Children of Prophecy (24 page)

It was wild, but it had acted like a trained drake once it had met him.
Perhaps
, he thought,
there’s more to the legends of the drakes being more than merely extra-intelligent and large Swarmbeasts – that they were created by the first chaos Magi – and that the Drake Lord could make them obey him. Certainly they obey
me.

The army continued to file past. He’d made certain all the leaders knew where they were going. Joh’per could run. He could hide. He could even – if he was fool enough – choose to fight.

But he could not escape, and he would not survive.

Stret followed the Swarm, watching from the back of his drake. So far, the Swarmbeasts had been able to follow the smell of Joh’per’s force, but they were entering some of the worst portions of the Waste. It would take constant scrying to follow the traitor now.

“Lord of the Swarm!”

Stret turned at the shout, to see a Mage, Warrior not Swarmmaster, riding towards him. The Mage was clad in the inconstant purple robes of a Chaos Mage, the folds of which clung to his and his mount’s frames.

A quick flick of Form Sight identified the Mage as a Raven Mage. “What is it, Magi?” he asked quickly.

“I was scrying ahead of the Swarm, Lord,” the Mage reported, “and I’ve found Joh’per’s force. He’s stopped running.”

“Show me,” the Lord of the Swarm commanded.

The Mage concentrated, and an image formed in the air before Stret. Stret reached out, adding his power and control to the Mage’s scrying. An image formed in the air.

Rocks, sands and ravenous heat made up most of the image. A few black dots were visible. Stret looked at the Mage and nodded. The image focused in on those dots, revealing the purple robes of Chaos Magi. Around them, Swarmbeasts and near-men were moving into position.

Stret let the image fade. “Thank you, Mage,” he said calmly, giving the Warrior Mage a firm nod. “Now, can I ask another duty of you?”

The Mage bowed from his saddle. “I am yours to command.”

“Find the Rider Lo’kae,” Stret instructed. “Tell him I want him to gather the Drake Magi, and that I will see them in one hour.”

“Your wish, Lord of the Swarm,” the Warrior replied with a nod. He turned to his Swarmbeast mount to leave.

“Wait,” Stret commanded. The Mage turned back. “What is your name, that you may be rewarded for your service?”

“I am Jol’inar, Lord,” the Mage responded.

“I will remember your service, Jol’inar,” Stret’sar, Lord of the Swarm, promised. “Now go!”

Images floated in the air before Stret. Each showed a portion of his Swarm, and several showed Joh’per’s Swarm.

The traitor Drake Mage had clearly realized that Stret was coming after him. He’d taken up a position in an area of very bad ground, a maze of canyons and rocks with only one way in or out. His near-men and Swarmbeasts were blocking that way in, while his Warrior Magi and Swarmmasters prepared ambushes.

The images faded, to reveal his tent and the ten Drake Magi with him.

“So?” one of them asked. “We’ve all seen it. His position is well chosen. We can take him, but it will cost us more than we can afford to pay. Why don’t we just let him go?”

Stret raised a hand. “All the Swarm will pay allegiance to me, Kort’ret,” he said firmly. “Those who won’t…” his hand clenched into a fist.

He turned away from them, the images coming up before his eyes as he faced the wall of the tent. “Nonetheless, you need not fear for yourselves, your followers, or your ‘beasts,” he told them all. “Because you are wrong, Kort’ret. His position is not well chosen. His choice, in fact, has doomed him and his followers.”

“When we arrive,” he continued, “your followers will parade before the entrance, demonstrating that he has no chance. We will give them one final chance to accept my authority.” The images focused in on a single one, showing the patterns of fault lines and cracks in the hard granite of the canyon. “But for those who do not… I will show you all why there can only be one Lord of the Swarm.”

Stret watched as his Swarm paraded its way before the entrance to the canyon maze Joh’per had forted up in. It was impressive, even to him. Nine hundred Chaos Magi, fifteen thousand near-men, innumerable Swarmbeasts and twelve drakes moved slowly across the landscape, the magic of the Magi shielding them from the effects of the horrific weather. “Any of them looking to take the chance?” he asked.

Lo’kae shook his head. “I told you it wouldn’t work,” he reminded his Master. “They don’t believe you’re willing to pay the price to destroy them.”

“They’re wrong,” Stret said coldly. “However, I have a better method.”

“They’re not going to believe,” Lo’kae told him. “Not unless you do it.”

Stret nodded. “I know,” he admitted. “Wait.”

“The longer Joh’per’s resistance lasts, the weaker your position grows,” Lo’kae observed.

“I
know
,” Stret snapped. “I said
wait
.”

Lo’kae backed away. “You are making a mistake,” he repeated.

Stret spun to face him. “Am I or am I not the Lord of the Swarm?!” he barked. There was only so much questioning of his authority he could take.

“You are our Lord,” Lo’kae admitted, bowing his head in acknowledgement of Stret’sar’s authority.

“Good,” Stret hissed. “You, like the others, have yet to understand. As I have said,
wait
.”

Stret floated to the front of his Swarm, the ‘beasts, near-men and Magi splitting before him. He faced the canyons. A touch of Chaos artificially augmented his voice, and then he spoke.

“Joh’per.” Other than its volume, his voice was conversational. “Come out. Let us talk like civilized beings.”

“Showmanship does not make you Lord of the Swarm,
boy
!” Joh’per snapped, appearing out of nowhere. A moment’s thought showed Stret that he’d teleported.

“True. My blood, my power and the Scepter make me Lord of the Swarm,” Stret replied, still in the same conversational tone. “What claim do you make?”

“I make no claim to be Lord of the Swarm,” Joh’per replied. “I merely see no reason why we should change the way we’ve lived for over a millennium because some child has turned up and picked up the scepter of a long-dead fool!”

“I see. Well, I
am
Lord of the Swarm,” Stret observed, conversationally. “The only way you can do anything other than yield to me is to kill me and take my place. So, come. Step up and take your chance. A chance to rule, or die. Choose now.”

Joh’per’s teeth bared in a snarl. “Very well then,” he snapped. “I’ll kill you like the little pipsqueak you are.”

“Feel free to try,” Stret told him. Despite the nature of the conversation, he managed to keep his voice perfectly conversational.

Joh’per unleashed an immense wave of chaos fire before Stret had even finished speaking. Stret’s hand flicked across his face, as if batting away a fly, and the fire hammered into the side of one of the canyons.

The Drake Mage followed it up with a smashing blast of Chaos lightning, which Stret smothered with his mind before it reached him. Stret grinned at the older Mage.

He snarled back, and unleashed an all-out chaos storm. Purple lightning and ice and fire lashed out towards Stret. Stret watched it approach, and calmly blew at it as it neared him. He flashed power along with the puff of air, and extinguished the storm before it reached him

Stret moved. He flicked his left hand slightly, and sent streams of purple light flashing at Joh’per. With a pop, the other Mage teleported from in front of Stret to behind him, and sent Chaos lances flashing at Stret.

He took the assault purely on his shields. He grunted as the energy shunted into him. A moment later, he reflected it straight back at Joh’per, distracting the older Mage for a moment.

A moment was all he needed. Stret spun, raising the Scepter. Purple light shot from the eyes of the Dragon, slamming into Joh’per’s chest.

The Mage screamed. He kept screaming as all of his power and his life flowed into Stret. He could feel his eyes glow with the intensity of it. Then the screaming – and the power flow – cut off simultaneously as Joh’per’s drained corpse crumpled to the ground.

Stret turned towards the canyons. Some, if not most or even all, of the Magi in there would surrender now. However, they would always be plotting behind his back. They were the kind of Mage he was fighting against.

He would not allow them to taint the crusade he was building. He reached out with his mind, using the power he’d drained from Joh’per. He touched the faults and cracks he’d been looking at before. He touched them, and then he ripped them apart.

The collapsing cliff walls were the first sign. Screams echoed from the canyons, and several of the Magi and others began to run for the exit.

“Don’t let them out,” Stret ordered. A second later, a series of blazing chaos attacks wiped out the fleeing Magi.

As he continued to watch, the ground beneath the feet of the Chaos Magi – who were already desperately holding shields against the falling rock – ripped open. Swarmbeasts and near-men went tumbling into the cracks. Their Magi masters followed. Some managed to keep themselves intact though, both holding themselves above the cracks and holding the falling rocks above their heads.

Then Stret reached way down under, and ripped a fault line straight up. Moments later, lava erupted from the cracks. The handful that had managed to survive died as the burning rock poured over them.

Some of them were still screaming when he turned back to face the Swarm. The popping of lava and screams of the dying were a sharp counterpoint to his projected, yet mild and conversational, voice. “There is only one Swarm, and I am its Lord,” he told them. “You have only one loyalty, the Swarm. You have only one leader, me. Those who fail will be crushed. I am the Lord of the Swarm.”

As he faced them, the heat of the new volcano surging at his back, every single Mage and near-man in the Swarm went to their knees before him. They would respect him
now
.

“Wolf Adept Brea’ahrn?”

The voice from behind her startled Brea’ahrn, and she turned to face the speaker. “Yes…” she said, pausing as her gaze settled on the young Battlemage behind her, “Battlemage…?”

The fair-haired young man, strangely familiar, bowed. “I am Panther Mage Kor’tan,” he informed her. “Mage Fesh’tar’s triad and mine have been assigned to join your escort.”

“Escort?” she echoed, taken unawares. “I was unaware I was supposed to be escorted?” Though now she thought of it, she wasn’t surprised. Today would be the first time she’d ever traveled beyond Deoran’s walls on her own.

“Milady,” the young Mage said, “Someone seems to have messed up.” His calm statement was accompanied by a small smile. He gestured around at the crowd in the main thoroughfare. “Your escort was supposed to meet you at the castle. I was told to look for a body of armed men, not a single Adept.”

“No-one informed me that I should be waiting for an escort, so I suspect I may have left them behind,” Brea admitted, feeling embarrassed.

“They know where we were supposed to rendezvous with them and you,” Kor’tan said with a shrug. “My triad and Fesh’tar’s are waiting there, so I presume the Kingsmen will join us there.”

“Lead the way, Mage Kor’tan,” she told him.

As they began to weave their way through the crowd, down towards the stables where horses waited to bear them to the river, Brea sighed, thinking of another young Battlemage. Tal’raen had been gone for two weeks, and she had no idea when he’d be back. Now
she
was leaving, heading north on her Adepthood, to spend the next three years serving as apprentice and assistant to one of the many Life Magi in the Kingdom.

She just had to hope Tal was assigned to spend his Adepthood near her, or on one of the roving triads that dispensed justice beyond the control of the forts and cities. That way she’d have some chance of seeing him. If he was assigned to a permanent fort somewhere else, they’d almost never see each other.

Unfortunately, Adepts has no real say in where they were assigned, so they’d take fate as it fell. She would be in the north, and he’d be wherever he was assigned, but they’d have some chance to see each other. They
had
to.

Her thoughts continued on this gloomy path all the way to the stables.

The stables were quite large, serving most of the nobles of the capital as a place to store their horses outside the inner city where the only horses allowed were for the Kingsmen. Waiting near her horse’s stall were five Battlemagi, already mounted. They had two horses with them, Brea’s and Kor’s.

She nodded her thanks to the Mage holding her horse’s reins and mounted. She turned in the saddle to face the Magi. “I am told we have a group of Kingsmen to wait for as well,” she told them. “I, ah, apparently left them behind.”

A series of grins marked the Magi’s faces, and one of them rode over to her. He removed one hand from his reins and offered it to her. “Milady Brea’ahrn, I am Falcon Mage Fesh’tar,” he introduced himself.

Gesturing at two of the other Magi, he continued, “Those two reprobates are Kor’tan’s personal headache, the other two Magi of his triad, Lor’nasa and Ich’nik.”

The two Magi in question bowed.

“The other two are my eternal punishment, though I must have committed something incredibly evil in a past life to deserve them. Chet’sel and Jig’ni.” They grinned and bowed as well. “And you’ve already met the second in command of our little di-triad, Kor’tan.” His final gesture took in the fair Mage, who’d escorted Brea down.

“And, if you look behind you,” he continued with a smile, “that second sun on the ground over there is the light reflecting off the silvered armor of our Kingsmen compatriots.”

Brea turned in the saddle and saw them. Thirty men in bright chainmail rode down the street. They were completely out of formation, more concerned with not riding into or over anyone, but they were in fine fettle. Their armor had been polished, certainly, though probably not ‘silvered,’ and their blue cloaks were clean and bright.

The leader of the platoon rode up to Brea’ahrn and raised his hand to his helmet in salute. “Milady Brea’ahrn, it is good to see you, at last,” he said dryly.

Brea inclined her head. “My apologies for that, captain…” she trailed off, looking at him questioningly.

“Kings-Captain Mar’tell, milady, of the King’s Fifth Lancers,” he replied.

“Thank you,” Brea acknowledged with a nod of her head. “I do apologize for leaving you behind Kings-Captain. I was never informed that I would have an escort of any sort.”

“I myself only realized that lack after waiting in the main courtyard for some twenty minutes,” Mar’tell admitted to her.

Brea looked around at the large group of various types of soldiers she’d acquired. “Well, since we all appear to be here,” she said with a small smile, “should we not proceed to the riverboat? I suspect the captain may get impatient if we are late.”

“With what he’s being paid, he shouldn’t,” Fesh’tar said with a laugh, “But I see your point milady.”

A minute or so later, Brea led the cavalcade down the street.

The river-docks were only a short ride from the city gates. The Deoran River made its meandering way through most parts of Vishni on its way to the sea, current driving the riverboats south, the usual prevailing winds driving them north.

The docks were built on an artificial lake, seemingly cut away from the side of the river. The lake was the main reason the docks were outside of the walls of Deoran City– it had been dug out in the only area of flat ground on the river for kilometers.

Dozens of the two-masted riverboats bobbed away at the docks, their white sails silhouetted against the deep blue water of the lake. Around them, the docks bustled with activity as stevedores loaded and unloaded the cargoes that flowed into and out of the greatest city in Vishni. Food, raw materials and information flowed in, money, finished goods and contracts flowed out.

Brea’s eyes finally came to settle on a specific riverboat, whose sail bore the tree symbol of the Order of the Lady. Crates and barrels, containing what she knew would be medicines and other healing supplies, were being loaded onto the ship, destined for the same northern hospital as she was.

“I’m guessing that’s our ship,” Fesh’tar commented from behind her.

“She is,” Brea replied. “The
Ilsadore
, riverboat out of Krilor, captained by one…”

“Koris Telnat, my lady,” a voice interrupted her. Brea turned to find herself facing a great, red-bearded giant of a man. Even if he hadn’t
looked
the stereotype, his name gave him away as an Islander – one of the people who lived in the Islands on the ocean to the east of Vishni’s coast.

He bowed to her. “I am correct in believing that you are the Princess Wolf Adept Brea’ahrn, aren’t I?” he asked.

Brea inclined her head in response. “I am, Captain…” she trailed off. Despite what she knew of Islanders, she was uncertain how to handle the unusually formed name.

“Call me Koris, Lady Brea’ahrn,” the giant told her with a wide grin. “I’ve never yet met a Vishnean who was comfortable with my second name.”

“Very well, Captain Koris,” she agreed. “How long until you are ready to leave?”

“By the time you’ve got all these fine young soldiers aboard, we should be finished loading,” he told her. “You might want to send them on ahead,” he glanced over the soldiers with an appraising eye, “for if they’re as good as they look, they’ll want to take care of their weapons themselves.”

“We will likely take a while to get aboard,” Mar’tell admitted with a nod. “With your leave, milady?”

“Feel free, Captain,” Brea told him. “I don’t believe I’m likely to be attacked here.”

The troop of Kingsmen rode off towards the boat, but the di-triad of Battlemagi remained where they were, watching. For what, Brea wasn’t all too sure.

Shrugging aside their paranoia, she turned back to Koris. “I’m actually surprised you’re willing to take on so many armed men,” she observed to him. “I wasn’t informed of their presence when I was making arrangements.”

“Your negotiator was, and I extorted a nice premium from him for it,” Koris told her, grinning. His face turned serious for a moment. “However, I’ve no real problems with carrying Kingsmen, and I’m damned glad to be carrying Battlemagi. They’ll be needed up north soon.”

Brea blinked in surprise. “What makes you say that?” she asked.

The Islander shrugged. “Rumors,” he said quietly. “Some talk among the Islanders is that the Speakers have been seeing signs.” The Speakers were what Magi were called among Islanders. For some unknown reason, the Islands threw up very few Death Magi, but their Life Magi – called ‘the Speakers’ for their skills at scrying – rivaled Vishni’s best.

“I sometimes feel it in the water,” Koris said, still quiet. “A storm is brewing, and it’s going to break in the north. I’m no Vishnean, and the Islands have their own share of resentments against the Kingdom, but Vishneans at least try to treat us as people and equals. The Swarm would treat us as
food
.” The Islander’s serious face had quite clearly turned to anger, and his hand had clenched on his swordhilt. “When the storm breaks, I want there to be as many Death Magi around to limit it as possible.”

Brea glanced over to Fesh’tar, who wore an odd expression. “What is it, Fesh?” she asked the Battlemage.

The Mage shook himself. “Nothing major, I guess,” he replied. “I hadn’t realized that the Speakers were seeing signs as well.” He shrugged. “It may be nothing; both they and the Kingdom’s Life Magi have been mistaken in the past.”

Glancing down at where Mar’tell was loading his men onto the riverboat, Brea nodded. “Well, signs or no signs,” she said firmly, “it looks like we should probably be heading down there ourselves.”

She glanced over the Islander captain, who seemed to have recovered his jovial composure. “Aye, it’s looking to be about that time,” he agreed.

As the group began to walk towards the boat, Brea realized what bothered her about Fesh’s statement. She’d read a lot of the history of Vishni’s seers and the Islander Speakers, and Fesh was right. They’d been wrong. Both the seers and the Speakers had been wrong at times. But every time that
both
groups had seen signs of impending disaster, that disaster had struck.

Brea stood on the bow of the riverboat, letting the night wind blow gently over her and ruffle her hair. Deoran city lay four days behind them. Trees lined the edge of the river here, and the boat gently bobbed as her anchor held her against the current.

Footsteps on the deck disturbed her. Driven by some instinct, she hid herself behind the bow tie-ropes. She glanced over the pile of rope.

All six of her Battlemagi escorts stood on the deck, along with Captain Mar’tell.
What’s going on? Why don’t I know about this?

“Are you certain?” she heard Fesh’tar ask.

“Yes,” Kor’tan replied. “I don’t know how they got past the Rangers, but there are six Chaos Magi heading towards us. We must presume they are hunting the Princess.”

“Damn,” the other Mage said softly. “Do you know any more?”

She heard a rustle of cloth, as if Kor’tan had shrugged. “There were also about six hundred ‘beasts and sixty Beastmen,” the Battlemage told his subordinate. “Probably at least four Swarmmasters and a pair of Warriors.”

“You know what we have to do, Captain,” Fesh’tar said, she was guessing to Mar’tell.

“I know,” the Kingsman replied. “I’ll wake up Koris as soon as you’re ashore. We’ll give you as much space as we can.”

She heard whinnying and the clop of shod hooves on wood, as the horses were led out of the cargo hold onto the deck. A series of splashes followed.

“Good luck,” Mar’tell called.

“Gods bless you,” drifted back on the night wind.

Mar’tells footsteps sounded as he returned below-decks. Brea stood.
Chaos Magi? What’s going on here?
A moment’s hesitation struck her as the whole scene seemed strangely familiar.

She followed the Captain down into the ship.

An hour later, they’d raised anchor and were making all sail north. Even if she hadn’t seen the Battlemagi going ashore, Brea would have known something was up. She went looking for Mar’tell.

She found him supervising the removal of his men’s bows from the rack in the hold where they’d been stowed. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

“Ah, Princess,” he replied. “I didn’t realize we’d wakened you.”

“Captain, you woke up everyone
else
on the boat,” Brea observed dryly. “How exactly was I supposed to sleep through it? Now will someone tell me what is going on?”

“Nothing serious, highness,” the Kingsman told her.

“Really,” Brea said dryly. “Then why are we suddenly making full sail in the middle of the night, while you and your men check your weapons?”