Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1) (7 page)

Falares kicked him in the ribs and he fell down wheezing. “You will address her as ‘my Eternal’ or ‘Queen Qabala Aeterna.’ “

Surnal cackled from his prone position. “She is no Aeterna. She has no godstone.”

“No, but I know where to find one.” Qabala leaned toward him. “It is no longer your kingdom, woodwitch. It is
my
kingdom. You will rot in the dungeons until you see every one of your brethren fall beneath the knife. Then I will give you to Meznas.” She made a gesture to Falares. “Take him away.”

Falares barked orders and two guards dragged Surnal from the great hall. Qabala turned to Meznas. “Send three riders to your people. Tell them to send every able-bodied man to help Commander Nerris and Colonel Quin. And if you should fail to return my Nerris to me, not even your Tattered Man will protect you. Rest assured of that.”

Meznas bowed, shaking a bit. “Never fear, my Eternal.” He strode from the room.

Qabala glanced again at the throne. Such a squat and ugly chair. She would have it fashioned anew once she wore her crown, something grand and befitting the new age she meant to usher in. A unified Cult of Eversor was dangerous, however, and had no place in her vision; once Yagolhan was unified, she meant to stamp it out for all and good. But in the meantime she would use them for as long as was convenient.

Chapter Seven

THE DAY DAWNED clear and chilly, and Nerris broke his fast with rabbit left over from the previous night’s supper. It did little to calm his anxiety. A force which exceeded his own by a wide margin lay on the other side of the field, protecting the village of Gelnicka.

Nerris donned his commander’s sash and helm, mounted his warhorse, and spurred the beast forward. Chalis rode as his escort, carrying the banner of Queen Qabala for all to see. His men had formed ranks at the fringe of the field to the east of the village, right at the tree line. Lord Petaka Bosmick’s men stood strong at the other end.

As Nerris and Chalis rode out to parlay, two riders broke off from the opposition’s middle. Lord Petaka Bosmick was a heavyset man with a red face, whose hauberk looked ill-fitting on his large frame. His escort carried his wolf’s head banner.

Lord Bosmick stopped mid-field, and Nerris reined in his mount. “You must be Nerris Palada,” the lord said.

“Aye,” Nerris responded, “and I was led to believe Prince Lahnel commanded this force. Does he fear to come out and meet me?”

Lord Bosmick grunted. “The prince fears no man, not even a Thrillseeker. He does not deign to reveal himself yet. But what of you, Nerris? I always heard the Thrillseekers were honorable men, yet here you are, fighting for a usurper.”

“It’s all in where you stand,” Nerris said. “There are those who call Lady Qabala a liberator. Most of the kingdom, in fact. Just as my people called your Yahd an enslaver.”

“I suppose it is, at that,” Lord Bosmick said. “Nevertheless, I implore you to return to your Lady Qabala and tell her to seek reason. What she aims to do should not be attempted again by mortal man or woman.”

“And what is that?”

“Become Aeterna,” Lord Bosmick said. “My father served an Aeternus once. All it got him was a shallow grave somewhere in western Faerna. And we all know what became of poor Yahd. Slain at the Battle of Culpepper Ridge by your king.”

“Be that as it may, I have a duty to my employer,” Nerris said.

“Employer? Is it money you desire? Then come fight for Prince Lahnel. A Thrillseeker on our side would lend great honor to our cause.”

Nerris shook his head. “Your prince has nothing I want.”

Lord Bosmick gave a hearty laugh. “I see the way of it. Prince Lahnel can’t warm your bed nightly. What do you think will happen, Nerris? I have double your numbers. Will Qabala mourn you if only your head returns to her? Or will she climb into the bed of the next likely lad who comes along?”

Nerris froze him with a gaze sharp as steel. “I implore
you
, Lord Bosmick,” he said deliberately. “Quit this field and pledge your army to Lady Qabala if you wish to live. I promise you, you’ll get no mercy otherwise.”

Lord Bosmick spat on the ground. “There’s for your mercy. Dume Araka was my eldest sister, did you know? Before she gave up her heritage to serve on the Aeternal Council, she was a proud Bosmick. That’ll do for Qabala and her false Aeternal Council, whichever poor souls she deems worthy.”

“To battle, then,” Nerris said. “Enough words have been wasted already.”

“In that we are in agreement. To battle.” Lord Bosmick wheeled his horse around and galloped back to his infantry line, his bannerman following.

Back at his front line, Nerris summoned Mikaren. “Get word to Rade, and tell him to wait until Bosmick’s soldiers begin the rout before he reveals himself.” Mikaren saluted and rode away. Rade had come to him the night before to bring him news of his endeavors. The old man had harried the enemy troops as much as he could, but Lord Bosmick made sure to march his lines across open ground whenever possible, speeding up to a forced march whenever passing through an area at risk. Still, after smashing the wheels on his supply wagons, he had managed to delay them long enough so he had no choice but to meet Nerris at Gelnicka.

He wished he had not sent Rade to lead his... well, raids. He missed the old man’s counsel and his cheerful, carefree outlook on life. They were welcome distractions to the carnage and mayhem surrounding Qabala’s campaign. And ever since that night above the glade... Nerris had burned with curiosity about the cultists and that which drove them off, and Rade seemed to know something about what had happened. He wished to question him further. First, he knew details about Nerris’s heritage not many knew, and then that business with the cultists. The graybeard was no retired trapper from northwest Yagolhan, as he had claimed.

Mikaren returned after a short while, and Nerris gave the command to his archers. They loosed a few volleys at Lord Bosmick’s troops. Only a few penetrated the shields on the front line. The answering volleys they got in return were much more effective, cutting down Nerris’s lightly armored men.

“Sound the charge,” Nerris told Mikaren. Mikaren blew his war horn, and the infantry troops marched forward, breaking into a jog. Horns blew from the other side as well, as Lord Bosmick’s seasoned soldiers marched out to meet them.

It happened fast. Jogging became running, and mighty roars from both sides swelled throughout the field. Mikaren blew his horn again and Colonel Quin led his sabres out at a dead run. The infantry smashed into each other and the air became inebriated with the clash of steel and shouts of anguish.

Nerris waited for another horn blow from the other side, but it didn’t come. Quin’s sabres smashed into the enemy infantry, and soon enough they broke and ran. Nerris called for another blow, and sent a second unit of infantry and cavalry to the skirmish. He would have been with him, but for Qabala’s strict orders that he not endanger himself. He was just as glad to stay with the rear guard; pitched battles had always made him nervous. Too many chaotic elements for his liking.

Finally, the sound of the enemy’s war horn echoed through the field. But he did not send any cavalry to relieve his men, but another infantry unit. Archers ran to the front line as well, catching Nerris’s eye. He saw the glint of flame as the archers nocked their bows, and his eyes grew wide.

“Call the men back!” he said to Mikaren too late. The archers loosed, and their fire arrows sailed over the skirmish and into the brush in front of his relief column.

The dead autumn grass went up at once with a dull whoosh. Some of the charging men were too close to the flames and ran right into it. Burning screams of agony joined the choir of voices in the air, as his men ground to a halt.

His first infantry unit broke under the numbers of the enemy, and retreated toward the trees. Unfortunately, they had nowhere to go, as a wall of flame prevented them from falling back. That wall served as an anvil for Lord Bosmick’s forces to hammer his infantry against.

“Call Quin back,” Nerris hissed to Mikaren. “They set a trap!”

Mikaren blew twice, and Quin’s forces wheeled around, only to have the field itself rise in defiance. A force of soldiers and villagers, hidden in the tall grass, revealed themselves while brandishing long spears. They went to work on the horses of the sabres, forcing their riders to fall to the earth. More men at the edge of the field revealed themselves and charged into the infantry.

“We ride,” Nerris said. “Sound the charge!”

“But Commander, we must retreat,” Dolias said. “If we commit our forces, Lord Bosmick can circle around us and—”

“I won’t leave our men out there to be burned alive,” Nerris said. “If Rade joins the battle, we can still win our way free.”

Mikaren sounded the charge, and Nerris spurred his mount forward. The rest of his contingent followed behind, roaring in rage at the flames and the men slaughtering their comrades. They closed the distance fast, and Nerris met the first spearman with deadly force, cutting his shaft in two with Noruken and slashing through his face with a second stroke. Other men charged him, but Nerris cut a path through. He hoped Rade would see what was happening and not wait for the signal. With horsemen hidden on both sides of the field, he could take the spearmen in the rear and relieve them.

Mikaren, Chalis, and Dolias fought ferociously at his side. Chalis cut down two men threatening Nerris’s flank while Dolias dueled with a soldier holding a spear. Mikaren sheared straight through the collarbone of another man with his saber, and launched a stiletto at a villager sneaking up on Colonel Quin’s horse. The small blade bit through the man’s hauberk and he fell with a surprised grunt. The spearman managed to knock the helm from Dolias’s head, but it threw him off balance and the spear fell from his fingers. The Agossean wasted no time in running him through with his longsword.

Nerris turned his head in time to see a soldier heft his spear and launch it at his side. At the last moment, Nerris pulled sharply on the reins, forcing his mount to turn. Instead of taking him in the ribs, the spear took his horse in the throat. The animal gave a terrible scream and fell to the ground. Nerris managed to launch himself off and roll when he hit the grass, coming up unscathed.

The soldier drew his blade and came at Nerris, swinging in a downward arc. He gripped his katana with both hands and brought the blade up to meet the wild swing. He turned the man’s blade with one quick stroke, and the loyalist fell to the ground, his throat sliced open. Poetic justice for his poor mount, Nerris reasoned.

He heard many hooves galloping across the ground, and glanced around, hopeful. However, it was not Rade’s men coming to their aid, but Lord Bosmick’s cavalry, who had circled around the flames to cut them off at the sides. Along with their hidden spearmen, they closed ranks on Nerris’s men, hacking and slashing at any infantry they came across.

Mikaren came up behind him, now also on foot. He dispatched another soldier with his saber and turned to face away from Nerris. “They got my horse too. I’ll watch your back, Commander.”

Nerris nodded, and they fought back to back. Between skirmishes, Nerris witnessed several men pull Dolias from his horse and cave his skull in with a blow from a mace. Elsewhere, Colonel Quin attempted to reform his cavalry units to break through the closing enemy ranks. Nerris knew the battle was lost; even if they reformed behind Lord Bosmick’s force as planned, he had lost half his men, maybe more. He would be of little use to Qabala when she came west, if he still lived.

The wind picked up faster than he could react, blowing the detestable stench of smoke and blood and bowels from his nostrils. In fact, the wind picked up so violently it blew straight down the flame wall, pushing the flames to either side and opening up a path.

Nerris turned his head as fresh battle cries and the thunder of hooves filled his ears. From either side, Rade’s sabres rode out of the trees and they weren’t alone. Thousands of men in black cloaks were at his back, many wielding clubs, mauls, or serrated blades. Nerris recognized the robes, as well as the patterns embroidered on the rims. He had seen them before, days back, in that glade deep in Yahd’s Walk. But what business did cultists have here? He forgot the battle for a moment as his blood boiled. How dare those murderers show their faces here?

Rade’s riders took their assailants off guard. Many now ran, but could not get far with horses thundering after them. Just like that, they were in the clear and Colonel Quin gestured toward the open path through the flames with his saber. Now filled with hope, the men followed him through and toward the remainder of Lord Bosmick’s forces.

“No, we must fall back!” Nerris called out. “Sound the retreat!”

Colonel Quin didn’t hear him, and the men rushed to engage the enemy, this time augmented by Rade’s forces and the black-robed cultists. Nerris wheeled around to ask Mikaren why he hadn’t blown the retreat. The black-haired tracker lay on the ground, a spear in his belly. He was immobile, but for the blood gushing from his side, and his good eye staring lifelessly at the sky.

Nerris’s shoulders slumped. The first rule for a mercenary was to not get attached to your comrades, but Nerris had liked the gruff, dependable forester. He hadn’t even heard him cry out.

“Commander!” Rade rode up to him and reined in his horse. “Thank Yala you’re all right.”

“What’s going on?” Nerris asked.

“Those cultists showed up shortly after the battle began. Thousands of them. Don’t know where they even came from. Their leader said they were sent by Qabala, that Petaka Bosmick laid a trap for us and that Prince Lahnel isn’t here, and has already taken a ship for Lesta.”

“Qabala sent them?” Nerris asked. “But she has no dealings with such people.” Even as he said it, he remembered lying in her tent and catching a glimpse of black mist. The same black mist he had seen that night in the glade.

Rade shrugged. “I’m in the dark, same as you. But we needed the help. They were slaughtering you out here.”

Nerris swore. “I told Qabala I was no commander, or I would have seen...” He stopped short as cheers welled up in the distance. He glanced at the village of Gelnicka. Many of the homes were on fire, and he could no longer see the enemy or his own men. “What—”

“Fighting in the village,” Rade said. “We must have routed them somehow.”

With cold fury, Nerris sheathed his blade. He found a black destrier, made riderless by the battle, and climbed into the saddle. He snapped the reins and the beast took off in the direction of Gelnicka, despite Rade’s calls to wait. He recognized the smell as his horse leapt over the dwindling flame wall. They had soaked the ground in oil. No wonder the brush had caught with such haste.

It was a short ride to Gelnicka at a gallop, but upon arriving in the town square, Nerris reined in the big warhorse. Everywhere he looked, chaos and carnage reigned. Soldier and villager alike littered the street, dead eyes staring up at him. Several cultists held down a man while another ripped open his chest with one of their serrated blades, all the while chanting in their foul language. Smoke and flame permeated the air, and framed the whole bloody picture.

Nerris wanted to weep, to rage, to tell them to stop, but he was only one man. His own soldiers were part of the frenzy, looting and pillaging alongside the cultists’ sacrifices, as well as committing other atrocities.