEOPLE DIDN’T STAGE
this attack?” Rinka demanded.

Niklas fixed Rinka with a glare. “We don’t control the lands north of this point. Rostivan’s the one I’d guess is behind it.”

“Perhaps our time is best spent preparing for defense,” Verner suggested acerbically.

“It’s also the best way to prove our intent is firm,” Blaine said. “Do we stand together against the threat?”

“Time’s wasting,” Piran broke in. “Let’s kill them first and figure out why they came later.”

Tormod gave an appreciative grin. “I like how you think.”

Blaine looked to Verner and Rinka. “Let’s make sure our generals are working together on this. It’s likely our enemies are going to use this as a test. Will you introduce Niklas to your generals and authorize them to work with him on defense?”

Rinka and Tormod exchanged a few whispered words. Rinka looked up. “Under whose command?”

Blaine forced down his frustration. “If the commanders agree on a strategy, they can each command their own troops.”

Verner stared at Niklas for a moment as if taking his
measure. “I agree. And I’ll take you to my general right now,” he said, giving Rinka a look as if to force her agreement.

“Come to our camp when you finish,” Rinka said, meeting Verner’s stare like a challenge. “We will make sure our general cooperates.”

It did not take long for the ruins of the Citadel to become a battleground.

“The next time you set up a warlord council, pick a place we can actually defend.” Piran kicked the dead soldier’s body clear of his sword. Blaine rolled the headless corpse of another enemy fighter out of his way, and looked around the battlefield to see where they could jump back into the fray.

“Defensible sites tend to make treachery easier as well,” Blaine retorted. “More cover, more places for someone to hide.” With a nod, he indicated a knot of fighting where three of his soldiers were barely holding their own against four of the enemy, suggesting that was where they were needed next.

Piran gave a loud, off-key war cry that startled the rival warlord’s fighters, and charged at a dead run, with Blaine only a step behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine could see Kestel slipping through the lines, intent on her prey. Although she was an accomplished sword fighter, Kestel preferred to send a throwing knife into an enemy soldier’s back, or finish off the enemy’s dying and wounded fighters with a slash to the throat.

The broad, flat plain north of the Citadel was now a killing field. Torinth Rostivan’s identity was confirmed as soon as his battle flag came into view. The flag showed a
gryp
, wings unfurled and fanged maw opened wide, with talons extended for the hunt.

“Tell Kestel to leave some of the wounded alive,” Piran said
through clenched teeth as he deflected a strike from his opponent. “We can’t interrogate the dead.”

“You tell her,” Blaine countered, parrying a blow from the soldier he fought. The numbers were now equally matched between the four of Blaine’s soldiers and the four enemy fighters, and Hennoch’s troops were getting the worst of it.

“She’ll take it better from you,” Piran retorted.

“When have you ever known Kestel to take orders from anyone?” Blaine replied.

Rostivan’s forces outnumbered the allied warlords’ combined troops they’d brought with them to the Citadel, but to Blaine’s eye, their soldiers were better trained. Above the din, Blaine could hear Niklas shouting to rally their soldiers for an advance. The generals had made the most of their slight warning. Verner’s soldiers hooked around to the left, pushing a wedge of Rostivan’s men into the waiting swords of both Blaine’s troops and those belonging to the Solveigs.

“Poor, dumb bastards,” Piran muttered as he pulled his sword free of the soldier he had just cleaved from shoulder to hip. “Does Rostivan give them a sword and a jug of grog and tell them it makes them warriors?” His tone was flippant, but Blaine could see anger in Piran’s eyes.

Verner’s troops were farthest away, but the skill with which his front line was driving Rostivan’s soldiers into the waiting blades of the allies suggested a tightly coordinated fighting unit that was skilled in battle. Blaine caught a glimpse of Verner sprinting between battle zones, climbing onto a ruined wall to direct the battle, and bet that the warlord’s cavalier attitude toward his own safety made him popular with his men. Niklas, by comparison, was a cagey strategist and a survivor. Small teams of his soldiers attacked clusters of enemy fighters.

“Something about those two makes my skin crawl,” Piran
said, and Blaine followed his gaze to where the Solveig siblings were fighting alongside a dozen of their soldiers against a line of Rostivan’s men. Rinka was as accomplished with the sword as Kestel, and Tormod’s fighting style showed that he had gained his skill in battle.

Even by Velant standards, Rinka and Tormod fought dirty, skills likely won in tavern brawls and prison fights. The Solveigs moved with feral grace and strength, cutting down their attackers mercilessly. But when three more of Rostivan’s soldiers joined the fray, the odds tilted against them.

“Piran—over here!” Blaine shouted. They had crossed half of the distance between them and the Solveigs when Blaine stopped cold, staring at what he saw.

Rinka was moving in a swift, deadly circle around Tormod, who had gone still, face impassive. Though Rinka executed her moves with the grace of a dancer, her sword strikes were lethal.

Tormod’s features grew tight with concentration. Blaine felt a surge of magic and a sudden, blinding headache that caused him to stumble. One of the corpses on the ground began to rise, then a second, and finally a third struggled to its feet and jerked toward the attackers. Rostivan’s soldiers cried out in alarm and fell back. The corpses began to tremble, limbs quaking and bodies shaking as if taken by a seizure. In the next instant, the dead soldiers exploded, spraying Rostivan’s men in gobbets of blood and drenching Rinka and Tormod in gore.

Rostivan’s soldiers ran screaming.

“He’s a necromancer,” Piran muttered.

Before Blaine could reply, a raw-throated scream cut through the air. A wild-eyed young man careened toward Blaine, broadsword raised. He was within striking distance, and the blade fell with enough power to cleave bone.

Blaine parried, blocking the swing. The force of the strike
shuddered painfully down his arm. The enemy soldier’s eyes were wide with fear, and the panicked ferocity of his strikes made up for what he lacked in training.

Blaine parried again, watching for the opening he somehow knew was coming. The fighter swung high, and Blaine’s sword went low, slicing across the man’s belly and spilling his entrails in a steaming mass down his legs and onto the ground. Fear shifted to pain and disbelief as the man’s eyes widened, and he grasped at his gashed abdomen, vainly attempting to stuff the slick mass back through the bloody slit. He groaned and fell to his knees. Blaine swung once more, taking the soldier’s head from his shoulders in one clean move.

Piran was fighting off an attacker, but it was clear that the field of fighters had thinned. Bodies littered the ground, but the majority of those still standing were on their side. Rostivan’s flag was down, and his troops departed as quickly as they came, a retreat instead of a rout, giving Blaine to wonder about the intent behind the attack.

“Nothing like sealing a treaty in blood,” Kestel said, joining them. Bloody long-bladed knives dangled in her crimson hands. Her face, arms, and armor were spattered with blood.

“The Solveigs are necromancers,” Blaine said, scanning the horizon to find the twins. “Or at least, Tormod is.”

Kestel frowned. “And his power worked?”

“He animated three corpses, but before they could do more than stand, they exploded,” Blaine replied. “No way to tell whether that’s what he intended or not.”

“As long as it was effective,” Kestel said with a shrug.

“Did you leave us any prisoners to interrogate?” Piran asked, eyeing Kestel’s bloody blades.

Kestel made a show of wiping her blades clean and sheathed them with a flourish. “A few. Enough to be valuable for information,
but not a chore to feed.” She gave a jerk of her head in the direction in which Rostivan’s soldiers had retreated. “Somehow, I doubt their warlord will negotiate for them.”

Piran looked to Kestel. “Who’s got the prisoners?”

“Niklas sent a team of men to collect them,” Kestel replied. “I thought you’d want to be there when he questions them. He said he’d bring them back to the Citadel and wait for us there.”

Not a bad move
, Blaine thought.
If the prisoners won’t talk on their own, come nightfall, the
talishte
can read their blood
.

Rinka and Tormod were rallying their soldiers to determine their losses, and farther down the field, Verner’s second-in-command was doing the same. Behind them, Blaine heard Niklas shouting for his troops to gather.

“Rostivan had more men. The odds were with him,” Kestel said, looking out over the field of bodies.

“He had green recruits,” Blaine said, anger coloring his voice. “None of the men I fought were old enough to have mustered into the army during the Meroven War. I think it was a test to see if the alliance would hold.”

“I think there’s more to it than that, Mick,” Piran said. “I think Rostivan came looking for you. After all, he’s allied with Quintrel, isn’t he? And you mucked up Quintrel’s plans when we left Valshoa.” He looked out over the battlefield. “I think Rostivan retreated because he didn’t expect us to have reinforcements.” He shrugged. “Maybe his spies got it wrong. I don’t think he came here looking for a big battle. I think he came after you.”

They fell silent as they walked the rest of the way, alert for trouble. Blaine mulled Piran’s observation, validating it with every savaged body they stepped over.
It doesn’t make sense for Quintrel to want to kill me
, Blaine thought.
If I die, the magic could be broken forever. So what’s he after? And how do I factor into it?

Niklas was waiting for them when they returned to the Citadel, along with Rinka and Tormod. Half a dozen men knelt on the stone landing, wrists bound, hands atop their heads. Behind them, double the number of guards held the prisoners at sword’s point.

“Verner and some of his men went after Rostivan’s troops, at least to make sure they were really leaving,” Niklas said. “I expect he’ll join us when he can.” He nodded toward the captives. “I figured you’d want to hear the answers,” Niklas said. His uniform was streaked with dirt and blood, and one sleeve was torn, exposing a bloody gash.

Niklas turned toward the prisoners. “Your lives have been spared—for the moment—to tell us what you know,” Niklas said. “If your information is valuable, your life will be longer. Refuse to talk, and we have no reason at all to keep you alive.” He paused. “Help us, and swear allegiance to one of the allied lords, and we’ll get you a healer and let you live. Otherwise…” He let his voice drift off, but his meaning was clear.

Niklas stopped in front of one young soldier whose eye was nearly swollen shut. “What can you tell me, soldier? Your master sent you to die. You owe him nothing.”

The soldier hesitated.

“Your commander abandoned you, ran off to save his skin. Talk to us, tell us what we want to know, and you can live.”

“Rostivan knew you were going to be at the Citadel.” The voice came from another soldier, a dark-haired young man whose face was drenched in blood from a scalp wound.

Niklas turned his attention to the captive. “How?”

“He’s got spies everywhere,” another soldier said.

“It’s McFadden he really wants.” The first soldier spoke up. “We were told what he looked like, and offered a gold piece each if we captured him.”

Blaine and Piran exchanged a glance. “Why McFadden?” Niklas asked the prisoner.

“Rostivan’s orders were to capture McFadden or wound him so he could be taken,” the soldier replied.

“His orders?” Kestel repeated. “Orders from whom?”

The soldier shrugged. “That hocus up in the mountains, I guess.”

“Vigus Quintrel. That explains it,” Piran muttered.

“How big of an army does Rostivan have?” Niklas probed. “Speak up, lads; tell me what I want to know and save your own lives.”

“Big,” the first soldier replied. “Most of the fellows are like us, got nowhere else to go. Rostivan promised we could take new land once he beat the warlords.”

Rinka and Tormod moved into view, and abruptly, the first soldier paled and shied back. “Don’t hocus me! I saw him. He made the dead rise!” the man said, staring in terror at Tormod. Tormod gave the man a chilling smile that showed his teeth.

“Where else is Rostivan planning to strike?” Niklas prodded.

“He doesn’t tell us nothin’ but where we’re to march that day,” one of the other soldiers put in.

“Where do you march?” Niklas pressed.

“Back and forth, and back again, it seems,” the soldier replied. “Sometimes, we go to a tumble of rock and he tells us to dig and see if we find anything. Says he wants anything ‘hocus-like,’ whatever that means.”