Tantras (28 page)

“Good,” Cyric said, dropping his facade of innocence. “And if the opportunity comes sooner?”

The woman narrowed her eyes again and looked at the thief as if she was seeing him for the very first time. “Then we will take it,” Slater said. “Afterward, you will give me my own command. Thirty good soldiers would do. That way, if your blood turns out to be as thin as Tyzack’s, we will not find each other in opposition. I will take my soldiers to battle. You will do whatever you wish. Agreed?” The Zhentish soldier looked directly at Cyric’s eyes now, waiting for his reply.

“Agreed!” Cyric said after a moment, returning Slater’s stare.

Willingale was almost within hearing range, so Cyric let the conversation die. And as the Scorpions approached, the heavyset Zhentish soldier turned and signaled them to hurry to his side. “Glad you came out here, sir,” Willingale said to Cyric. “You’ve saved me the trouble of coming back to report.” He pointed. “There’s something on the horizon.”

The thief followed Willingale’s finger and saw a bright, steady light in the distance. The pitted, mountainous rise to the right flank of the Zhentish forces provided no cover for the troops from whatever was creating the light. In fact, there was absolutely no sign of natural protection within three hundred yards in either direction.

“It could be a trap,” Willingale said, scratching his chin. “Our enemy could be waiting in the ribs off the spine of that rise. The rifts could hold a hundred men or more.”

“Perhaps,” Cyric answered. “But why alert us to the danger? Why not just lie in wait, then take us by surprise? There must be some other explanation.”

“It could be just some natural reflection of the sunlight… or even some manifestation of the chaos in nature,” Slater noted, reigning in her horse. “The light never seems to change.”

“We’ll ride back and inform Tyzack,” Cyric said to the point man. “Keep watching, and let us know if you see anything else, but don’t go any farther. When the company catches up to you, you’ll get new orders.”

Willingale nodded as Cyric and Slater turned and rode back to the main body of the Zhentish army. The female soldier remained silent for a moment, then noted, “An ambush would give us just the opportunity we’re after, Cyric.”

“At the expense of how many of our fellow Zhentilar, or even our own lives?” the thief asked gruffly. “There will be better opportunities than this. Besides, we have another problem - Ren. He blends into the background so well that I hardly notice he’s around. Yet he seems to be Tyzack’s true second-in-command, no matter who holds the actual title. Any plans we make will have to take his interference into account.”

The thief and the warrior arrived at the front line of the Zhentish advance. Tyzack and Ren were waiting for them. The leader of the Scorpions trembled with barely controlled rage.

“Would the two of you like to explain yourselves?” Tyzack screamed. The dark-haired man waved his fist in the air as if he were shaking dice.

Cyric looked to Slater, then back to Tyzack. “I don’t understand. What did we do that requires explanation?” “Spare me,” Tyzack growled. “Word came to me that the two of you left the ranks, and so I was forced to come to the front and investigate. The penalty for desertion is -“

The thief’s features turned as hard as stone. “Am I your second-in-command?”

Tyzack flinched. “What has that to do with anything? You will be treated exactly the same as any other Zhentilar.”

“You’re wrong,” Cyric snapped. “As second-in-command, it’s my duty to see that your policies are followed to the letter when you are not present to enforce them.”

The dark eyes of the Zhentish leader narrowed.

“Willingale was staying far too close to the main body,” Cyric continued, pointing toward the soldier as he spoke. “He is not a Scorpion and does not know your views about serving as point man for the Zhentilar.” The thief paused and smiled. “Of course, we both know that if Willingale was close enough for our men to see him too clearly - which he was - then he was far too close to be an effective scout. Slater and I informed him of his error.” Again the thief paused. This time, however, he turned to look at the Zhentish woman. “That’s when he pointed out the strange light on the horizon - right, Slater?”

Ren leaned close to the company’s leader and whispered something in his ear. “What strange light?” Tyzack asked as soon as Ren had finished speaking to him. “What’s causing it?”

Cyric forced a look of bewilderment onto his face. “We don’t know,” the thief said. He related what he and Slater had seen - and their personal views of the situation - to Tyzack. “I instructed Willingale to hold his position until you caught up with him.”

The black-haired Zhentish leader ran a hand through his tangled hair and grinned a wolfish smile. “All right,” he muttered, motioning to Ren. “Let’s bring the company to a halt. It may be nothing, but someone is going to have to investigate before we can ride any farther.”

The Zhentish leader then turned to the hawk-nosed thief. “Cyric, since you seem to have unlimited amounts of initiative today, the task of discovering the nature of the strange light goes to you… and Ren. Slater will remain with me. Your climbing skills may come in handy. Scale that southern rise and follow its path until you can tell what’s producing the light.”

Cyric’s heart skipped a beat as he stared into Ren’s narrow face. The man’s eyes were cold, emotionless. Ren stared back at Cyric as if the thief were a corpse that didn’t have the sense to lie down and allow itself to be buried. In short, Tyzack’s orders were a death sentence, and both Cyric and Ren knew it.

“Be careful up there. With all the gaps and rifts, it would be a shame if either of you had an accident,” Tyzack said, still grinning evilly. Ren nodded and gestured for Cyric to lead the way.

“Of course,” Cyric said cheerfully, pretending that the Zhentish leader’s orders had no particular significance. Yet, as the thief kicked the sides of his mount and prodded the beast forward, he growled, “Goodbye, Tyzack… Slater.”

Ren followed close behind the thief, and the two men were no more than a hundred feet away from the Zhentish column when Tyzack and Slater both screamed. Cyric turned, confused… until he saw the shining, diamond-shaped sliver of steel approaching from the east, tumbling end-over-end as it pierced the air, heading directly toward the main body of Zhentilar - toward Slater and Tyzack.

The hawk-nosed thief drew his dagger and tossed the weapon in one fluid motion. Cyric’s knife sailed through the air and passed the deadly shard, which was only slightly larger than the dagger itself, an instant too soon. The flechette continued on. Suddenly the sound of metal striking metal echoed through the air. Although it was a small sound, very high-pitched, Cyric started as he heard it.

Ren had tossed one of his own daggers and deflected the steel shard from its path. Slater and Tyzack were safe.

The thief forced his body to relax as he focused his attention on Ren. The Zhentilar was, quite possibly, Cyric’s equal with a blade, and that knowledge made the thief thankful that they had been temporarily recalled from their “mission.” Cyric knew that it was up to him to make the reprieve permanent.

His original plan had been to kill Ren on the skeletal ridge, then escape over the southern side of the rise and head for the Ashaba. But without a horse or supplies, his chances for survival were slim. Should Tyzack turn vengeful and order just a few Zhentish soldiers to track him down, his chances were downright dismal. And returning to the advance with Ren dead would have been out of the question, too. Tyzack would have executed Cyric on the spot. So, since the mission to the ridge was a no-win situation, the thief knew that he had to find a way to turn the current situation in his favor.

Slater stared at the ground six feet before her, where the two-foot-long sliver of steel had fallen. She looked at Cyric and saw the frustration in his face, then turned to Ren and said, “My thanks.”

“I am here to serve,” the blond Zhentilar replied, his voice low and scratchy.

Tyzack was staring off at the horizon. “What was that?” he asked, visibly shaken.

Ren leaped from his mount and reached down to grab both his dagger and the diamond-shaped metal shard. The blond man picked up his knife, but there was a hissing sound the moment Ren’s hand touched the steel sliver. The Zhentilar drew back, holding his right hand in his left.

“Damn!” he growled. “The sliver burns!”

“There must be a sorcerer involved,” Tyzack hissed as he tried to regain his composure. “I see no one near, and nothing could have thrown that shard all the way from the rise. It’s simply too far away.”

The thief instinctively thought of Midnight, then chided himself for the foolish thought. The mage would never be stupid enough to confront a three-hundred-man regiment of Zhentilar. Then a thought occurred to the thief. “If it was a mage, it might explain the light in the distance,” Cyric noted aloud.

Suddenly a shadow passed over the Zhentish forces, and an audible gasp erupted from the troops. As Cyric looked up, his hand moving onto the hilt of his dagger, the thief saw a swirling mass of glittering light hovering above them Squinting, Cyric realized that, although he was looking full into the sun, a curtain of steel fragments hung in the sky, blocking his view. Sparks of light refracted from the myriad surfaces of a storm cloud formed from metal shards.

“What is that?” Tyzack cried, his voice cracking. The Zhentish leader reached over and clawed at Slater’s shoulder, trying to get her attention. The warrior shrunk away from Tyzack’s touch as she controlled an urge to grasp the man’s hand, yank him from his mount, and cut his throat as he fell.

Instead, Slater yelled, “Don’t touch me!” and shoved Tyzack’s hand away.

“Tyzack!” Ren murmured, disquiet showing in his ragged voice. “What are your orders?”

A single shard fell from the heavens like a drop of water dripping from the tip of an icicle that had begun to melt. Tyzack tore his gaze from the skies and covered the back of his head with his arms, then he thrust his face into the mane of his horse. From a hundred feet behind the black-haired leader, there was a scream.

“It got Sykes in the leg!” someone shouted.

Some of the Zhentish soldiers had begun to break ranks, scattering across the flat, open field. “There’s nowhere to hide!” someone screamed, and a ripple of panicked cries arose from the troops.

Cyric watched the leader of the Zhentilar quake and moan in fear. “Ren’s right!” the hawk-nosed thief growled as Tyzack slowly raised his head. Contempt for the coward raged within Cyric as he cried, “You must give an order!”

Tyzack was about to speak when another shard fell from the sky, this one sailing toward the front of the advance, where the Scorpions had gathered. Praxis was struck in the shoulder by the sliver of metal, and he howled in agony as the sharp tip exited the back of his arm.

“I’m - I’m burning!” Praxis screamed as a grayish black mist rose from the wound. The soldier tried to pluck out the shard, but the effort only caused him greater pain.

Cyric and Ren turned to face the rest of the Zhentish army. Both men shouted for calm, then looked at Tyzack, waiting for the man to speak. Discord was spreading through the ranks, and individual leaders were trying to take control of the individual factions within the force.

“We’re… dead!” Tyzack whispered as he stared at the heavens. “There is no place to go!”

Cyric forced his horse over alongside Tyzack’s. He grabbed the black-haired man by the collar and shook him hard. “Don’t say that!” the thief hissed. “You’ll lose control of the men.” Cyric was surprised to see that Ren didn’t make a move to stop him.

“The blades!” Tyzack cried. “There are so many of them, and they’re getting bigger! Look!”

Looking toward the sky, Cyric saw that the mass of shining silver blades was slowly descending.

“Ride!” Tyzack muttered, his voice as soft as a child’s.

A half-dozen shards dropped from the sky like ripe apples from a tree. Those Zhentilar that had shields now struggled to free them from their hacks or their saddles. Screams went up from the rear and center of the advance.

Cyric looked to Slater. “What did he say?”

Ren glared at the thief. “Tyzack said to ride! We must reach the shelter of the southern rise before the shards drop from the sky!” The blond fighter kicked his horse into motion, and a large group of soldiers followed him.

The rain of metal shards increased, as if the bottom of the huge, invisible box that had been holding them were torn open, allowing the flechettes to plummet to the ground. Screams sounded from throughout the ranks. Handfuls of Zhentilar were struck down, dead or gravely wounded.

“Ride!” Tyzack screamed as if he had suddenly realized the danger. The black-haired man kicked at the sides of his mount, propelling the beast forward.

In seconds, Cyric found himself racing toward the auburn, skeletal ridge. The shadow caused by the cloud of knives was deepening, and it seemed to be following the Zhentish army. The cries of the Zhentilar who were struck down by the shards filled the air, their shrill screeches cutting through the dull roar made by hundreds of galloping horses.

The Zhentilar are at my back, Cyric mused. Then suddenly his amusement turned to fear. He felt exposed and very much alone at the front of the horde of charging soldiers. The thief’s shoulders tightened, and he strained to listen for any mount that was closing on him, knowing that at any moment the rain of steel from above could end all of his problems.

The thief focused on the ridge, even though he thought their flight was useless. Then one of the rifts leading off from the skeletal hills beckoned, growing larger, its night-black shadow opening wide in front of the soldiers like the maw of a hungry animal. More and more Zhentish riders were struck by the shards. The lucky ones were killed outright. The unlucky ones fell from their horses and were trampled beneath the hooves of their comrades’ mounts.

Slater was still riding near Cyric when they finally reached the mouth of the rift, where Ren and a majority of the Zhentish that had followed him had taken refuge. The soldiers’ abandoned horses raced around, frantically trying to avoid the burning pieces of metal. From the number of horses either wounded or riderless at the end of the rift, Cyric judged that a hundred men had already taken refuge inside it.