Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1) (5 page)

Qabala dashed forward and grabbed his arms as if afraid he might make good on that vow here and now. “I meant no disrespect, Nerris. I confess my ways are brutal at times. They have been a necessity merely to survive, to stay alive in this war. Your decency and honor is why I want you to lead, why I want you to be my Dume-General and consort... it’s why I love you. Please, stay with me and help temper these shortcomings of mine.”

Nerris looked into her wide eyes, seeing a rare glimpse of the girl who lurked underneath the armor and the mantle of leadership. The fervency in her speech took him aback. Love? He doubted she had ever experienced that before, but she said it with such conviction. He gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. “I do not plan to go anywhere yet. As long as I can lead on my terms.”

“Of course,” Qabala said. “Should you think this the best course to follow, I trust your judgment.”

Nerris bowed his head, and Qabala flashed him an impish smile. She walked to the tent flap and made sure it was secured tight. “As loath as I am to part with you for such an extended period,” she said, turning back to him, “I confess I have lured you into a bit of a trap. Falares has orders that no one is to disturb me all day, except owing to direst emergency. We part company for some time tomorrow, but for now, let’s make today ours.”

She rushed him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Nerris grabbed her by the waist and hauled her off her feet, carrying her toward the bed. She yanked him down with as much force as her lithe body could muster, and they tumbled to the cushions, laughing the whole way.

As she fumbled at his belt while inundating his lips with a deep kiss, Nerris opened his eyes. Though near midday and the tent well lit, he saw something dark out of the corner of his eye. What looked to be black mist hovered near the pavilion’s entrance. It remained for only a moment before it vanished.

Qabala sensed his hesitation and drew back from him. “What is it?”

Nerris looked from her to where he had seen the mist, but not a trace of it remained. “Nothing,” he said. “For a moment, I thought someone was there.”

“I told you, we won’t be disturbed.” She lifted her halter, exposing her pert breasts. She leaned down until they were level with his face. “Don’t let it concern you, Nerris. There are other things to gawk at.”

He buried his face in her chest, and listened as she moaned above him, her hot breath touching the back of his neck. Qabala was right; she needed him to help mold her into the best ruler she could be, whether as a queen or Aeterna. She had been raised brutally, and brutality was all she knew. But he could show her a better way.

For the first time in three years, something was there in Nerris’s mind. An inkling sprang forth, a spark which grew brighter with each passing moment. Something to live for.

Chapter Five

THEY MOVED OUT at first light, ten thousand strong of the sixty thousand fighting men who were said to comprise the Qabalan Horde. Nerris rode at the head of the cavalry, with Rade, Mikaren, Chalis, and Dolias around him, along with a thousand more sabres and mercenaries. Though Yagolhan had no order of knighthood, the kingdom boasted a fine tradition of equestrian warfare. Colonel Quin commanded the other brigade of light cavalry. Quin was a solid military man with a balding head and bushy moustache. Qabala sent him to supplement Nerris, who wasn’t as familiar with the terrain in southern Yagolhan as the grizzled commander.

Behind them followed three infantry units, two thousand archers and six thousand foot. Every man wore a leather cover over their hauberks, painted with the colors of the mountains and autumn foliage to owe for better maneuverability in the brush. Nerris fingered the black and gold officer’s sash hanging across his chest. He wasn’t used to wearing one and kept having to adjust it.

Nerris glanced up at the cloud cover overhead. Though it was late autumn, they were far enough north that an early snow was possible. Ten thousand boots and hooves leaving tracks in the white would certainly wreak havoc on their plans.

“Admiring the beautiful weather, I see,” Rade said.

“I prefer cloudy days,” Nerris said.

“Oh?”

“Cloudless skies are merely a harbinger of sorrow,” Nerris said. “At least with the clouds, I know the worst is already here.”

The next day, the division entered the forest known as Yahd’s Walk. Their orders were to spend the night among the trees, and in the morning Rade and other forest-savvy commanders would split off from the main group, following game trails north and south until they had sufficient distance to close in on Prince Lahnel’s army. They would set up ambushes and attack supply wagons until their prey stumbled into Gelnicka. There they would regroup with the rest of Nerris’s division.

The trees in the wood hugged close, allowing little daylight through the rusted canopy. This precipitated some muttering amongst his soldiers. Almost all in his forces were pure Yagol, and they cast nervous glances at the trees. Nerris sent Mikaren out to talk to the men, to seek out the cause of unrest. “This forest is named after the Enslaver?” Nerris asked Rade while he waited.

“Yes,” Rade said, “though here in Yagolhan we call him Unifier or Conqueror. It’s said that when he was a youth, Yahd Y’Ghan dared to walk this wood by himself on his quest to see all of Yagolhan. He knew his destiny was to end the petty wars and unite the kingdom, you see. No one knew how he knew, but somehow he did it.”

“What makes this forest so special?”

“It’s supposed to be haunted,” Rade said. “Trees which snatch men from their saddles, foul ghouls slaughtering travelers in the night. I’m sure you’ve heard the sort about other woods.”

“Is that why the men are nervous?”

“Couldn’t say, Commander.”

However, Mikaren soon returned and confirmed his theory. “We shouldn’t have come this way,” he said. “Many of these men are not soldiers and will run if frightened.”

“The trees are certainly unsettling,” Nerris scoffed, “but hardly haunted. Spread the word that should any branch make a grab, the men have my leave to put the torch to them to prevent further groping.”

Chalis and Dolias laughed, but Rade frowned. “I wouldn’t be quick to joke, Nerris. The wood itself may indeed be harmless, but its reputation attracts undesirables of all sorts.”

“Yes, about ten thousand of them,” Dolias said, winking to Chalis.

Rade’s thought proved true, when a volley of arrows darted their way from the tree branches to fall among his men. One soldier toppled from his horse, an arrow punched through his breast. One of the mercenary’s horses fell screaming with an arrow in its side, and threw her rider to the ground.

Soldiers shouted around him, but Nerris drew up his most commanding voice. “Sparrows in the trees, pecking at a hawk!” he shouted. “Do not break formation!”

Several similar attacks came as they marched, and Nerris grew more irritated with each one. Every time, he sent men to pursue these archers, but no one who returned found anything. Those who did not return told no tales either.

“Who are these men?” Nerris asked. “Do they intend to bleed us all the way to Gelnicka?”

“Local loyalists to the crown, I think,” Rade said. “Don’t let it rattle you.”

“And what happens if you take an arrow in the heart?” Nerris asked. “Or Colonel Quin, or myself? Something needs to be done about this.”

“Find a man who sees no color,” Mikaren said.

“Beg your pardon?”

“These men use the colors of the forest to hide them, but a man who sees no color can more easily pick out movement. If you place him with an accurate bowman...”

Nerris saw where he was going. “That’s an excellent idea, Mikaren. Take Chalis and see if we have such a man with us.”

Mikaren and Chalis saluted and galloped off. Half an hour later, they returned with an older man who sported a white beard and a mole on his left cheek. His salute was somewhat nervous when he laid eyes on the commander.

Nerris nodded at the man. “At ease. I understand you see no color, is it...”

“Cheld, Commander,” the man said. “Aye, I see naught but shades of black, white, and gray. Been that way since I was small.”

“Good.” Nerris gestured to the trees dotting the path around them. “There are archers in these trees, Cheld. As we ride, you are to keep your eyes on them. If you spot any movement, tell Chalis. Chalis, you think you can pick off any targets Cheld points out?”

Chalis fingered his bow and jutted his chin at a boulder fifty yards away. “I could hit that stone dead center and have another arrow out before it bounced off.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

They gave Cheld one of the victims’ horses, and he rode beside Chalis, leaning over to whisper to him every so often. Chalis would nod, notch an arrow, and loose into the tree branches. It pleased Nerris to hear an accompanying scream follow the whistle of every arrow. He put Mikaren in charge of investigating the bodies, but no man carried any identification. With the fifth dead archer, though, the one-eyed hunter returned with a grim look on his face.

“Look at this,” he said, handing a strange bow to Nerris. A rudimentary sigil was etched on the bow. The crudity made it difficult to discern, but they agreed it resembled a wolf’s head.

“House Bosmick,” Nerris replied. “Prince Lahnel knows we’re coming.”

“It’s logical,” Rade said. “He knows that Lady Qabala does not want him to link up with Dume Rhonor, or he’ll have enough of a force to break the siege. By now, the scouts will be off to report our numbers.”

“Mikaren, go to Commander Quin and tell him we will make camp for the night,” Nerris said. “We’ll need to modify our strategy a bit.”

Soon, Quin called a halt. Chalis went about setting up Nerris’s tent. He had appointed the young man as his personal aide, or squire, as he would be considered where Nerris was from. As darkness fell, Nerris lit a lamp and had a table brought in, where he placed a map of the area. Soon, Quin and Rade arrived.

“Prince Lahnel is aware of our presence now,” Nerris said. “He’s trying to slow us down so he can choose a battleground. We’re still approximately a four days’ march from Gelnicka. We need to buy some time and force him to choose that place to fight us. Rade, you were to take one thousand cavalry to harry their ranks and supply wagons. I want you to double that number. Ride hard, until you come here.” Nerris pointed to a mountain pass west of Gelnicka. “Fall on him from both sides and cripple his wagons until he slows. If we can beat him to Gelnicka, the battle will be there.”

Quin frowned. “If Rade’s men should fall, we’ll be short half our cavalry,” he said. “Our scouts report he has double our numbers with six thousand cavalry. We’ll be at a severe disadvantage.”

“I know,” Nerris said, “but if Rade doesn’t fail, we’ll be able to surround them at the battle. We may be able to smash him right here and now.”

“That’s not what the Aeterna ordered,” Quin said.

“I’m improvising,” Nerris said. “If we can get spearmen on their flank, we could rout their cavalry. The rest will follow soon enough.”

Quin still had reservations about the plan, but Rade was enthusiastic enough and insisted he would be back at Gelnicka with nary a man lost. Nerris dismissed them, and settled in for the night. As he lay on his bedroll, his thoughts turned to Qabala. How was she faring? Her army would reach Palehorse soon. Would Dume Rhonor’s army be waiting for them? Would her agents provide her access to the city without a siege, as the defector Lukas Kord had promised?

He found he was anxious about the battle to come, something he had not felt since becoming a mercenary. For the first time in a long time, he cared whether he lived or died. He wanted to make it back to Qabala, to present her the gift of victory. And then...

What then? Stay at her side in Palehorse? Become a Dume-General and rule with her? The throne was not for him, Nerris knew that much. But was Qabala?

He fell into a fitful slumber from which he awoke an hour later. He knew why. He had reached for Qabala while asleep, and upon not finding her, panic jolted him awake. He sighed. Who was this strange, beautiful, captivating woman who had ensnared his affections so fluidly?

Nerris dressed himself and left the tent. The chirping of crickets filled the chilly night air, and Nerris noted he could now see his own breath. The season had begun to turn. He encountered a guard at the camp perimeter, who looked half asleep himself. He hailed Nerris with a sloppy salute. “Uh, Commander—”

“It’s all right,” Nerris said as he walked past him. “Just taking a piss. I can’t abide the smell of chamber pots.”

The guard nodded and let him through. Nerris wandered away from the camp, stepping carefully in the dark. He had not lied; encampments tended to smell of piss and shit and smoke, and he never had much liking for it. He wanted to get into the forest, to feel the cool breeze on his face and listen to the sounds of nature.

Though Nerris had grown up in the Great Oak Forest, these woods had their own unique presence. The gnarled trees seemed like hulking giants, especially in the dark, and it was no wonder the place had such a frightening reputation. Even Nerris, who braved horrors both physical and supernatural with frequency, kept a hand on his scabbard. He found a trail, and stepped over the fallen leaves silently, as he had been taught in his hunting classes at Gauntlet. Whether ghosts were out here or not, his presence was best kept secret.

Nerris thought about the coming battle as he walked, and Prince Lahnel’s feeble attempts to slow him. Something didn’t seem right about that business with the archers. What had he hoped to accomplish?

Lost in thought, he suddenly realized he had strayed far from the camp. He had climbed a hill, and could see the cook fires glowing in the distance. He strained to hear any sound, a man’s shout, a horse’s whinny, but he was too far away. He found a likely spot, and rolled down his riding pants, relieving himself on a tree stump.

When he finished, he pulled his pants up and buckled his belt. That was when he finally heard a sound, drifting into his ears from over the hill. He heard many voices, raised in processional chant. It was faint, but it carried on the wind.

Nerris knew he was in command of an army and had no business risking his neck so flippantly, but a lifetime of habitual curiosity was difficult to deny. Nerris sneaked over the crest of the hill and came upon a small copse, overlooking a glade in the far distance, well below his perch.

Many chanters littered the glade, each wearing some kind of robe. Those on the fringe carried torches, giving light to their gathering. As Nerris strained to hear, a twig snapped behind him. In one quick motion, Nerris freed his katana from its scabbard and spun, swinging the blade in an arc.

Steel clashed against steel as the figure behind him got his sword up. “Nerris, it’s me!” Rade hissed.

Nerris hesitated before he went for his next stroke, and saw the old man’s gray beard and eyes twinkling in the moonlight. Nerris sheathed his sword. “Don’t ever do that, Rade,” he said. “I nearly cut you in half.”

“Good thing my sword-arm reflexes haven’t gone to rust like the rest of me,” Rade replied.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“Might ask you the same thing, Commander.” Rade sheathed his own blade. “It’s a nice night for a moonlight stroll, but you’re too valuable to lose. I’m just acting under Lady Qabala’s orders. She wants you tailed at all times.”

“Tailed?”

Rade shrugged. “She
really
wants you to come back to her. What’s so important that you need to leave camp in the middle of the night? Was Chalis’s cooking that bad?”

Nerris pointed at the gathering in the distance. “I heard voices.”

Rade looked out onto the glade, and his lips pursed. “Ah.”

“Who are they?”

“Undesirables.” Rade’s mouth curled. “With those dark robes, they must be cultists.”

Nerris leaned out further over the edge of the copse. “Cultists?”

“They’ve been the bane of northern Yagolhan for longer than I care to remember,” Rade said. “They manipulate people’s minds, make them into something that’s not themselves. They pray to a being known as the Tattered Man. New members are initiated by abduction rather than request, and they practice unnatural rites. But what are they doing this far south?”

“What kind of rites?”

“Human sacrifice is a popular one,” Rade said. “Murder is everything the Law of Eight stands against.”

“What are you talking about?” Nerris asked. “What does the Aeternal Council have to do with this?”

“Nothing,” Rade said. “The Aeternal Council was established thousands of years ago, its philosophy bastardized from a higher purpose to fit the whims of a power-hungry ruler.”

“What higher purpose?”

The chanting below picked up volume as more cultists joined in. They brought a man forth. He was naked, his manhood flopping side to side as the robed figures jostled him between them. The man’s captors laid him over a rock, and a figure emerged from the throng. The chanting stopped and became a kind of long gasp as he held up a hand, holding a long, curved knife.