Oracle (Book 5) (3 page)

This time the lash caught Kendril around the leg. He felt blistering pain as it snapped around his ankle and calf.

Abid yanked the whip back.

Kendril’s ensnared leg flew out from under him.

He hit the deck hard. Blood spurted from his nose. He still had a grip on his sword, determined not to lose his last weapon. Kendril rolled over to his side and kicked the whip off his leg.

A heavy footfall sounded behind him.

Kendril turned, half-rising.

An emboldened sailor was almost on top of him, a cutlass held in his sweaty hand.

Kendril lunged forward. He swiped his sword at the sailor’s knees.

The man dodged back with a frightened yelp.

Kendril tried to right himself, still off-balance from his impromptu attack.

“
Alive
,” reminded the man in the red cloak.

Kendril felt a warning bell go off in his head. He jerked his head back around.

As silently as a cat, Abid had come up just behind him. He was still smiling.

Breathing hard, Kendril jumped to his feet and turned to attack. He already knew he couldn’t make it.

With a blow like a falling hammer, the hilt of Abid’s scimitar smashed into Kendril’s face.

The world flashed to white, swirled into purple, then went black.

Chapter 2

The house was on fire, the smoke churning up in a black pillar into the gray sky above.

A woman stood out in the field nearby, weeping hysterically. She huddled a squawking  infant to her. Another small boy clutched at her leg.

The sound of breaking glass and crashing furniture came from just outside the house. Hens clucked angrily as they ran about the yard, trying to avoid the soldiers who raced around after them.

There were at least a dozen men, Joseph figured. Cavalry troopers, all armed with pistols and swords. The sergeant in command didn’t seem too concerned about keeping any kind of order amongst the men. They were ransacking the house and the whole yard, carrying off food, clothing, and valuables.

It was like that in war. Enter a foreign country, and even the most genteel of men could become an animal. These men were probably starving, and tired of long cold months of fighting here in Valmingaard.

Joseph shifted position, his hand on the stock of his wheel-lock carbine. Not that the weapon would do him much good, if it came down to a fight. He was a terrible mark as it was with a firearm, and he only had one shot.

Those troopers would ride him down in a heartbeat if they realized he was here.

The woman was still weeping. The little boy wasn’t crying. He just stared in awe as the foreign soldiers ransacked his family home.

The sergeant shouted something to the troopers. It seemed half-hearted at best. A rebuke? More orders?

Joseph peered over the edge of the embankment he was lying on. His wide-brimmed hat was pulled down against the constant drizzle.

The woman was young, and comely. Joseph couldn’t see any sign of a husband.

He could only hope the soldiers hadn’t killed him.

The troopers were Kalinglanders. Joseph could tell by their lack of uniform, the sorry nags they rode, and the round fur hats each of them wore.

One of them came around the corner of the burning house, and glanced in Joseph’s direction.

Joseph ducked, his breath wisping out white in the chill air. After a long second he risked a glance over the rise again.

There was no change, no shout of alarm or cry of surprise.

In the middle of the lawn the soldiers were busy breaking apart a chest of drawers.

The woman was wailing continually.

Joseph wished she would just still her tongue. What did she think she would accomplish? He hoped with all his heart that the Kalinglanders weren’t intending to turn on her next.

If he had still been a praying man, he might have murmured something to Eru on her behalf.

Joseph glanced back behind him at the woods beside the road. There, just inside the dripping leaves and wet trees was Joseph's horse, just out of sight of the farmhouse.

If they turned on the woman, what would he do? What
could
he do? One man against a dozen was suicidal odds. Kendril might have tried it perhaps, but—

Joseph gave his head a violent shake. He didn’t want to think about Kendril right now.

He couldn’t take on all the troopers by himself. The thought was ludicrous.

But he couldn’t just sit and watch, either.

The woman kept crying.

One of the Kalinglanders shouted something at her.

Listen
, Joseph urged her silently.
Shut your mouth. Don’t provoke them.

He kept staring at the woman. From here, in the dim light, her hair had a reddish color to it, almost like, like—

Kara
.

The pain stabbed back again, right in the middle of his chest.

Joseph set his face. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat.

He wouldn’t go there. He
couldn’t
go there.

And he couldn’t stay here any longer. There was no reason to. He had made contact with the enemy. Time to get back to Baron Dutraad’s camp, and provide the information he had been sent to retrieve.

A squad of Kalinglander cavalry, two miles east from Tuliv’s Crossing.

That meant the whole bloody Kalinglander army couldn’t be far behind.

Joseph stole back down the slight slope, his greatcoat and trousers soaked through from the rain. At least here he was a little protected from the constant wind. He shivered anyway.

And this was
spring
in Valmingaard. Joseph had already seen enough of the winter to last a lifetime. Hard to believe that Maklavir called this place home.

He crept back up the slope towards the woods, rubbing rain out of his eyes as he went.

There was a shrill scream from behind him.

Joseph didn’t look back.

The war had been going on for months now. Kalinglanders to the west, Baderans to the east. Valmingaard was locked into a conflict on both fronts by two enemy nations. Both countries still blamed the King of Valmingaard for the rise of the pagan cults across Rothland in what had become the Fourth Despair.

And in truth, Joseph had difficulty finding fault with the assessment. After all, the beautiful city of Vorten had been destroyed by the rise of pagan cults and an outpouring of demonic creatures that hadn’t been seen in Zanthora since the times of legend.

Joseph slunk into the tree line.

His horse was still tied up where he had left her. She waited faithfully and quietly.

The pathfinder crept up and untied her. He patted the beast gently on the flank.

The horse whinnied softly.

“Come on, girl,” he said as he shoved the carbine back into its scabbard. He hoisted himself up into the saddle, and turned the horse back towards the road.

It was a good seven-hour ride back to Dutraad’s camp. Joseph would lose daylight in about four. That left three in the dark, never a fun prospect.

The sooner he got started, the better.

Joseph rode out into the dirt road, just out of sight of the farm behind him.

The woman screamed again.

Joseph turned his face away to the east and kicked the horse into a steady trot.

He clopped steadily down the muddy road and turned a bend.

Two riders appeared through the falling rain just ahead. Both wore round fur hats and were armed with swords and sabers.

Joseph pulled up his horse with a start.

Kalinglanders.

“Hold up!” one shouted. He pulled out a pistol and waved it in the air. “Stay where you are!”

Joseph took a long breath and exhaled through his mouth.

Thirty yards. Maybe forty.

The riders started towards him.

Joseph pulled out the carbine.

He brought the firearm up to his shoulder, clicking back the wheel lock into the ready position. The weapon was a Valmingaard design, not one he was familiar with. He had only fired a rifle about a half-dozen times in his life before.

In truth, he didn’t even think he could reload the blasted thing.

The two Kalinglanders saw the lowered carbine and hesitated.

For a moment Joseph thought they might turn and run.

The first rider lowered his pistol and kicked his horse forward.

The second rider galloped forward as well. He reached for his pistol.

Joseph took what seemed like a long second and lined up his shot, sighting down the barrel of the carbine with deliberate care.

The first rider’s pistol banged out into the cold air.

The musket ball whizzed close by Joseph like an angry hornet buzzing through the air.

Not even close. Thirty yards was a reach for a pistol at any rate.

Joseph breathed out, trying to keep the blasted carbine steady.

The riders came closer. The first reached for another pistol.

Joseph pulled the trigger on the carbine.

The weapon flashed and then barked out.

The first rider tumbled from the saddle and crashed into a muddy puddle on the road.

Joseph stuck his smoking carbine back into its scabbard.

The second rider gave a shrill yell and lifted a pistol.

Joseph drew his rapier. He kicked his horse forward.

Mud sprayed from galloping hooves as the two riders rushed forwards towards one another.

The Kalinglander pointed his pistol straight at Joseph.

Joseph extended his sword arm straight out.

The Kalinglander was going to wait until the last second and fire at point-blank range, when he couldn’t possibly miss.

And that was mere seconds away.

The Kalinglander screamed again, some kind of keening war cry.

Joseph reached down towards the top of his boot with his free hand.

The Kalinglander grinned ferociously through his bushy mustache. He thumbed back the lock on the pistol, and aimed it at Joseph’s face.

Joseph flashed his hand up and hurled his throwing knife at the approaching rider.

It was a bad throw. Hurried and sloppy.

But it still had the desired effect.

The Kalinglander ducked.

Joseph thrust his rapier forward.

Too late, the other rider tried to straighten and re-aim his pistol.

Joseph’s sharp blade rammed through the man’s shoulder and protruded out his back.

The Kalinglander swung around in his saddle with a scream.

Joseph lurched around as the rapier twisted in his grip.

The Kalinglander’s pistol exploded. The shot plowed harmlessly into the mud of the road.

Joseph let go of the sword. He slowed his horse, then turned around.

The Kalinglander’s horse had slowed to a walk. The second rider was trying to pull out the rapier. He swayed in the saddle. Blood drenched his coat.

Joseph led his horse around. He didn’t have another weapon to reach for. Even if he
could
reload and prep the carbine, it would take him at least an unhurried minute or two.

The Kalinglander fell from the saddle onto the mud of the road.

A shout came from back from the direction of the farm house, then another.

The other Kalinglanders had undoubtedly heard the gunfire.

Joseph rode up to the fallen trooper. He dismounted and picked up his dagger from where it lay on the ground.

The Kalinglander didn’t move, but lay where he was on the road. He stared at Joseph with bitter, pain-filled eyes. The wound he had might be enough to kill him, or maybe not.

Either way, Joseph didn’t really care.

He stepped forward to the man and grabbed the hilt of his rapier.

The Kalinglander looked up at him, his breath ragged.

With one clean pull Joseph pulled the blade out.

The Kalinglander gave a gasp of pain. His face was white.

Joseph turned and wiped the rapier clean on his handkerchief.

More shouts came from the direction of the farmhouse, as well as the whinnying of horses.

Joseph leapt up onto his horse. He turned the beast back towards the east. Despite his best intentions, he glanced back over his shoulder one last time.

The Kalinglander was still in the middle of the road, bleeding badly.

Joseph turned his horse away and galloped down the muddy road.

The rain had ground to a halt by the time Joseph spotted the glint of firelight up ahead.

He trotted his horse towards the outskirts of Baron Dutraad’s camp. Ahead of him came the glow of dozens of campfires, spread out on both sides of the road. The low murmurs of talk, coarse laughter, and the clanging of pots came through the night air.

“Halt!” came a call from the darkness in front of Joseph. A sentry stepped out into the open and raised a musket. “Who goes there?”

Joseph pulled off his hat. “Friend. Just came back from scouting off to the west.”

The Valmingaard soldier nodded and lowered his weapon. “The Baron’s tent is that way.” He pointed.

Joseph wearily turned his horse.

As he wove between the tents and campfires, the smells of cooked bacon and griddle cakes came to him, causing his stomach to rumble. It had been long since his last meal, and that had just been a piece of hardtack filled with weevils. Even softening it in his coffee hadn’t done much good.

As he stopped outside the Baron’s large tent, two soldiers armed with halberds stepped up to him.

Joseph brushed dirt and water off his greatcoat. “Back from the west.”

One of the men nodded. “The Baron’s in his tent. Go on in.”

Joseph didn’t wait for a second urging. He pushed back the flap and entered.

The tent was warm and well-lit by several strategically-placed lanterns. A table had been set up and was covered with maps and dispatches. Against one wall was an unused cot. Near the back was a desk and bureau, where Baron Dutraad sat.

“Joseph,” he said with a grunt as he got up from the desk. “Didn’t expect you back until tomorrow.”

The scout nodded. “Ran into some trouble. Kalinglander cavalry just a couple miles east of the Crossing.”

Dutraad frowned. “How many?”