Lesson of the Fire (43 page)

She smiled as Asa struggled with the
pronunciation of some of the more difficult words near the end of
the book. Sven would not approve of this choice of reading
material, but Erika did not see why it mattered anymore. Thanks to
Sven’s new law, the most illiterate among the adepts were now
allowed to learn to use magic. What did it matter if their daughter
studied a little magical theory? Asa certainly seemed fascinated by
the subject.

Asa stopped reading in the middle of a page.
She looked up with a deeply serious expression.

“When is Dad coming to take us home?”

“Soon, Asa.”

The girl frowned. “I understand if you don’t
know, Mommy.”

Erika jumped slightly.

So like her father.

“I’m sorry, honey. I don’t know. I hope
he’ll come soon, though.”

Asa nodded, seeming to accept this, and
returned to her reading.

Pondr entered quietly. Erika walked over to
him, a questioning look in her eyes.

“It’s over, Erika.” He brushed past her and
collapsed into her rocking chair.

“Was there … ?” Her gray eyes flickered
toward Asa.

Pondr followed her gaze. “Some. Six of
theirs, nearly forty of yours, ours. A trio of lavenders discovered
the morutsen in their meal. It took time to suppress them.”

Forty-six Mar killed because of me.

“And the other three?”

“Reprisals. Those responsible are now in
custody.”

She clasped her hands over
her belly in fear.
Sven overturns some of
the old laws, and his people cast down others because I asked them
to.
She gently closed Asa’s book. The girl
looked up at her, then hopped down and left without another word.
Erika watched her go with sadness.
She
probably understands.

“What is to become of them?”

Pondr outlined the punishment tersely and
gruesomely. Slavery, death if they resisted — a lifetime of
morutsen. Whatever they did in their lives, that was done now.
Erika clutched her belly harder.

“Mar don’t fight Mar, Pondr. Being even
remotely responsible for the murder of magocrats does not come
naturally to me. It makes me no better than they are.”

“You didn’t kill those wizards, Erika. Those
adepts just took advantage of the situation you created. Maybe they
even deserved what they got. Magocrats have taken advantage of
mundanes for centuries, especially slaves.”

“I don’t care, Pondr. This isn’t about
making mundanes get along with magocrats. You know why we needed to
gain control of the city.”

“Yes, but not all of the adepts do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve already said more than a Traveller
should. You told Sven you wanted to go back to the Protectorates,
and the Mardux often spoke of them as a safe haven. I’ve decided to
go there.”

“But the Mass.”

“Weard Salt’s calculations say I can get to
the Protectorates before the Mass reaches Domus Palus. Companions
make any journey safer, and this is an especially dangerous time
and place for travel.”

“I don’t know what to say, Pondr. Such an
abrupt departure might...”

“Think on it,” the Traveller insisted, and
then he hurried away. Before the door closed, a heavy man with a
strip of red cloth tied on each arm entered. She could just see a
handful of similarly dressed people outside. Her eyes drifted to
the studded Blosin glove hung on his belt. He raised his right
hand.

“Fraemauna’s blessin’s be upon you, Weard
Unschul.”

Erika’s voice was little more than a
whisper. “I’m not a wizard, adept … ”

“Finn Ochregut, Weard. An’ I mean the title
in its original sense — guardian.”

“Wait, aren’t you a … ?”

“Mapmaker? Yes, Weard Unschul. We’re not all
as mad as the stories say. I joined th’adepts at the very
beginnin’. I knew we’d overthrow the magocrats once a leader showed
himself, or, as it turned out, herself. Thanks to your gifts of
torutsen, morutsen and Blosin gloves, there are now a hundred
thousand adepts in Domus Palus, all loyal to you. With such an army
of magic-wielders at your command, you have the power to take the
Chair.”

They want me to take the
Chair?
She fell into the seat abandoned by
Pondr, thinking on his last words.
No
wonder he wanted to leave!

She met Finn’s eyes. They
were perfectly relaxed. He had no fear of her. A little spark
ignited in her.
They want me to be Mardux
as an apprentice weard and they have no fear for me?
Fire tinged her voice.

“What would I want with the Chair, adept? If
you mean open rebellion against the wizards now, as the Mass
marches against Domus Palus, then the tales of mapmakers are all
true.”

Finn’s face hardened, but she spoke over
him, past him, to all the adepts straining to hear in the corridor.
“Overthrowing a few hundred lazy magocrats when you have a hundred
thousand magic-wielders and the element of surprise is hardly a
victory worthy of a Mardux. You have no time to waste puffing
yourselves up and playing at being heroes in an epic.”

The murmurs behind him made the
mapmaker-turned-adept soften.

“Then what’ll we do, Weard Unschul?”

“Take the opportunity the magocrats refused.
Ready the city for a prolonged siege against enemies beyond
counting. Let all of Marrishland know what we face and pray the
gods move them to send us reinforcements.” She met Finn’s eyes
again. “What?”

“Will you organize the defen’ers of Domus
Palus?”

Erika could no longer contain her
frustration with the mapmaker. “I’m not Sven. You’re more qualified
to lead the adepts than I am.”

“You’ll just sit and watch then, like the
magocrats would’ve done?”

Erika gaped at him.
Suddenly I’m a magocrat? These adepts are
dangerous men!
She searched for a solution,
thinking as hard as she had ever done. After a moment, she spoke.
“I will go to the Protectorates. The wizards there know more about
Blosin gloves than I do. They might even be able to send
reinforcements.” She stood up before he could interfere. “I will
leave in the morning. Be sure to send messengers to the rest of
Marrishland to warn them of this threat. Whatever you and the other
adepts think of them, we need the wizards to win this
war.”

* * *

A hundred feet back from the mud-crusted
shore of the Lapis Amnis, Marrishland’s largest river and the
southern border of the Fens of Reur, Bui Beglin instructed his army
of adepts in preparation for a battle against the Mass even he felt
they could not hope to win.

They had arrived a day earlier. The
city-born adepts were exhausted after the march, but they had
learned the hard lessons Bui had. Leaving Domus, they had no
concept of how to look for suckmud willows or snakes, and each was
terrified of every drop of water or glob of mud. To fend off those
fears was the work of a half day of giving them something worse to
fear: their commander, the mundane guerrilla Bui Beglin.

He had given them six hours to rest when the
river was in sight, and, leaving the ones he deemed most reliable
in charge, had crossed the river to scout alone, intent on
discovering if his worst fears would come true.

Bui had learned something of their numbers,
and other knowledge that had borne some fruit he could use. He had
not seen any insero, the oversized, mantis-like fliers that could
carry a half-dozen of the smaller, rat-like ravits and their deadly
rain of poison darts.

Weard Duxpite had spoken of the Mass as
coming in waves. If we fend this one off, how many more will come?
I won’t have time to recon every wave.

Returning, he ordered a mud wall built to
raise them higher above the river; there was already a rise the
Mass would have to run up after the river, but a few extra feet
could make a difference. Trees were stripped to make a slatted roof
for the army to hide beneath in case the insero did show up.

And, most importantly, the Mardux’s traps
were laid, as many as the adepts could, for a mile-long stretch of
the river. The adepts were hardly strong enough to make them, but
neither was Sven at Tortz, Bui knew now. Almost half his army had
spent the past day enchanting the gloves that could make the traps,
which triggered when a Drake’s tor approached them, while the other
half had bled the gloves dry planting the spells in the river and
mud.

More than a hundred feet of death would
greet the first wave of the Mass, and Bui could not think, watching
his four thousand exhausted adepts, that they would be able to hold
off another wave of this magnitude.

And if they hesitate, and move around us, we
will be food for Dinah.

“Dinah’s shriveled teat, that’s too many!”
someone cried.

On the other side of the river, a
quarter-mile of mud, bedraggled scrub and weathered rocks ended at
a pathetic row of trees, but those had been enough to block the
first line of the Mass. Bui watched the first Drake run to the
river’s edge, and a half-dozen followed sporadically behind that
first scout, but now they poured out onto the mud flats like a
flood.

Mostly guer of two types — jabbers with
their sharp, bony forearms and powerful legs, who would leap for
their first assault; and stingers, geared with weapons, shields,
and whip-like tails covered in poisoned spikes — led the First
Wave. Both could swim, and while the Lapis was sluggish here, it
was also wide, and the Mass would stop to rest, exhausted from
their march, before crossing.

They are organized, though
that isn’t exactly unexpected,
he thought,
as the First Wave stopped and started gathering itself, jabbers in
the front ranks and stingers behind, and scores of the giant,
shambling striped guer beginning to appear from the back. Bui had
counted more than fifty of them in his scouting, and knew that if
they made it across the river, the adepts would be in
trouble.

He turned to the adepts near him.

“Ready bows, but don’t shoot until I say.
The rest of you, stop gawkin’ and keep buildin’. We’ll use every
minute we have to build walls and roofs. You twenty.”

The team of adepts looked at him like mice
staring into the eyes of a snake.

“Spread out evenly alon’ the line an’ watch
for anythin’ i’th’air. You see insero, let us know. They’ll have
ravits, but we’ll have bows an’ roofs.”

They remained frozen in place until he waved
a hand at them, at which point they scampered off. The other adepts
nearby caught the look on Bui’s face and resumed preparations. The
relay team carried the order, using Mobility to hasten their
movements.

The First Wave finished its deployment. Bui
counted eighteen places they would likely cross, jabbers first
probably, then stingers, and he pointed to the five groups in the
middle, which appeared to be the largest.

“The leader’s there,” he said. No standard
marked it, but every general would want to have the most
protection. More than half of the visible striped guer were
concentrated there.

“If we kill their leader, they will run,”
someone said, to general approval.

“No,” Bui said. “They’d fall apar’, sure,
but they’d still come. No one would order a retrea’, see, and we’d
rather have that.”

“So we should let it live?”

Bui didn’t answer. Fighting against the
Flasten army, the leaders had been predictable. They had stopped
moving when the situation was confusing. The Drakes were more
adaptable. But if they left the leader alive, and forced him to
hesitate, it would be enough for Bui to order a retreat of his
own.

They waited tensely, watching the Mass,
until a shout rose. The front ranks of the Mass had entered the
water, running into it with howls and screams, splashing up so much
water it looked as if the river was parting for them. Bui did a
quick count. The First Wave was crossing from all of its positions,
and all were within the range of the traps.

He felt a sting of fear for his adepts,
looking at him for instructions. Thousands of Drakes waded into the
water in front of them. They should turn and run back to Domus
now.

He knew the adepts couldn’t win. This was
the first battle of a war of attrition, and he was prepared for
high casualties before the day was done. He did not intend to allow
the Drakes to rout them, though. Tortz had been defended by a
militia no more skilled with magic than these adepts, and Brand had
organized them into a sturdy fighting force.

As the howls of the Drakes grew louder, Bui
raised his own voice to his adepts.

“I need another team to come here. The rest
of you teams, coun’ off by four. We’ll star’ with the middle an’ go
east an’ west. Ones an’ threes’ll make a wall with Power to keep
them in the river. Twos, you’ll watch the magic traps an’ use the
gloves to fix them until they run out, an’ then attack with fire
when the Drakes come out of the river. Everyone else, give them the
gloves. Fours, you’ll save your magic to heal the woun’ed. Remem’er
— arrows when I say.”

They had trained a bit. Each adept knew his
strength, in Power or in Vitality, trap-setting or glove-making.
Bui hoped it was enough. So far, everyone listened. Numbered by
those same strengths, they distributed as they were told.

Bui waved to the team of adepts he had
singled out.

“Stay close to me. You’re my special escort
force. You’ll do what I need you to do.”

They shot him confused looks but followed
him as he walked up and down the line, adjusting people’s positions
and keeping an eye on the enemy.

The Mass filled the river halfway now, some
swimming and some trying to walk across the sticky mud bottom.
Their gray, brown and black heads and bodies moved determinedly,
the shouts fading, eager to start this fight. The Mass came with
the confidence that for each who died, a hundred more would replace
him, and Bui realized that the leader would not order a retreat at
all.