Reign of Ash (25 page)

“I have my orders,” the soldier grated, readying for another swing. “Succeed or die.”

Blaine got under the man’s guard, twisting out of the way of his sword and driving his own point deep into the man’s belly just as his opponent gasped and stiffened with Kestel’s knife between his shoulder blades. His mouth worked soundlessly like a hooked fish, his eyes wide with pain, and then he fell sideways from his horse, leaving his mount covered with his blood. With their riders dead, the horses bolted. Borya and Desya rode after them, returning with four prime geldings.

“Good horses are hard to find,” Desya said with a grin.

Breathing hard, Blaine looked around. Illarion and Desya each bore several gashes, but they looked no worse than he imagined he appeared. Kestel was flushed with the fight and sweat beaded on her forehead despite the cold wind. While blood spattered her clothing, none of it was her own. Piran had jumped down from his perch and was walking among the downed enemy fighters, his crossbow cocked to dispatch them if they were not already dead. Borya remained atop the wagon, watching the horizon for threats.

They regrouped near the wagons. Zaryae was singing a song in praise of Esthrane for their deliverance, and Kestel joined in with quiet fervor. Kata looked confused and alarmed, but Zaryae patted her arm and murmured something the others could not hear. Kata brightened and went back to sit in the wagon, humming to herself.

“Do you think they were working with the assassin in Riker’s Ferry?” Kestel asked, dropping to a seat next to the fire.

“Probably,” Blaine replied. “Maybe they were the insurance in case the first attack failed. Pollard may just be casting his net wide and hoping he gets lucky.”

“He may know about the lyceum,” Kestel said quietly, “especially if he figured out why we were at Mirdalur.” She met Blaine’s gaze. “If he didn’t suspect before that you were trying to restore the magic, that must have tipped our hand.”

Before Blaine could reply, Zaryae took hold of him by his uninjured arm. “Sit down. I’ve put on hot water to make poultices. You’re hurt.” She leveled her gaze at Piran, Illarion, and Desya. “All of you. Sit.”

Kestel chuckled as the men did as Zaryae bid them. Zaryae’s mouth twitched a bit at the edges, satisfied. Then she turned to Kestel. “If you’re as undamaged as you appear, come help me.” She bustled back toward the fire. “Once we patch you up, I’ve got raisin cakes for breakfast. Figured you’d want to eat while we rode.”

To Blaine’s relief, none of the injuries were serious, and once their wounds were treated with Zaryae’s poultices and bound up, they broke camp quickly, eager to be on their way. Zaryae and Illarion drove one of the wagons; Kata and Desya drove the other. Borya took up a position in the back of one of the wagons where he could keep an eye out behind them. Blaine and his group rode their horses alongside the wagons. Kata was singing one of the songs from the performance, and her clear, pleasant voice carried back to where they rode.

Kestel brought her horse up to ride next to Blaine’s, while Piran and Verran took their turn as the rear guard. “Did you expect them to travel with us to the lyceum?”

Blaine shook his head. “Then again, I didn’t expect them to come to our rescue.”

“Do you believe Zaryae? That her dreams foretold our coming?”

Blaine shrugged. “You’re talking to someone who sailed from the edge of the world to try to bring back magic. Apparently, I’ll believe anything.”

Kestel grinned. “You’re no one’s fool, Mick.”

Blaine sighed. “I felt a little more certain of that before Mirdalur. Now…” His voice drifted off.

“We still don’t have any word from Penhallow,” Kestel replied.

“I wish we had Connor’s map,” Blaine replied. “The tracing you did is some help, but now that we’ve gotten another disk, I’d like to see if we could make anything more from the markings on the map – or from that book Grimur gave you. I have the awful feeling that we’re running out of time.”

“What do you expect to find at the lyceum?” Kestel asked.

Blaine shook his head. “I don’t know. A book, a map, maybe another disk. Maybe someone who could translate the marks on the map, or on the disks. I believe Quintrel is out there. I think he’s left clues for the right people to find him. We just have to put the pieces together.”

After a few candlemarks’ ride, the bridge over the Pelaran River was visible in the distance. Blaine let his gaze stray past it into the foothills, where the old map indicated there was a spot where magic once was exceptionally strong. Ancient mages believed that invisible lines,
meridians
, were where the wild
visithara
magic was naturally strongest and built their important buildings along those lines to tap into that power.

“Look there!” Piran pointed to the sky. In the distance, off to the right of the Pelaran bridge, Blaine could see dark shapes circling.

“Vultures,” Blaine guessed. “So?”

Piran shook his head. “Too far away. Vultures wouldn’t look so big from this distance. Problem is, I can’t think of anything that could be so big and that far away.”

“They’re gryps,” Borya said, and Blaine could hear an undercurrent of worry in the acrobat’s voice. Borya stood and turned toward the front of the wagon. “Gryps!” he shouted.

Abruptly the two wagons halted. Desya leaped down from his perch, and Borya opened one of the wagons. From it they withdrew two crossbows, two large quivers of quarrels tipped with razor-sharp blades and wrapped, just above the tips, with blackened rags. Verran hesitated for a moment, then jumped down from his horse and began collecting an arsenal of rocks for throwing and slipping them into a bag. Blaine caught a strong whiff of what smelled like pitch.

“What in Raka is going on?” Piran demanded. “What are gryps?”

“Bad news,” Borya answered, keeping his eye on the circling forms. “We think they came out of the magic storms. From where, I don’t know. They’ve got bodies the size of a man, with leathery wings that stretch, tip to tip, a good eight feet, and very sharp teeth. They’re fast, and they hunt in packs.”

Piran let out a particularly potent string of curses. “Oh, that’s just great. And let me guess: They eat people.”

Borya shrugged. “They eat anything that moves, and some things that don’t.”

“How do we keep them at bay?” Kestel asked.

Desya held up his crossbow and bucket. “Fire. Flaming arrows.” He angled his head toward the tree line on the opposite side of the river. “If we can get to cover, we may be safe. They only hunt in the open, and only during the day.”

“Give me some of your arrows.” Piran had dismounted and walked over to where the brothers stood. He cradled the modified crossbow Dawe had made for him. “I can ride and shoot.”

Desya dug in the wagon for more arrows. He also brought a lit oil lantern, so that Piran could set the pitch-soaked tips ablaze. “Borya and I can shoot from atop the wagons. We might get lucky, and the gryps will be busy with whatever they’re circling. But if they notice us, we can only hold them off so long. We’ve got to make it to the forest.”

Blaine nodded. “Understood.”

Borya eyed the horses Blaine and his friends rode. “Put your group between our wagons. You’ll be safest that way.” Once more, he cast a wary glance toward the circling gryps. “Let’s get moving.”

They rearranged their riding order and set off at a brisk pace. Borya and Desya had fastened themselves to the tops of the wagons. They strapped themselves so that they lay flat on their backs in harnesses, with their oil lanterns clipped firmly beside them. With hats drawn low to shield against the sun, they were in position to ward off an aerial attack. Piran had lashed his lantern to the pommel of his saddle with a few straps of leather. He rode with his crossbow cocked and ready, the horse’s reins clenched between his teeth. They set off at a gallop, desperate to cross the bridge before the gryps noticed them.

Within a few minutes, they were close enough to the bridge to see that it was an old, arched span made with massive stones. Beneath it, the Pelaran River flowed, deep, swift, and dangerous. Beyond the bridge, the forest nearly came down to the shoreline, and Blaine could just make out a road that might take them farther up the mountains to the lyceum in Durantha.

A shriek like the sound of steel on stone split the air.

“Here they come!” Borya shouted.

Blaine chanced a look toward the sky. The dark shapes had left off circling and were heading toward them like a jagged black line against the gray winter sky. Another shriek, closer now, spooked the horses so that they were running, wild-eyed.

They were nearly to the Pelaran Bridge. Its stone sides came as high as the horses’ haunches and were blackened with age. Beneath it, the waters of the Pelaran rumbled by, gray and cold, with white hunks of ice swept along by its current.

One of the creatures was nearly upon them. It gave an earsplitting screech and dove for the horses. Desya launched an arrow. The flaming quarrel blazed through the air, tearing through the gryp’s right wing. The gryp screamed in pain and frustration, its wing dripping a dark ichor.

Piran sent another burning quarrel into the air, and this one took the gryp at the base of its throat. The flying predator was close enough that Blaine could see the gryp’s long, bony neck and narrow, scaled head. As it shrieked, he could see the rows of needle-sharp teeth and its black, cold eyes.

Twisting and writhing to free itself of the quarrels, the first gryp gyred off to the side and landed, bleeding, on the ground. Three of its companions, smelling blood, veered to attack. Four more gryps followed the humans, easily keeping pace even with the horses running at full gallop.

The first wagon clattered onto the bridge’s stone bed, and the horses’ hooves quickly pounded behind it. Yet now, on the bridge’s length, Blaine and the others were exposed to the gryps, and the huge beasts circled over the river, diving and weaving above and under the bridge, their wings barely skimming the roiling waves below, then propelling them high into the sky so they could dive once more.

Blaine, Kestel, and Verran hunched over their horses, making themselves the smallest targets possible. Piran rode standing upright in his stirrups, squinting against the sun, careful to make his shots count.

They were halfway across the bridge now, and Blaine kept his eye on the tree line, refusing to look over his shoulder at the gryps. The archers kept up a steady barrage, and the horses’ hooves thundered across the old stone bridge as the wagons creaked in protest at the strain. He looked over to Kestel. Her face was taut with focus, and she gripped a dagger in her right hand. Verran’s eyes were white with fear, and he was muttering a string of curses beneath his breath, but he watched the gryps carefully, lobbing rocks at them whenever they came within range.

The other end of the bridge was growing nearer with every thud of the horses’ hooves. Blaine caught himself holding his breath, willing his horse to move faster. They were nearly across, and then just a short expanse of rocky shore separated them from the thick forest.

Three gryps came at them at once. The archers took aim and fired, hitting their targets, and two of the gryps beat their wings, backing away. The third flew straight at the riders between the wagons. Blaine was riding on the group’s flank, and his horse reared when the gryp dove for them, bucking Blaine from his saddle. He drew his sword and settled into a defensive stance.

“Get Verran out of here!” he yelled to Kestel. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”

The gryp came at Blaine fast, and he dodged as its leathery wings struck at him. His sword sliced upward, and its tip skimmed the creature’s tough hide but did not penetrate. The gryp screeched in rage and lunged toward him with its long, snakelike neck. Blaine swung again, and this time his sword sliced into the gryp’s wing, sending a spray of dark blood into the cold air.

The stone bed of the bridge was slippery with the icy spray of the river that crashed below. Blaine had no desire to fight alone on the bridge, and when he dodged the next strike, he ran to catch up as Borya and Desya gave him cover.

The wounded gryp dove for Blaine, and he threw himself to one side to avoid its talons. A rock struck the gryp in the head, giving Blaine the chance to regain his feet and strike at the gryp’s uninjured wing. Just then, the fourth creature seemed to appear from nowhere, coming up from beneath the bridge in front of the lead wagon, and the group came to a sudden halt.

The gryp Blaine battled struck again, going for his legs with its sharp beak. Blaine jumped aside just as the gryp lunged, although one of its talons raked his thigh, and he brought his sword down, hard, on the juncture between the gryp’s body and its right wing. A dagger sang through the air, flashing past Blaine’s face, and sinking deep into the gryp’s side. For good measure, another rock crashed into the gryp’s injured wing. Blaine could not spare a glance behind him, but he knew Kestel and Verran were doing their best to back him up.

From the shouts of the others and the thud of the crossbows, Blaine knew the gryps were coming at them from all sides. He could not afford to take his gaze off the gryp he battled, and it watched him with clever, cold eyes, waiting for the chance to kill.

Blaine and the gryp lunged at the same time. The gryp’s beak sliced across Blaine’s left arm, and he choked back a cry of pain as blood flowed down his forearm. The attack did not slow his strike, and this time his sword got a clean hit, slicing through hide and sinew, so that the gryp’s wing, partially cut off at the shoulder, dangled uselessly.

The gryp reared and bellowed, and Blaine threw himself forward, his blade leveled for a killing blow. His sword struck the gryp in its ribs, sinking deep into its chest. The dying gryp flailed its ruined wings, falling backward toward the river, sweeping Blaine along with it.

Blaine scrabbled for a foothold as he yanked his sword free. Caught in the gryp’s death throes, Blaine battled to keep from plunging over the side of the bridge along with his kill. The gryp began to fall over the stone wall, and Blaine splayed his legs, trying to slow his own movement, twisting to free himself from the leathery wings and the talon that grabbed his cloak in the dying creature’s panic. The shrieking gryp tipped over the side, pulling Blaine with it as he tried desperately to stop himself from falling.