Gemworld (15 page)

He was indeed from Wayfarer’s Rest, a neighboring village of Caravan’s. It was one of the many nomadic villages in company with Reit’s own, and a staunch supporter of the Cause. The messenger was one of their far-roaming scouts. While he’d been riding his route, he’d come across a coach driven by men bearing Earthen Rank markings, headed for Schel Veylin. The guards attacked him on sight, and he was barely able to get away with his life. He lost his horse when it stepped into a foxhole, snapping a fetlock. He mercifully put the beast out of his misery, then decided what to do. As Caravan was closer than his own village, he opted to come to Reit with his information.

“The coach was a prisoner transport stage, with bars on the windows and outer locks on the doors,” he said, finally in control of his breathing. “Two Rank mages rode behind it—emerald and sapphire, by their badges—with a couple squadrons riding support, possibly a full century.”

“A hundred or so mages is a bit excessive for a mere prison stage. You’re sure it was an emerald riding with the sapphire?” Reit asked pointedly.

“Sure as shootin’, milord,” the scout affirmed.

Sal felt the tension in the room rise, though he couldn’t fathom why. As the briefing continued, Delana explained the situation for him. “The prisoner is a granite mage, a rogue,” she said. “He was found by recruiters on a farm southeast of the Vale, near the highroad to Bastion. When he ascended, he panicked and killed one of the recruiters. The other took him into custody, and has been holding him, pending transport to Schel Veylin.” She lowered her voice for emphasis. “We’ve known since before Sowing that the Rank had captured one, and we’ve been biding our time, waiting for them to move him. If we could free him, he would be a very powerful asset.”

“We’ve almost no information on how granites wield, or the extent of their powers,” Jaren said, picking up where Delana left off. “They are a very private group, not given to sharing knowledge with other Tiles. They teach naught but other granites, and are taught by none but granites. When they aren’t doing the Highest’s bidding, they keep themselves locked up in their fortress, the Granite Spire, on the outskirts of Bastion. Frankly, the only reason that the Patriarchal Council allows the Spire to remain on Ysre is the off chance that one of them might be sociable.” He snickered. “In four thousand years, it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Okay, so how do you know it’s this granite? Why not some other prisoner?”

“Sapphire mages are often employed to sedate disorderly prisoners, or in this case, rogue mages. Ruby mages usually accompany them, as Ruby is the most aggressive—and destructive—of the soulgems. Granites, however, are very resilient to ruby magic. But they are moderately weak to
emerald
magic, so if you have an emerald escort in place of a ruby, then it’s a fair assumption that you’ve got a rogue granite mage being transported.”

“So why not a granite escort? Wouldn’t an educated granite be more effective against a newly ascended granite?”

“They would,” Delana muttered low, “but as I said, they are very practically minded. If they went to collect the rogue, they would be more likely to kill him than subdue him. It’s more prudent to eliminate a variable than to entertain an unnecessary risk.”

“—with Sal offering support,” Reit was saying to the group, nabbing Sal’s attention. Reit continued. “Given the nature of the prisoner, the Highest would be loathe to let his prize slip away. You can bet that his men will react to even the slightest threat with extreme prejudice. Respond in kind. Make no mistake: bloodshed is
not
our objective here, but I’ll not have you risking yourselves unnecessarily. Take the sapphire first—without hesitation or mercy—then turn to the mages in the troop. With a little luck, the granite will turn his magic on his captors. Run off any remaining guards. Spare as many lives as you can, people, but remember that your lives and the life of that prisoner comes first.”

Menkal spoke up. “I think it’d be best if one of our sapphires went with the core group, just in case our boy decides to panic again.”

Reit’s reply was immediate, fervent. “Absolutely not. He’s already a prisoner. I will not free him, only to imprison him again myself. Crafter be willing, he’ll join our Cause. If not, he has the right to his freedom, as do we all. If he lashes out at us...” He let his voice trail off for effect. It was obvious that there would be emerald mages in the raiding party, should they be needed.

As the briefing wound down, Reit called Sal over to him. “Are you ready to start earning your keep?” he asked playfully.

“Dang skippy.”

“Pardon?”

“That means ‘yes’.”

“Of course,” Reit answered dubiously. “By the by... there will be more than enough people in the party. If you happen across the stage’s treasure box, there should be enough gems in there to keep certain artisans busy for weeks,” he said, winking conspiratorially.

Sal returned the wink, grinning at Reit’s own attempt at spurring him along. It wasn’t a half bad idea, actually. On a professional level, he had to admit that his employer’s supply could use a little restocking, but more practically… what better gift could he give the object of his affection than a pile of glittering jewels?

***

Reit watched the raiding party ride off into the woods, silently praying the Crafter’s protection over them. His attention was particularly drawn to the sandy haired young man with the barely used katana strapped to his back. So odd, that one, with such a unique and insightful view of a world that should by all rights be completely alien to him. Yet in the space of a few weeks, he’d gone from a grievously wounded stranger to an accepted—even popular—member of Reit’s extended family. And now he was sending his new brother-in-arms to fight his battles for him.

All over a mage whose capabilities and allegiances were yet unknown. Was it worth it?

He continued to stare at the now-empty path leading into the forest, long after Sal and the others had passed from view. Lost in his thoughts, Reit didn’t hear Delana approach him from behind, so he started when she wrapped her arms around him consolingly, laying her head on his knotted shoulders.

She alone understood him completely. She knew that he considered this
his
war, and that everyone that died in it weighed heavily upon him. Of course, there were a select few others who saw through the facade, saw past the title of
el
’
Yatza
. But she alone
knew
him, even more than his own twin. Which is why it hurt him when she had sided with the rest of the Council, deeming him too important to the Cause to risk himself on this mission. Bitterness welled up within him—toward the Council, toward the Highest and this damnable war Reit was forced to wage against him, toward Delana…

No, not her
, he amended.
Never her. Let her utterly betray me, I could never feel bitterness toward her
.

Well, not for long, anyway
.

Sighing, he resigned himself to the fact that after this most recent incarceration, he and a good many other leaders would be excluded from such missions, only taking up arms under the most dire circumstances. Retzu alone had gone against the Council’s wishes, saying the only fulfillment an assassin had was in killing. They gave in, of course. They might as well have—he would have gone anyway.

“We’re figureheads,” Reit muttered, envying his brother. “We’re game masters, moving our followers around like footmen on a
khal
’
cek
board, whimsically deciding which ones will be sacrificed for the sake of victory, and yet unable to sacrifice ourselves.” He turned to his wife, looking deep into her violet gemstone eyes. How he lost himself there, once when they were young and carefree! He still did, but only insomuch as his duties to the Resistance would allow. He sighed brokenly, a prisoner to his Cause, mourning all that he’d given up in the name of freedom. And now that he’d been remanded to the relative safety of the village, to lead from afar, his fight for freedom left him ever more the prisoner.

“We should be out there, wife. We should ourselves be doing what we ask of others. How can we lead if we’re not out in front, fighting alongside our brethren, risking our lives from them as they do for us?” he demanded helplessly.

“The same way we always have, dear heart,” Delana said patiently, firmly. “We lead with our heads, not our hearts. Our people know we don’t ask of them what we are unwilling to do ourselves. That’s precisely why
they
requested of the Council that we remain behind. They requested. If we were to fall, how can they be sure the next leaders would be as dedicated as we?”

He had no choice but to accept the logic, of course. He hated himself for it, but he accepted all the same. Dejectedly he nodded and pulled her close, both cursing her wisdom and praising the Crafter for it, all in the same heartbeat.

Silently, he prayed yet again to the Crafter for the safety of the raiders. Especially for the sandy-haired young man who had in the weeks gone from stranger to dear friend, and who was right now risking his life for a cause not his own, to free a man he didn’t know.

And again, Reit had to wonder, was it worth it?

***

Sal’s thoughts followed much the same course as Reit’s. Here he was, in a strange world with strange people, hiking through the woods to risk his neck rescuing a stranger who’ll probably return the favor by trying to kill him. Was it worth it? Sal had an answer.

Absolutely. Hadn’t the twins and Jaren just risked their lives and maybe even the survival of the village for a total stranger? Someone who could very well have been a spy? His honor demanded that he do no less.

The raiding party marched along a wash on the leeward side of a ridge that separated them from the road. According to the amethyst mages, the soil in the area was laden with minerals that made it difficult for them to see through the gully walls, which they hoped would hide them from the approaching prison escort until it was too late. Sal wasn’t sure what to make of that. Mages seeing through dirt and rock?

Before he could ponder further, an advance scout slid down the gully wall some fifty yards ahead. At his signal, the troop came to a halt, and brought Sal’s mind back to the task at hand. Hopping off his horse, he tied the reins to a low hanging branch, and made for the head of the line, where the scout was addressing Retzu and the others.

“—sixty to seventy men, perhaps half of them mages,” the barrel-chested mage was saying. “By their heat patterns, I’d say there are only a few rubies. We tend to run a little hotter. The ridge is pretty thin up top, so their amethysts will see us as soon as we crest the summit if they’re paying attention. Be ready to fight immediately.” That said, he looked to Retzu, who was already easing his sword and belt knife in their scabbards.

“Alright, mates, you know the drill,” the assassin said. “I lead the mundane, Naumen leads the arcane.” The scout nodded stiffly at the other mages. “Everybody space out in single file, as close to the summit as you can get without cresting. Mages attack when the escort is a third of the way along the line, providing cover for the ends to circle down to the road on either flank. Primary targets are the stage guards and the amethysts. The troop will likely take position near the stage or on the far side of the road. Don’t let them. When the troop is fully engaged, the mundanes will join in. I want to contain them in the front and back, and hit the side hard. Drive them back from the carriage so our archers can have a clear shot. Archers and mages, stay in the shelter of the trees. Sal, you and Tavin grab the granite and get him to safety. Questions?” There were none.

Assignments passed out and acknowledged, the raiders dispersed. Naumen directed placement as the raiders moved into position along the ridge, crawling the last few feet as they neared the summit. A few designated individuals peeked over the top of the ridge from behind the trees, rocks, bushes, anything that might have afforded even the slightest camouflage. But apparently
all
camouflage was slight, at least to an amethyst mage’s magical vision. Many of the raiders, hidden as they were, still looked like they were going to sick up.

Sal topped the ridge and hunkered down at his assigned post near the furthest end of the line, spying down the road as far as the trees would let him. In place, he scrunched even further, making himself as small a target as possible.

And then he waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. A minute. Five minutes. Sal started to get restless, shifting in place, rounding his grip nervously on the doeskin-hilt of his katana. He thought for a moment to recite his hilts—two of them now—to calm down, but then realized that he wasn’t feeling that kind of excitement. His focus hadn’t wavered in the slightest from Caravan to the ridge. He wasn’t distracted, fearful, anxious. He was completely centered. He was just itching to get to work, to see some action, to do battle—even if it meant swords and arrows instead of MP5s. After being shot up, thrown in prison, dragged through a medieval forest, and put on trial by a jury of people
so
not his peers, he was more than ready to relieve some of the frustration that he’d built up over the past few weeks.

Finally, he got his chance. The elements themselves came to life along the road almost before Sal could even see the escort. And even though Jaren had talked to him at length about it—even wrapped as he was in military training—still he was unprepared for what he saw.