A Darkness Unleashed (Book 2) (15 page)

The prior scowled, but when Ranier turned back to shouting directions at his men, a look of determined resignation crossed his face. “Very well,
Miss
Conaleon.” He shook a veiny fist. “You will regret not making a friend here today.”

As he spun to leave, his acolytes gave her matching sneers before following the prior back the way he had come.

Maddi pinched the bridge of her nose. “My headache has only gotten worse, Captain. I think I’ll be going home for the day.”

“I don’t blame you.” Ranier gestured at the main sick house where the foundation had seemed to spring up out of the ground over the last few days. “We’ve only got a few more stones to lay, and we’ll be done anyway. You should get some rest.”

“If only,” she whispered as the stalked from the site. Her long journey home remained filled with angry retorts she had not used with the Prior, including more than one where she punched his crooked, pencil-thin nose. She took deep breaths to calm herself before she opened the door to her little house in Gavanor, now far more full than she had ever imagined it would be when she bought it.

Once inside, angry thoughts started to filter away.

“Maddi! You’re home!” Tanya trotted into the room with a sandwich on a plate. “I made you something to eat. You always come home so hungry. You need to eat right or you’ll not be healthy.”

Offering the girl a smile, Maddi took the plate. The slices of bread were cut a little rough, but the chicken and cheese was still warm. A few slices of pickled green tomato stuck out from the edge of the bread.

“It looks delicious, Tanya.” She sat down at the table and offered Ami a weak smile where she knelt by the fire. “Thank you…both of you.”

Maddi looked at the sandwich, and though it was one of her favorites, it held no more appeal to her appetite than a stack of parchment. Even the simple pleasures of home, the love of a child and the comfort of a good friend, could not push away the dragonflies still flitting about in her stomach from the confrontation with the prior. Eventually, the expectant look on Tanya’s face forced her to take a dry bite. Maddi smiled, though her heart wanted to cry or commit murder, she was not certain which.

Most maps show the Andon River’s source branch as the border of Gannon. The various steadings of the Free Cities begin on its western bank. However, this is mostly considered a formal border, as trade, migration, and commerce are open between Gannon and the several Cities. Various treaties of mutual protection have been signed between them and the Kingdom of Gannon in the years 88, 122, 229, 330 and 358 A.R. Open war has never occurred between them in over four centuries of contact between the Free Cities and the heirs of the Navigator. – “History of Gannon, Appendix C” by Elyn Bravano

T
allen shifted his feet. His hips ached from another day in the saddle, and his stomach threatened to growl. A mix of pipe and wood smoke clouded the tent with an acrid haze, but the warmth inside the duke’s pavilion melted away some of the numbness from the day’s ride. He paid minimal attention to the council, as his voice would undoubtedly remain silent. Plus, thoughts of Maddi left behind in Gavanor forced themselves to the front of his mind.
I miss her already, and this is only my second day away.

“We should head directly for Kirath,” Baron Whitehall offered, his hand spreading over the map lain out on a table. “We have over five thousand well-provisioned heavy cavalry. If the orcs come at us…” He made a fist and struck the map south of Kirath. “…we will smash them on the prairie!”

Another baron who wore a pendant of onyx and ruby, shook his head of close-cropped black hair. “We should secure Novon and wait for reinforcement. There could be a hundred thousand orc berserkers out there waiting for us. If they took Highspur, they must be organized.” He shook his head again. “No, no. We should move with care.”

An old man with rheumy eyes rubbed a silk kerchief across his bulbous red nose. The sapphire crescent and silver stars about his neck hung limp against his thin chest. “My brother would not have abandoned his post. He was Lord Marshal of the kingdom. He would not have abandoned his post.”

Standing behind him, a younger copy of the man placed his hand on the old baron’s shoulder. “What my father means to say is that if Highspur has fallen, there are likely to be few, if any, survivors.” He cleared his throat and eyed the other nobles in the room. “But House Magdon will support Your Grace, no matter the decision.”

The duke ran a hand along his balding pate. Tallen held his breath while waiting for him to speak. Tomas and Dorias stood like statues of ancient heroes, marble rooted to the ground beneath the stuffy tent. The nobles shuffled their feet, while old Baron Magdon coughed into a wadded kerchief. A drop of sweat began to run down Tallen’s back. He almost longed for the cold winds that had buffeted the army all day.

“We will err on the side of hope,” the duke murmured at last. He then shifted his tone to one more confident. “We will cross the Andon and ride for Kirath. If there are any survivors, that is where they will flee. If the orcs have crossed the Wastes, Kirath is the first place where they can find supplies.” He rubbed his chin, shadowed by a day’s growth. “We will keep double scouts out in the field so we are not caught unawares by overwhelming numbers.” He grabbed a tumbler from a side table and poured from a carafe of bourbon. He downed it with a single gulp. “The king musters an army in the east, and each of our houses gathers more soldiers at Gavanor. We must reconnoiter the enemy before Arathan arrives. He will demand that we have information.”

Tallen heard Dorias sigh with relief. The same feeling coursed through him.

Quick to move forward, Tomas tapped the flimsy camp table with a clenched fist, rattling the mugs scattered there. “We must show strength.”

The baron in onyx and ruby stood, the silver staff of his family office clutched in one hand. “The Darillas will march, Your Grace, though I do not feel this is the wisest move.”

Baron Whitehall sniffed. “Lucky for us, Maylar, your
wisdom
is overruled by honor and courage.”

Darilla sneered. “’Twas honor and courage that ruled at Highspur.”

Duke Aginor held up his refilled glass of bourbon. “Enough. The decision is made. We must go forth to ready our men.” He placed one hand on Baron Maylar Darilla’s elbow. “Your wisdom is not unheard.”

Baron Darilla ducked his head, but the frown did not leave his face as he left the tent. The other nobles followed, most with deeper bows for their liege. Tomas and Dorias lingered, while Tallen stood behind his friends.

“You have chosen well, Your Grace.” Dorias bowed his head. “We cannot afford to wait for Arathan. We have already waited too long.”

The duke stared at the wizard for a moment. “Your disrespect for His Majesty notwithstanding, Ravenhawke, do not feel that because your counsel has won today that it will do so tomorrow.”

Tallen followed the heroes in their swift bow and exit. He heard the clink of glass before the flap fell behind him.

T
allen drew a long breath in through his nose, feeling the air fill his lungs. He exhaled, his mind distant as he wandered through a mist of Psoul magic. It spread out from the small tent in which he sat, legs crossed on a Hadonese rug. Tomas and Dorias both sat nearby, but he only knew them as vague impressions of themselves, ghostly patterns in his mind’s eye.

“I am with you as well,” the paladin called to him, his voice distant and hollow to Tallen’s ears. “What you sense now is very similar to my ability to detect the
psahn
in other life forms around me.”

Dorias’ voice hovered no closer. “I’m fairly certain Tallen can reach much farther than I can. Let’s see if he can surpass even you. Go ahead Tallen.” His voice dropped almost beyond perception. “Stretch your power as far as you can.”

Pushing out with Psoul magic, Tallen soon discovered other patterns surrounding the tent. First came the soldiers, officers, and nobles of the Western Realm camped around them, their patterns bright with intelligence and will. The human forms sharpened, and soon he felt larger patterns not quite as luminous. A solid, comfortable feel radiated from them.

“The horses,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Dorias called from across a chasm of power. “Other animals will appear to you as well. Some Dreamers can sense trees and bushes, though I have never felt the life force of a tree, save once, and that was a very special tree.”

His power extended for almost a half a mile before Tallen no longer felt humans or their companion creatures within the camp. Out in the patchwork fields surrounding the Free Cities, only a rare human appeared to his senses, most having the sense to seek the protection of fortified walls at the rumor of armies roving throughout the countryside.

Here and there, a herd of deer moved, or a pack of wolves hunted. Tallen felt their skittish fear and feral cunning. Behind the camp, to the east, he sensed the headwaters of the Andon River, teeming with life both in the water and along the banks. Tallen reached out further, and he discovered a hamlet where a dozen people clustered together.

“We should warn them to head for Novon,” Tallen mumbled almost to himself.

Dorias’ voice sparked with curiosity. “Who?”

“A group of villagers almost five miles from here.” Tomas’ voice somehow seemed closer than the wizard’s. “But to the south. Tallen, are you reaching out in a circle, touching every direction at once?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I feel the Andon River behind us, and a lone wolf to our west. The hamlet is to our south, but I sense very little to the north.”

Tallen thought he heard Dorias gasp. “You can sense five leagues in every direction at once?” Distantly, he felt the wizard touch his shoulder. “Try closing that in, Tallen. Reach out only to our west, toward the city of Kirath. It is about fifteen miles hence. If you can touch that city, you do challenge Tomas for distance.” Dorias removed his hand. “Then you can spin that extended perception in a circle about you in order to sweep the entire area.”

Refocusing his energies, Tallen turned his perception strictly to the west in a much more narrow arc. With his senses focused, the images in his mind sharpened, resolving into recognizable shapes. The people had features and the animals substance. He felt fear and anxiety radiating from both. As he stretched, a sudden presence of anger caught at the edge of his strength. A great cluster of life writhed about in rage mixed with glee. Tallen felt Tomas’ senses arrive there not long after his.

This time the paladin gasped. “Orcs have taken the city.” He paused. “I believe I sense refugees fleeing southward, but some of the people remain in Kirath. I can sense the slaughter...”

Tallen could not tell one life from another. They spun about in a chaotic whirlpool of patterns. The emotions that rose from those patterns turned his stomach, and he withdrew with a shudder. As he did, a small band of people appeared, just a few miles closer than the city. He focused on them and drew his senses into a tight beam of Psoul magic.

“Wait!” He held his breath. “I…I think that’s Jaerd!”

He felt the presence of Tomas’ power alongside his own, searching the cluster of patterns.

“It is!” Even the stoic paladin could not hide excitement in his voice. “Boris, Joslyn Britt, and several others are there as well.”

Tallen leaped to his feet, Tomas not far behind. They hurried out of the tent, closely followed by Dorias. Tallen knew only the sense of his brother’s life pattern, hovering at the edge of his perception a few leagues away.

“We have to get out there!” His heart pounded in his ears. A flutter of excitement and anxiety hovered in his throat. “We have to get to them!” Other officers and nobles peeked out from nearby tents or looked up from gazing into campfires. “I need to get Stew saddled.”

Tomas called to a guard captain, and within minutes a company of lancers had mounted, ready to ride. Tallen sat in Stew’s saddle for what seemed an eternity while the soldiers prepared. Thoughts of riding out alone swirled in his head next to his sense of Jaerd and the others, when at last the soldier saluted to Tomas.