The Free Kingdoms (Book 2) (18 page)

Sofiana led Darik up the hillside where Hoffan had pitched a tent to serve as his headquarters. Banners surrounded the tent, sitting atop poles jammed into the mud. They represented each of the Free Kingdoms, Sofiana said, pointing out the emblems of several, including Arvada and the Citadel. Several griffins had landed outside the tent, clearing the hill of men and horse. The griffin riders stroked their mounts, but fixed Darik with stares as he and Sofiana climbed the hill.

Two armed men stood outside the tent, nervously eyeing the griffins, and lifted a hand to stop Darik and Sofiana, but they stepped aside when the two came closer, as if expecting them.

“There they are!” Hoffan roared when they entered the tent. He gave Darik a sly wink. “Your friend was just asking about you.”

“Friend?”

“Darik!” It was Daria, standing next to her father. She wore a green tunic, and her hair was back into a ponytail. She wore riding gloves and a sword at her side.

She stepped toward him, then stopped awkwardly. Darik embraced her with a kiss on each cheek, before remembering her father. But when he looked up, the man no longer wore a scowl. Instead, his face said something else that Darik couldn’t quite decipher. Acceptance?

While Flockheart and Daria stood, everyone else in the room sat around a table strewn with maps. Whelan and Markal sat next to Hoffan, together with Nathaliey Liltige, who raised an eyebrow when she saw Darik. She wore heavy robes inscribed with cartouches that reminded Darik of the torturer in Graiyan’s kitchen. But instead of carrying pain-inflicting tools, she wore a paper book chained through its binding about her waist, the book small enough to fit comfortably in her palm. She nodded curtly.

Darik nodded back, relieved to see her instead of Chantmer the Tall. He and Sofiana took the chairs that Hoffan offered.

“And you haven’t seen him since then?” Nathaliey asked Markal, returning to her conversation.

Markal shook his head. “Not since we spoke of the dark wizard, no. I worry that he’s off preparing his own spells.”

Nathaliey looked disturbed. “Our magic is weakened without him. We simply
must
find him.”

Darik presumed they discussed Chantmer the Tall. Well, Darik didn’t think he could be trusted in any event.

Whelan turned to Hoffan. “How long can you hold Sleptstock?”

Hoffan cracked his knuckles. “Hard to say. We’ll get our first glimpse of the enemy shortly. By nightfall, I’ll wager. Tomorrow we’ll have a better idea. My guess is a week, depending how badly we want to keep the bridge and how many more men we get.”

“A week is enough,” Whelan said.

Hoffan growled. “It shouldn’t be necessary. If Chantmer hadn’t sent the Brotherhood questing for a mythical cure for the king’s mythical illness, we’d have the strength to defeat the dark wizard right here and now.”

“Chantmer made a mistake,” Nathaliey said. “Nothing more.” But she didn’t look sure, Darik noted, and neither did Markal or Whelan.

“Perhaps,” Hoffan said, “But it’s still a blow. The Knights Temperate are our advantage.”

“Not our
only
advantage,” Markal said. “The dark wizard has a way of overextending himself. In his rush to force a quick victory, he lost hundreds of men in the mountains, and lost Balsalom to revolt. If he throws his forces at us before they’re ready, and we hold them, we might turn the battle when the Brotherhood arrives.”

The wizard paused, then added, “But I’m not
certain
the Knights Temperate will turn the battle. The enemy is greater than I feared.”

Markal explained what he’d learned about the dark wizard.
King Toth?
Darik wondered in growing fear. Could he still be alive after all of this time? But it explained why their attempts to bind Cragyn to Soultrup in the Estmor swamps had failed.

“Keep this a secret,” Hoffan said. “You’ll spread panic.”

Nathaliey said, “Markal and I considered that, but the dark wizard, or Toth, if you prefer, will announce his identity just when it hurts the most. Better that everyone already know.”

Whelan rose to his feet. “I don’t have any more time to talk if I’m going to meet Ethan tonight. I hope you don’t mind if I take two of your men. Stewart and Jason.”

Hoffan gave him a pained look. “You had to ask for those two, did you? Go ahead and take them. It’s not like I have any need for Knights Temperate, do I?”

Whelan ignored Hoffan’s sarcasm and turned to Darik and Sofiana. “Ninny, Darik, are you ready to ride again?”

Sofiana rose immediately to her feet, but Darik hesitated. Misreading his doubt, Markal said, “Or maybe you’d rather help me with my wizardry.”

“Actually,” Darik said, “I was wondering if Daria and Flockheart brought an extra mount.”

Daria stepped forward, and Flockheart said, “You’re welcome to ride Joffa. I understand you flew with honor at Balsalom.”

“I almost killed myself,” Darik admitted. “But I think I can help.” He put his hand on his sword hilt and smiled. “It’s time to give Waspcleaver some more action.”

Whelan raised his eyebrow, looking amused. “Waspcleaver?”

“A perfectly reasonable name,” Markal said. “I suppose he could have called it Nosepicker, but such a blade is unlikely to turn a man into a hero.”

Hoffan laughed. “I remember my first sword. I called it Charn Foe. I didn’t quite know what a charn was, but I knew it was something mean and nasty. To be truthful, I should have named it Finger-mangler or maybe Squirrelbane for all that I knew how to use it.” He shrugged. “Waspcleaver is a fine name, provided, of course, that you’ll actually
cleave
me a few.”

Darik felt foolish that he’d opened his mouth, but tried to be good-natured and laugh with the others. “It was Flockheart’s griffin that did the wasp cleaving at Balsalom,” he admitted. He gave a half smile to Whelan. “But this is a better sword, and I’m trying to encourage a little more help this time.”

Whelan left shortly with Sofiana, while Hoffan and the two wizards pored over the maps. Flockheart took him outside to meet the other riders. They were a quiet lot, much like Flockheart, and uncomfortable around all of these people. But Darik thought them noble to help the Free Kingdoms in their time of need, rather than hide like the Cloud Kingdoms.

Darik happened to glance up as he went to meet the riders and saw something strange in the distant mountains. Black smoke trickled from the canyon where the Tothian Way emerged into Eriscoba. He was too far to see whether the smoke came from a careless fire lit by the dark wizard’s troops, or from some other source.

#

The attack the previous night over the river had come as a surprise, but the dark wizard’s first true assault came as both sides had expected. A direct attack after a day and a night building their army east of the river. Only the size and ferocity of the attack caught anyone by surprise.

The enemy had assembled eight siege weapons along the east bank during the afternoon and night. Trebuchets, Darik remembered from his lessons, a favorite weapon of the eastern khalifates. A tower with a stout pole that jutted at an angle, the engine worked by cinching a heavy counterweight to the ground, then releasing it to propel a missile from the pole end. This missile was usually a round stone or iron ball to pound walls to submission. Nothing like Cragyn’s Hammer, but effective over a long siege.

But instead of hurling stones, the Veyrians launched flaming pitch across the river, experimenting in the morning before they dragged the wheeled trebuchets to attack the defenders guarding the end of the bridge. One well-placed shot struck and gutted the wooden gate to the bridge tower before men with buckets could put it out. This left the tower underbelly unprotected but for a few murder holes that looked down onto the Tothian Way.

After that, the pitch proved a nuisance more than anything, but it gave cover to the Veyrians approaching the eastern edge of the bridge. They clustered tightly with shields raised overhead and inched forward. War drums and trumpets gathered cavalry and footmen behind the initial wave, ready to exploit any breach.

As soon as the enemy moved, scores of Eriscoban archers took position on the west riverbank. They notched a preliminary arrow in each bow and waited for the enemy to draw into range. Hoffan’s men massed at the west end of the bridge, discarded pikes, gathered in case of a cavalry attack, and gathered shorter spears. The Eriscoban defense bristled thicker than the quills on a porcupine. The scene a few minutes before had been a picture of efficient movement of men and supplies. Now, both sides dropped all pretense of order to scurry into position.

Darik and the griffin riders watched from the hillside north of Sleptstock. He expected to see wasps rise from the enemy ranks as soon as the Veyrians on the bridge closed within range of the Eriscoban archers. Joffa shifted beneath Darik, younger and more excitable than its parents, Brasson and Averial. Darik hoped he could handle the griffin in battle. Daria gave him a nervous smile, while most of the others stared grimly down at the bridge. No sign of wasps yet. In the meanwhile, he had an excellent view of the battle.

The ground was still wet from the rain and horses, carts, and the boots of footmen churned the fields to mud on both sides of the river. Darik thought about the farmers whose fields would lay trampled beneath the two armies. Soon, those fields would be fertilized with blood.

As the Veyrian footmen came within bow range, hundreds of men broke from the enemy ranks farther back and rushed toward the river. They threw aside tarps and blankets to reveal dozens of small boats, which they carried to the water’s edge. Within seconds, boats and men filled the river both north and south of the bridge, rowing hard for the opposite bank.

As soon as the Veyrians hit the water, the action changed on the bridge. A mass of cavalry galloped forward from behind the Veyrian foot soldiers. The latter ducked out of the way to let the cavalry charge across the bridge at full speed. The men waiting on the near side had no time to change spears for pikes. The Eriscobans braced for the impact.

Toth’s trebuchets launched a volley of burning pitch that landed amidst the defenders. Other Eriscobans rushed in with buckets of water, dousing the flames where they landed. One of the balls of flame landed on the bridge tower, and water poured from arrow loops, trying to douse it.

A hail of arrows met the closing Veyrian cavalry. Eriscobans in the tower and along the riverbanks fired, notched, and fired again. Enemy horse and rider wore protective armor and helms, but the occasional arrow pierced these defenses and sent man and beast to the ground to be trampled. For a moment, it looked as though the attack would fail before it reached the west side of the river. But attention turned by necessity to the boats rapidly crossing the river, throwing confusion into Hoffan’s forces and slowing the hail of arrows.

The enemy cavalry hit the disrupted defenders. The bridge was narrower than the rest of the Tothian Way, but still wide enough for fifteen horses to ride side by side. This wall of cavalry rode into spears with lowered lances. Driven back by the assault, the Eriscobans struggled to hold their ground. Veyrian horses impaled themselves on spears and fell, but their riders leaped from the backs of downed mounts to attack on foot. Scimitars met straight barbarian blades in a clash of steel.

Still no sign of dragon wasps. Darik looked nervously at Flockheart, who scanned the skies with a scowl on his face. Why didn’t the wasps attack with the rest of the army? Maybe they lay in wait to conceal their numbers.

The first boats reached the west shore, but Eriscoban swordsmen met them. At first, every Veyrian fell as soon as he stepped from his boat, but soon sheer numbers gave the enemy the marshy, shallow areas.

At last, Flockheart waved his hand forward and risked ambush. Darik kicked his heels into Joffa’s flanks and lurched into the sky with the others. Screams split the air.

They swooped over the river, turning boats and snatching men from their oars. Arrows flew from the far bank, but the enemy stood too far away to hit moving targets. Joffa dropped to follow Brasson and Averial, and Darik struggled to hold on. A man stood on the boat with sword in hand, readying himself to jump ashore. He looked up in terror as Darik and Joffa attacked, and tried to bring his sword to bear. Joffa seized him in its claws. The griffin dipped its beak as they rose, tearing at the man’s face, then dropped the man into the river. Darik wheeled to the west, back over friendly troops, then turned to the river.

The sky filled with feather and talon and the shouts of griffin riders in battle. Darik raised his sword overhead and joined his cry with the others.

#

Markal stood with Narud, Nathaliey and six other wizards in a circle atop the hill while the griffins attacked the boats. He gathered his will to join with the others.

“Where is Chantmer?” someone murmured.

Nobody had seen him all day. A bird told Narud that the tall wizard rode west from the Citadel last night. But they’d had no word since then.

“Maybe we should summon him,” Nathaliey said.

“Too much energy,” Markal said. “We can’t risk it.”

“We can send a seeker,” Narud said.

Markal considered. If they chained their power, they could send a net of seeking across the landscape, reaching across a hundred miles within the hour to call Chantmer wherever he hid. But doing so would drain energy better spent fighting Toth’s army. An easier solution would be to imbue seeking power on an individual, who would ride in search of Chantmer, maybe find him by nightfall. By necessity, it would be wise to send the weakest wizard. He noted the others looking at him expectantly.

“Very well. I’ll go,” Markal said. He looked for a horse to appropriate. The hillside swarmed with men on horses, but they all moved in a hurry; whomever he chose wouldn’t be pleased.

Nathaliey took his arm. “Help us complete the circle, first. We will make our attack, then create the seeking.”

The wizards gathered into what the Order called a circle of life.
All life is a circle,
the Martyr taught.
You start as soil in a fertile field, and eventually you return to the soil, where you wait for the Harvester to gather your soul and sow it in the ground.