Lesson of the Fire (54 page)

Yver seized the marsord and inspected it as
if expecting it to vanish.

“Then why do you unlawfully hold wizards
prisoner and teach mundanes to use magic beyond their
understanding?” the duxess asked with false sweetness.

“We saw the Mass comin’ on the recon stone,
but the dux wasn’t doin’ anythin’, so th’adepts the Mardux made to
fight the Mass had to do somethin’.”

“Three duxes have sworn to me that the
Mardux deceived Dux Ratsell to change the law so he could turn
Domus Palus into a new Tortz. The Mass was not invading until Weard
Takraf made his adepts.”

“They’re lyin’, then, or they’re wron’,”
Finn said.

“That is a very serious accusation, Finn.
What proof do you have?”

“Take a look aroun’ the city, duxess. The
Mass sent twenty thousan’ guer against it about a month ago, but
they never even got to the wall before th’adepts an’ the priests
killed them all. Th’other Drakes were takin’ too long to get here,
so Sven’s taken fifty thousan’ adepts to the Lapis Amnis to fight
the Mass, an’ he’s winnin’. They’ve killed two hun’red thousan’,
last I knew.”

“That is impossible!” Borya Zaghaf cried
from where he sat on Finn’s stool at the foot of the dais.

“They have Blosin wands,” Yver reminded him.
“Weariness is less of a factor.”

“Even so, I cannot believe this mundane’s
lies!” Borya raged.

Finn shrugged again. “It must be a miracle,
then. They say the Mardux has nine patrons who help him succeed at
everythin’. After seein’ Drakes kneel on the groun’ an’ beg Mar for
mercy, nothin’ seems impossible anymore.”

“Tell your adepts to surrender, if you are
their leader,” Glyda said. “We are taking control of the
capital.”

“I’d welcome your counsel, duxess, but I
can’t make you anythin’ but an advisor.”

“It was not a request, mundane. You will
yield the capital to us.”

Finn risked a small smile. “Do you know how
to tell an adept from a mun’ane, duxess?” He pointed at the strips
of red cloth sewn onto the sleeves of his cloak. “Just these.
Without them, I still have magic, an’ I know how to make wan’s an’
torutsen. Take Domus Palus away from me, an’ all the adepts’ll stop
wearin’ bright colors. Your magocrats’ll be livin’ in a city filled
with Mar who want to kill them, but they won’t know which’re loyal
an’ which’re traitors waitin’ for a good time to strike.”

“They would kill Mar even though the Mass is
the greater threat?” Glyda asked coolly.

“We want all the help we can get, duxess. If
you’ve come to help the Mardux fight the Mass, you’re allies to
th’adepts, not enemies. An’ if you’ve come to help the Mass beat
the Mardux, then you’re listenin’ to the wron’ gods, same as
Flasten.”

The duxess laughed without mirth. There was
an uneasy silence as everyone waited to see the true nature of her
reaction to the adept. The duxess sobered, and her eyes were like
unseeing gemstones when she stared into Finn’s.

“I see the Mardux’s henchmen are blocks of
peat cut from the same bog. Weard Lasik said the same things you
just did, though he argued the points more diplomatically and
eloquently than you could dream of expressing them. I should admit
that Weard Takraf is the Guardian chosen by the gods and ignore all
signs to the contrary.”

“The outrage of the people’s the surest sign
of the gods’ will they’ll ever give you.”

“I have heard enough. Finn Ochregut, I
accuse you of violating Bera Branehilde’s Unwritten Laws for
wielding power beyond your understanding and for teaching magic to
those who are not properly educated.”

“I deman’ Nightfire judge me,” he said,
thinking of the story of Sven and Tortz.

She smiled faintly. “You are mistaken. That
is the right of wizards, not mundanes. Do not worry, though. You
will have plenty of company in the execution chamber.” Then to the
auburns in front of her. “Take him to the prisons and give him
morutsen until his trial.”

“No!” Finn cried. “You’re makin’ a mistake!
You have to help the Mardux, or the Mass’ll win, an’ all the Mar’ll
die!”

“If that is the will of the gods,” she said
softly. “Then so be it.”

* * *

“Weard Staute,” a voice called, and Asfrid
jerked awake.

“Yes, Sigrun?”

“They’ve breached the perimeter
defenses.”

Asfrid’s heart leapt into her throat.
Without speaking, she pulled on her boots, threw her cloak over her
shoulders and followed Sigrun to the recon hut at the center of the
town. What she saw did not present any immediate solution.

A mile-wide column of red icons representing
at least eight thousand stinger guer, gobbels and jabber guer
stretched fifty miles from beyond the range of the Protectorates’
reconnaissance to within a league of the northernmost town. Each
community had its own defenses, but they had never been intended to
stop an entire army of Drakes, much less one of this scale.

“What is the estimated body count?”

“Ten thousand Drakes, Weard Staute, and all
the gloves are used up.”

Asfrid shook her head. “We are too few to
stop that many with our magic. Ten thousand casualties without
meeting an enemy in the field, and the Drakes march on. This can
only be the Mass.”

Sigrun laid a hand on her shoulder. “It is
up to the mundane army now.”

Asfrid looked at the swarm of green dots
gathered within the walls of Amboth — the small, walled community
the Drake army was rapidly approaching. They had worked hard and
without magic to fortify the town as well as they could. The wall
was now too high for jabber guer to leap onto it, much less over
it. The last of the civilian population had fled spans earlier, and
almost all the warriors in the Takraf Protectorates waited there
with stockpiles of food and water in preparation for what they
hoped would be a swift victory — or at least a long siege.

If I were a Drake with access to our
reconnaissance, I would avoid Amboth entirely and strike our other
towns — damnen tactics. Right now, the warriors believe they fight
to prevent the Drakes from killing their families and destroying
their homes. If they could be convinced that staying in Amboth only
increased the danger to what they care about, they will either
despair and give weak battle or act rashly and march against an
army larger and better-situated than their own.

“What can we do?” Sigrun asked.

“Weard Schwert is captured or dead. The
Mardux is no doubt fighting the Mass elsewhere — probably at Domus
Palus. The Domus wizards fight the Flasten wizards far to the
southwest. The other duxies are both neutral and far away, so we
can expect no help from them. There is only one army close enough
to influence the outcome.”

“They are the cause of our current
predicament. Otherwise, we might have withdrawn even farther into
the Protectorates and let our standing defenses wear away at these
invaders.”

“Who knows what fate we will suffer at the
hands of the Mardux’s enemies? Will they even honor a truce or
accept a surrender? Even if they come to our aid, what price will
they exact, and will we ever be citizens of the Takraf
Protectorates again?”

Sigrun didn’t respond immediately. The recon
stone updated, and the line of Drakes pushed a little farther
south. There was still no sign of an end to the approaching
column.

“You don’t know what will happen, but you’re
willing to take that risk.”

Asfrid nodded grimly.

“If the farl is going to make us all his
slaves and use his magic to prevent us from ever disobeying him,
many Mar would rather die — myself among them — and you would have
chosen that fate for us. Do you really think this is the right
thing to do?”

“I don’t know, but if the Mardux wins this
war, I have faith that he will not let us remain slaves to Flasten.
And if he loses, either Flasten will annex the Protectorates, or
the Mass will destroy them. Three possible outcomes of surrender —
one that will preserve us, one that will destroy us and one that
will do much worse than destroy us.”

“And if we accept no enemy’s aid and meet
the Mass in the field?”

Asfrid gestured to recon stone. “Do you see
more than one outcome? Because I certainly don’t. Given the choice
between death and a chance to stay alive, I will take my chances
that the gods will smile upon me.”

On the recon stone, the column of Drakes
moved closer.

Chapter 44

“
Only a fool dismisses an enchanter. They
might not be as skilled in combat as we are, but they are quite
capable of protecting themselves against our attacks. More
importantly, a skilled enchanter can decide which side of the
battlefield you will stand on before the battle is even
begun.”

— Nightfire Tradition,

Nightfire’s Magical Primer

“Our eastern flank is beginning to fray
again,” Sven commented to Fraemauna — Guthrun — pointing at the
recon stone. “Send Swind’s legions to sweep those Drakes back into
the Lapis Amnis, and bring Sendala’s legions out of the battle. Her
children have fought valiantly for the past span and deserve a few
days’ rest.”

The Mardux barely noticed the concerned
looks his escort priests shot each other. He hadn’t slept in four
days — not since he had railed at Heliotosis — Weard Aesir Schnee —
for wasting magic sending him into the Tempest to rest. They needed
all the magic they could muster to keep the adepts armed with wands
and Blosin gloves, and sleep was a luxury the Mardux could no
longer afford. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had misread
all the signs pointing him on his path.

How could I have overlooked this
possibility? I should have crushed Volund earlier. Horsa and the
Domus wizards would be here to help hold the Lapis Amnis. I could
have passed my amendment without dividing the Mar when they needed
to be united.

He enchanted a pair of morutdyjiton idly as
he watched the seemingly endless battle unfold on the recon stone
in front of him. Sven enchanted Blosin gloves whenever he had the
magical strength to do so. Most days, a green could have slain him,
though he suspected his escort reserved more of their strength than
he did.

“Another two hundred striped guer are
approaching the ford near the midpoint. Make sure Niminth’s men are
ready for them. The fighting has been intense, and I do not want
them to run out of wands before the Drakes cross.”

Sendala — Weard Frig Blauge — nodded once
and vanished into the Tempest.

“Mardux!” Bui shouted behind him.
“Messengers from Domus Palus. Bad news.”

Sven turned as the guerilla approached.
Bui’s draxi acted as scouts and messengers between the far-flung
Mar legions that now held a stretch of the Lapis Amnis five hundred
miles wide. The army certainly was not spread evenly across that
area, as they needed to focus their attention on parts of the river
the Drakes could conceivably ford.

“Bring them, Bui.”

The guerilla was clearly out of breath.
“They’ll be here in a minute. People’re fleeing Domus Palus an’
comin’ north. They say the Duxess of Pidel has seized Domus Palus.
She’s goin’ to kill all th’adepts there for breakin’ the law.”

The only indication of his consternation
Sven gave Bui was a slight frown. When it became clear the Mardux
was not going to respond, the guerilla continued talking.

“The other part of the message is. An older
couple claimin’ to be your wife’s parents say they’ve a message
from Weard Wost.” Bui spat. “He’s got your family an’ wants you to
meet him alone in Tortz, or he’ll sell them as slaves.”

Sven’s face locked into a sneer, and his
blind eye flashed in the sun.

It always comes back to Tortz, doesn’t
it?

“This fire will end where it started,” he
murmured as he stuffed several pairs of Blosin gloves into his
vest. Bui squirmed in obvious discomfort.

“Mardux,” Cedar — Weard Kiarr Bukaltar —
said softly. “You need sleep. We are worried about you.”

“Marrish, send me to Tortz,” Sven said
imperiously to one of the priests.

Rig Marspar looked at him with deepening
worry.

“Forgive me,” Sven murmured. “Rig, please
send me to Tortz.”

“I do not know where it is, Mardux. You are
in dire need of sleep, and you are definitely in no condition to
face the farl enchanter alone.”

Sven casually removed a pair of gloves from
his utility vest and slid them onto his hands. “I am never alone,
Weard Marspur. The gods are with me always.”

“If you wish to aid your family, we will go
with you, but please sleep awhile first,” Cedar said.

Sven touched Elements and felt the Blosin
gloves seize the myst all around him.

“Mardux, no!” cried Marrish, but Sven was
already gone.

On the recon stone near them, a new group of
Drakes appeared to the north. Kiarr squinted at the symbol.

“Those are not guer.”

“Insero,” Rig said.

* * *

Eda stood in an open area between two hills
and waved her arms at the damnen scouting party.

Six of them this time. I think they are
learning to fear us.

They approached her with uncharacteristic
caution, but they only stole occasional glances in her direction,
clearly on the lookout for any Mar archers hidden behind the hills.
As they came closer, Eda backed away slowly farther between the
hills, drawing her marsord.

Tryggvi would laugh at
me,
she thought.
Here I am a wizard, and I’m just the bait.

The damnens surged forward, thinking to
catch her off-guard. Eda flickered, and she was suddenly several
yards behind them. Suddenly, ten nonagons armed with javelins
surrounded the Drakes and filled the air with wooden shafts guided
with Power and hastened with Mobility. Even though the magic died
before the javelins reached the damnens, the momentum drove the
shafts home.