Mage Hunter Omnibus (Complete 5 Book Series) (4 page)

“
I have seen the years to come,” the witch said. “I have seen my own fate. My kind live for many of your lifetimes, for thousands of years, but we
can
be killed. My doom lies within the wyrd woman Ildra.”

“
She is to slay you?”

“
No, it is her grandson.”

“
Her grandson?”

“
Yes, he will use a weapon of flame to burn me alive. I have seen this with my ancient sight. It will come true many years from now unless I do something to subvert the future, to change the path of fate.”

Guthrie’s eyes narrowed once more. “If you think I am going to hunt down and kill this woman for you, then you are a fool.”

The witch cackled. “You will have no choice in the matter. Your military leaders will not give you a choice. They will make you go forth to kill. It is Ildra who is behind this uprising of the Dartague. The wyrd women play a unique role in the society of the northern tribes, part priestess, part witch, but one who can master true power can rise above her station and take the reins of control, becoming master of even the chieftains themselves, including the High Chief.”

The sergeant nodded. “I won’t disagree with you about my future. When I find a garrison or a marching regiment, I’m sure I’ll be pulled into duty regardless of my years of service. But that would have happened anyway. None of this explains why
you
have chosen
me
for your needs.”

“
Because you know Ildra by sight, for one thing,” the woman said. “She allowed you to live to spread the message of the Dartague might and wrath, but what she does not know is the situation will be turned upon her.
You
will deliver a message of death to
her
.”

“
And why should I do this?”

“
Because I will present you a gift, one that will allow you to hunt her down. Would you not want to use such to end the hostilities as soon as possible?”

“
I might,” Guthrie said, “but I would be a fool to take a present from you.”

One of the witch’s slim hands disappeared within the folds of her thin garb, a moment later showing itself again and stretching out toward the Ursian. Within the palm of that blue hand was a bauble, a gem glinting of gold and light. “It is yours. Take it.”

“I think not.”

“
Take it!”

“
No.” He turned away from her once more. “I will fight the Dartague again, but I will do so on my own terms, as a man and as a soldier. Most importantly, I will fight as an Ursian, without the help of your ...
magic
.”

There was a rush of movement behind the sergeant. He swung around, expecting an attack from the angered woman, and swatted out with his mace.

She was too fast for him. Her slender frame sidestepped his blow as easy as a snake sliding away from a stomping boot. Now in front of him, practically on top of him with her height, she thrust out a boney hand, the long fingers wrapping around the soldier’s throat.

Guthrie choked and tried to pull back, but the grip holding him was like that of an iron vice. Not able to retreat, he slashed up with his weapon, hoping his iron-headed club would break her hold on him.

But his blow was weak. There had been little room for a proper swing. The ice witch barely registered as the iron head of his mace glanced across her thin but strong arm.

Then it was he saw her other hand held in a fist against her jaw next to her eyes that bore into him.

“I will not be denied!” she called out.

Her fist struck forward, slamming into his face. The blow was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Guthrie Hackett had seen his share of combat over the years, and he had experienced more than a few brawls, but never had he been struck so hard, not even by men twice the girth of this witch.

His head snapped back and a numbness rolled over him. For a moment he feared his neck broken, but then the woman dropped him, allowing him to fall back onto the snow, and despite the pain now blazing away in his jaw, he was relieved to feel that pain and the cold and damp on his back.

Before he could roll away or prepare to ward off an attack, the witch woman was upon him. She planted her reed-like legs on either side of his chest and sat atop him as if they were lovers. One hand grabbed him by the jaw and tugged, causing him to scream out in pain. Her other hand rushed forward, still a fist. But that fist opened at the last moment before connecting with him and Guthrie felt something cold and hard land on his tongue.

He tried to scream and spit, but the witch shoved up on his jaw, clamping closed his mouth. His mace dropped, his hands flailed away at his opponent, hoping to grab anything, to break anything, to cause her pain, to shove her aside, anything.

A faint warmth rolled over him then and Guthrie felt his head go light. His fingers continued to claw at the woman, but they did no good and were only growing weaker. He felt the strength flooding from his body, draining away like water in a sieve. His fighting arms soon lost all their strength and fell atop his chest. The witch withdrew her hands and sat there watching him.

Guthrie groaned, then darkness crept in at the edges of his vision.

“
When you awake, you will be a different man,” the woman said, “and your destiny will have altered forever.”

She had other words, many words, but they were lost to the sergeant. The darkness swamped him and his eyes fluttered closed. He knew no more for some while.

Chapter 3

“
You think he’s alive?”

Guthrie bolted upright into a sitting position, his lungs gasping for air, his vision swimming. He shook as if fevered, a chill running along his body. What had happened? The witch had forced him to the ground, then thrust something into his mouth. After that ... he was not sure. Darkness. Dreams of wading through a black pool. No. Yes. Maybe. He did not know.

What he did know, however, was that someone had spoken and those words had broken the spell under which he had lain. As he eyes began to focus, he could make out a dim room, light filtering through a window in which the shutters had been pulled from the wall. Leaning in front of him was a ragged-looking fellow, a man in wool leggings and a heavy coat of wolf fur. The stranger’s nose was hooked, his face marked with pocks of some long ago illness, yet there seemed to be genuine concern in his eyes.

Guthrie sensed other figures in the room, and soon enough he could make out two more men, burly fellows in fur wrappings, swords at their waists.

One of those chuckled. “It would seem he lives, Pindle.”

The man leaning forward, his face not far from Guthrie’s own, stood straight with his hands on his hips. “It’s a miracle he didn’t freeze to death.”

Glancing down at himself, Guthrie found he was still garbed and his weapons were on his belt. He was sitting on a ramshackle bed, a covering of some kind of gray pelts now bunched together at his knees, obviously having fallen from him when he had lifted up. He glanced around again and realized he was still in Herkaig, nestled away in one of the stone houses.

“
Who are you?” Guthrie felt his throat was dry as he croaked out the words.

The two men with swords chuckled together.

The fellow in front of the sergeant grinned. “My name is Pindle. These other two are Sagurd and Roranth. I’m guessing you’re a survivor from the stronghold, from the looks of you one of the soldiers.”

Guthrie shook his head as if to clear away the last of the cobwebs in his thoughts. “No. Yes. I mean, not exactly. I was not there during the attack.”

Pindle looked to the others, then back to Guthrie. “Then how do you know there
was
an attack? Were you there afterward?”

“
It is a rather complicated story.” Guthrie rolled to one side, planting his feet on the floor but remaining seated for the moment. “My thanks for your tending to me.”

“
We didn’t do anything,” one of the swordsman said, “just found you here. Surprised you’re alive, to be honest.”

Guthrie ran his gloved fingers through his hair to brush back the dark locks from above his eyes. He felt around behind him and discovered his helmet had been removed from his back, the steel object now resting near the head of the bed. Retrieving the salet helm, he snapped it atop his head and tied its straps beneath his chin. “How long since the keep was attacked?”

Pindle looked to the others again, confusion clear on his face. “Three days ago. Why?”

The sergeant cursed.

“What is it?” a swordsman asked.

Guthrie pushed himself off the bed until he was standing, swaying on his booted feet before steadying himself. “I’ve been out for at least those three days, maybe longer.”

“This is a story we’d like to hear,” a swordsman said.

Now on his feet, Guthrie ignored the last speaker’s prodding for the moment and took in a better look at the three in the chamber with him. The door to the hovel was open and he could spy movement out there, men rushing back and forth. The sound of work came to his ears, men hammering and moving about, talking, orders being yelled. Looking at his new companions again, Guthrie noted they wore not uniforms nor bore official sigils or colors of any kind.

“Militia?” he asked.

Pindle nodded. “Yes, sir. We came up from further south after word reached us about the Dartague.”

“My thanks again, Pindle,” Guthrie said, then nodded to the others, “and to you Sagurd and Roranth.”

“
What be your name?” one of the two asked.

“
Guthrie. Guthrie Hackett.”

“
You wear a soldier’s cloak,” Pindle said.

Guthrie nodded. “I’m a sergeant with His Holiness’ army.”

“Then why weren’t you at the stronghold when it was hit?” a swordsman asked.

“
Sagurd?” Guthrie said to the man.

“
No, I’m Roranth,” the fellow said.

Guthrie nodded again. “I was sent with a squad into Dartague before the attack occurred. This village was struck by a raid, and we were to exact His Holiness’ vengeance.”

“Where’s the rest of your squad?” Roranth asked.

“
Dead,” Guthrie said. “All of them. The Dartague only let me survive because they wanted someone to tell the tale.”

The two swordsmen clucked at the misfortune.

“Seems it’s not a good week for the army,” Sagurd said.

“
Were there any survivors from the keep?” Guthrie asked.

“
Few,” Pindle said. “Some of the servants managed to run away before the worst of the fighting.”

“
What about the soldiers?”

“
A couple,” Pindle said. “Both men are in bad shape. They were left for dead, but somehow they lived through it.”

“
Their names?”

“
I don’t know for sure,” Pindle said. “Our captain likely does, or we can point you to the hospitalers. They’d know.”

“
Where are these two men now?” Guthrie asked.

Pindle jabbed a thumb toward the door. “One of the larger buildings on the edge of town has been taken for use as a shelter.”

“There are other wounded, then?”

“
Oh, aye,” Pindle said. “Probably a dozen altogether. The fighting didn’t end at the keep. Those Dartague bastards have been waging battle all up and down the border. That’s why we got together and charged on up.”

“
This captain of yours, any chance I can meet with him?” Guthrie asked.

Pindle nodded. “I’m sure he’ll want to see you. You’re the only fit survivor from the army we’ve run across so far. Everybody else has been too out of their head, unable to tell us much. We only know what we know from putting thing together here and there. Plus, we had one Dartague prisoner, little more than a boy. He wouldn’t tell us much, but we got a little out of him.”

The sergeant grimaced. “You said you
had
a Dartague prisoner.”

“
Yes,” Pindle said. “If you’re thinking we tortured him to death, you’d be wrong. Oh, the boys banged him around a little, enough to get him to tell us something, but the captain wouldn’t let anyone have a real go at the lad. No, the boy managed to get a knife somehow, then he cut his own throat. I guess he figured he was never going home again or that we were going to kill him eventually.”

“
Or maybe he feared giving away more information,” Guthrie pointed out.

“
Could be,” Pindle said, “but I’m not sure what else he would have known. A youth like that, it’s not likely he would have been in on the details of whatever chieftain is behind these attacks.”

“
It’s not a chieftain,” Guthrie said.

Pindle’s eyes and those of his companions showed strong interest.

“Who’s behind all this then?” Pindle asked.

“
It’s a woman,” Guthrie said. “A
wyrd
woman.”

Pindle glanced to his fellows once more, then to Guthrie again. “I think it’s time you saw Captain Werner.”

***

As expected, once outdoors Guthrie found the formerly dead village was now filled with bustling activity. Nearly all the stone structures had been taken over and put to one use or another by the militia, and there were tents of hide strung up at either end of the town’s solitary road. Here and there men rushed past, some few women also in evidence. Pots were carried from one place to another, weapons were sharpened, what few horses there were in evidence were being tugged along toward a makeshift stable, formerly a stone barn for food storage. There was lots of activity. Even though none of those present other than Guthrie Hackett were officially members of the military, there was a military mind behind all of this. To an unobservant eye the activity taking place in the village might appear to be disordered, but Guthrie recognized a method to the madness. Yes, he was interested in meeting with this Captain Werner.

“This way, if you please,” Pindle said, motioning toward their right.

Guthrie followed the man, Sagurd and Roranth coming in his wake as if guarding the sergeant, which Guthrie supposed they were to some extent.

The going was easy now, the snow having been tamped down by the comings and goings of dozens of men and women and animals. At a quick glance, Guthrie estimated there were at least two hundred present in the makeshift camp. He wondered if any of them were actually survivors of the village, but he doubted such. The villagers were likely all dead, having been killed after seeking refuge behind the walls of the stronghold with the soldiers. Now that he thought of it, Guthrie wondered how the Dartague had breached the walls of the small keep. It was obvious to him the Dartague would have had numbers and surprise on their side, but they were not known for making use of military artillery. The soldiers at the keep, though only a single military company, should have been able to hold out for some while, definitely longer than the few days since the initial assault. Until he learned otherwise, he would have to surmise the wyrd woman Ildra had made use of her magic. Or had it been the ice witch? Guthrie had no trust for that blue-skinned woman, and he was not sure he believed everything she had told him. And still, what had she forced down his throat? And what would it do to him?

Nearing the southern end of the village, the sergeant saw stretching before him onto the flatlands a small sea of tents, mostly lesser shelters only large enough for one or two people. Still, there were more than he expected, and what with the tents on the other end of Herkaig and the buildings within the village itself, Guthrie had to rethink the numbers he had estimated at the size of the militia force. The numbers were closer to five hundred, he surmised, than the two hundred he had guessed at moments earlier. This was a sizable group of armed men. Farmers and miners and peasants alike must have gathered from leagues upon leagues away to have reached such numbers.

“There are more than I would have thought,” he said to Pindle slightly ahead of him.

The hawk-nosed fellow glanced back and slowed. “The situation is bad. There is now practically no Ursian army here in the north.”

Guthrie could hardly believe what he was hearing. “None? What of the other garrisons?”

“
Apparently all have been struck hard,” Pindle said as he moved their group to the left between a row of canvas shelters. “The Dartague came down in numbers. But we only hear little bits of information from time to time, from stragglers we find, like yourself, and from the few wounded survivors.”

Guthrie intentionally slowed the group even further, biding his time to seek more information. “Does not your captain send out scouts?”

“Of course,” Pindle said, stopping altogether, “but not all of them come back. The ones that do report massive damage all along the frontier. Word is nary a fortress was not struck, and the deaths were nearly as plentiful as those in this region.”

“
Surely auxiliary forces have been called up?”

“
Yes,” Pindle said, “but it’ll take another week for them to get here. Until then, the militias are the only defense against the Dartague if they should decide upon further nasty business. And honestly, I’m not convinced the auxiliaries would fare much better than you lot who were stationed here along the border.”

Guthrie had to agree. If the Dartague had worked so well together, something not known for them, and against veterans, then it was not likely that auxiliary regiments made up of newer recruits would fare any better. His mind looking ahead, the sergeant realized the north of his homeland could turn into a major frontier engagement unlike anything that had been witnessed in hundreds of years. With the northern garrisons knocked out, the dukes and the pope would be forced to send a major force toward Dartague. Invasion was not likely, but the Dartague had proven themselves capable of thinking strategically and beyond anything they had shown in the past. Guthrie had to guess this was Ildra’s doing.

“The captain is this way.” Pindle pointed along a narrow trail of packed snow between rows of tents.

Before Guthrie could tell the man to proceed, a flashing brightness in the corner of his vision caused him to close his mouth and turn in the direction of the light.

What he saw at first was nothing untoward. There was a group of four men, all wearing the layered rags of peasantry, busy placing out and putting up the poles for a larger tent. The men went about their work in silence, not a word between them. It was a typical scene of a military camp. Whether these men were actually combatants or merely servants, Guthrie could not know, though none seemed to carry weapons.