Child of the Sword, Book 1 of The Gods Within (38 page)

The center of the camp exploded in an
uproar. Someone screamed for guards and there were suddenly Kulls
all about. A Decouix lieutenant ran by hollering orders to triple
the guard at the perimeter. Bayellgae and Illalla stopped not ten
paces from Morgin’s hiding place, the wizard standing, the snake
hovering in the air about him.

“What was it?” Illalla demanded.

“Sssomething not ordinary, my lord.
Sssomething magical.”

“A demon?”

“No, my lord. Thisss magic had not the
tassste of the netherlife.”

“Then it was a wizard?”

“Perhapsss, my lord. Then perhapsss
not.”

“What do you mean?”

“There wasss an odd difference to thisss
magic, a difference I have not tasssted in a very long time.”

“Where is it now?”

“I know not, my lord. It went thisss way,
but I can no longer tassste it.”

“Then come with me,” Illalla barked. He
moved off into the night and the snake demon followed.

Wearing his Kull cloak Morgin stepped out of
his shadow walking hastily, trying to look like one of many Kulls
hurrying toward the perimeter. When he got there he took up a
position in the perimeter line with the rest and waited. He was
still several hundred paces from the edge of the forest, and to run
now, under the eyes of the perimeter guards, would be foolish.

A Kull lieutenant came walking down the
perimeter line, inspecting the guard one by one. Soon he would step
up to Morgin. He would look him in the face and recognize that he
was no Kull. Morgin would die then and there, or worse, be captured
alive.

He could wait no longer, so he left his
position and walked calmly to the next man in line. Without warning
he drew his sword and cut the man down in a single motion.

“Spy!” he screamed as loud as he could.
“It’s the spy. I’ve killed him. I claim the reward.”

The perimeter broke up as a crowd of men and
halfmen gathered quickly. “What reward,” one of them asked.

“Haven’t you heard?” Morgin lied. “Illalla
is offering a thousand gold pieces to the man that kills him. And
it’s mine.”

That sparked their interest. They gathered
closely around the dead man as the Kull lieutenant arrived. “Make
way,” he bellowed in a growling Kull voice. “Let me through.”

Morgin obeyed. He stepped aside and moved to
the edge of the small crowd, and when the time was right, he
slipped into a convenient shadow provided by the moon. The deceit
was quickly discovered and the cry rose again, but by that time
Morgin had gained the safety of the forest and was making his way
back to Mortiss.

~~~

Morgin learned that, like his sword arm, the
more he exercised his magic, the easier it became to wield. He’d
also learned that by relaxing, he gained an awareness of any being
nearby, human or not. It was a struggle, though, to relax and yet
still concentrate on his horsemanship, for so much of him was
devoted to guiding Mortiss stealthily through the night that little
remained for relaxation. But then a moment came when Mortiss’ soul
washed over him, as if to tell him that she needed not the guidance
of some stupid mortal, that she was there by her own will, that she
had chosen him, and not he her. So he let her choose her own path
and he relaxed, and his consciousness extended outward into the
forest around him. That was when he detected the single rider up
ahead, a man travelling alone through the forest.

Morgin decided to follow the man, using his
magic to allow him to remain at a good distance, yet still know the
man’s trail in the dark. The man moved through the forest growth
with practiced ease. Like Morgin he was almost a shadow in the
night, and Morgin came to realize that were it not for his magic,
he would have quickly lost the man’s trail.

Morgin followed the man to a small camp of
armed warriors. The perimeter guards, neither Kull nor Decouix,
admitted the man readily, and with his curiosity aroused Morgin
tethered Mortiss and went scouting. He pulled a shadow about him
and slipped past the perimeter easily, hoping he’d discovered a
remnant of Eglahan’s army. There appeared to be about fifty men in
the camp, most clustered around four fires that were small enough
to be safe.

The man he’d followed walked quickly toward
the center of the camp, and as Morgin moved through the shadows in
his wake he spotted Abileen, the sergeant-of-men from Kallun’s
Gorge, huddled near one of the fires, and he quickly realized that
he knew about half of the men present.

When the man stepped into the light of the
fire at the camp’s center, to Morgin’s surprise a woman jumped up
and greeted him. “Packwill. Were there any difficulties?”

Morgin looked at the woman carefully. She
wore pants like a man, with a sword strapped to her hip; not a
lady’s dagger, but a full sized battle sword. She stood slightly
larger than most women, though still smaller than a man, and even
though her appearance was harsh and blunt, she was attractive as a
woman, and her speech was that of a high born lady.

“No, milady,” Packwill said to her as he
stepped closer to the fire to warm his hands. “I stayed far enough
away to keep out of trouble, though some sort of ruckus started
just as I was leaving.”

JohnEngine stepped suddenly into the light
of the small fire. “Come, man. We’re all anxious to hear what you
learned.”

Seated behind the woman was a man whom
Morgin didn’t recognize. Opposite him, and also seated, were two
men with their backs to Morgin. One of them stood to warm his hands
over the fire, and when he spoke Morgin recognized Tulellcoe. “How
strong is he?”

“Twelve thousand men, your lordship,”
Packwill said flatly. “Three thousand horse, perhaps a thousand
wagons.”

The man still seated with his back to Morgin
spoke, and Morgin recognized France. “How many Kulls?”

“Appears to be one is six.”

Morgin listened carefully while the scout
Packwill described Illalla’s camp in rather fine detail. He learned
that the woman was a
twoname
named Cortien Balenda, and
called Cort by the others. The stranger seated behind her was
Valken Surriot, another
twoname
. Both had been with Eglahan
for many years, and both had fought at Yestmark, and along with a
handful of survivors had met up with Tulellcoe and France and
JohnEngine leading a small band of men with the intention of
slowing Illalla’s march to Sa’umbra.

“Two thousand Kulls, eh,” the Surriot said
thoughtfully. “I wish I knew what Illalla planned next.”

Tulellcoe turned his back to the fire, edged
in closer to the warmth. “Unless he’s a fool he’ll move out early
tomorrow. And he’s no fool.”

“What’s our next move?” the woman
demanded.

Morgin could see them all looking to
Tulellcoe for leadership. The wizard took a deep breath, thought
for a moment. “There’s not a lot we can do with sixty men, but I’ve
got an idea. We need axes. We’ll use swords if necessary, but axes
will be faster.”

“Some of the men are from these parts,” the
Surriot said. “They might know where we can find axes. Better yet,
the peasants on the road will have axes. Around here a man has to
clear the land, so that’s the first thing he gets when he starts a
family.”

“Good idea,” Tulellcoe said. “Take some men
and see if you can recruit some peasants to do a little chopping
for us. Volunteers only. We need them for half a day, then they can
continue south with their families. We also need torches, and oil.
Torches we can make, and we can conjure oil, but what do we put it
in?”

“How about our water skins?” JohnEngine
asked. “There’s plenty of streams in this forest so we don’t need
to carry water with us.”

They all looked at Tulellcoe expectantly,
and he nodded slowly as if trying to assemble the details of a
plan. Morgin slipped back into the forest, remembering Illalla’s
mention of a “. . . bunch of Elhiyne rabble,” and
Bayellgae’s prediction that they will, “. . . attack
usss tomorrow, massster, though they don’t know it yet.” And too he
remembered how Illalla had laughed and said, “So they think they
will surprise us. Well we’ll have to prepare a little trap for
them, eh?”

~~~

Illalla et Decouix rode at the head of his
army. He had learned long ago that a leader must lead his men,
otherwise they might think he had fears like they, and once they
began to believe that, they would fear him less, or perhaps cease
to fear him at all. The High Lord of the White Clan knew well the
lesson of fear. It was the real source of power, for it kept his
subjects in line, and he was proud of his ability to wield it like
a sword. If only he could induce a little more fear in that fool
son of his.

He stood high in his stirrups and turned to
look at his army on the road behind him. For as far as the eye
could see there were riders, three thousand of them arranged in
ranks of four. Behind them clattered eight hundred wagons in single
file, and behind that nine thousand foot-soldiers walking four
abreast. It was not the largest army he had ever assembled, but it
would be sufficient for his purposes this time, and it was an army
to be proud of. With it he would crush these upstart Elhiynes, and
after them each of the Lesser Clans would have its turn.

“Look, sire,” one of the men riding beside
him called. “Up ahead.”

The High Lord did not at first look, for
that would seem as if he was obeying one of his lackeys, and that
must never appear to be the case. He lingered for a moment, taking
pride in his army, then slowly turned to look forward. Far up the
road he saw one of his scouts riding hastily toward them.

When the man arrived he rode past the High
Lord a few paces, turned his horse, then matched the pace of his
king, saying only, “Sire?” If the man hadn’t done it properly,
Illalla would have had his head.

“What is it, man?” Illalla asked without
turning to face him.

“I bring ill news, sire. The road ahead is
blocked.”

“What?” Illalla shouted, turning his anger
on the poor man.

The man cringed. “I said the road
ahead—”

“I heard what you said, fool. Blocked by
what?”

“Trees, sire.”

“Trees?”

“Yes, sire. Trees. Chopped down and toppled
into the road, hundreds of them.”

“Call out my escort,” Illalla shouted.

The blast of a horn echoed through the
surrounding forest. A short time later the king of the White Clan
rode out from the main column escorted by twelve twelves of Kulls.
They rode hard for several minutes, and Illalla began to doubt his
scout’s word, but then they rounded a sharp bend in the road and he
brought his horse to an abrupt halt.

The scout had exaggerated somewhat. There
were not hundreds of trees in the road, but there were a great
number, perhaps as many as a single hundred. There appeared to be
more at first sight, though, because they were not stacked into a
neat pile but spread down the road for a goodly distance. Illalla
cursed, then turned to a lackey. “How long will it take to clear
these?”

“Not long, sire. We can take a couple of
draft teams from the wagons and have it clear by midday.”

Illalla laughed. “Fools,” he said. “They
probably spent the entire night chopping down trees, and we’ll have
it clear in a few short hours. Get to it man.”

The man bowed in his saddle. “Yes, Your
Majesty,” he said, then rode off to comply.

Next Illalla turned to his Kull commander.
“The trees are only a feint. Their real target is the wagons. Let
them burn a few, and when they retreat east, I want you waiting for
them with twelve twelves of your men, and I don’t want any of that
rabble left alive. After you’ve disposed of them, take your men out
to patrol the road for one day’s march in advance of the main
column. Kill anyone you find on or near the road. Is that
clear?”

Illalla watched the halfman smile at the
thought of the fun he and his men would have. The Kulls always
enjoyed the killing. The halfman nodded, said, “Aye, Lord,” then
rode off to do his king’s bidding.

Illalla continued to speak, but to no one in
particular. “Fool Elhiynes. Imbeciles. That bitch Olivia wants time
to gather her forces. Well she is going to learn that I cannot be
slowed. In seven days I will be at Sa’umbra, and that will be the
end of Elhiyne.”

~~~

Morgin looked down at the road far below and
watched the wagons and carts passing slowly by. The train of
supplies for the advancing army stretched both up and down the road
for as far as he could see. It coiled in and around the mountainous
forest like a snake, and for the first time he appreciated the
enormity of the host that would soon descend upon Elhiyne.

From his vantage atop a high ridge Morgin
had an easy view of the developing scenario below. Tulellcoe had
chosen to attack the wagons at a place where the forest was thin,
and the sides of the road sloped upward steeply to sharp ridges on
both sides. He had split the small Elhiyne force into five platoons
lead by himself, JohnEngine, France, Cortien Balenda, and Valken
Surriot. He’d spaced the platoons carefully up and down the road so
as not to interfere with each other, and he and France, with their
respective platoons, hid just above the ridge on this side of the
road, while JohnEngine and the Balenda and the Surriot hid above
the ridge on the other.

After leaving the Elhiyne camp the night
before Morgin had returned to the Decouix camp in the hope of
learning more. Even with the perimeter guards aroused by his
earlier visit he’d found it easy to slip past them, though he
didn’t learn much from Illalla and Bayellgae, only that they had
anticipated Tulellcoe’s raid. But when Illalla went to sleep, and
Morgin began slipping through the shadows toward the perimeter, it
was at that moment, standing in the midst of the Decouix camp in
the stillness of the wee hours of the morning, it was then that he
finally chanced upon a plan of his own. He was one, single man, and
he’d been racking his brains for days now trying to think of
something he could do to make a difference. He could not get close
enough to Illalla to assassinate him, not with Bayellgae constantly
hovering about, but he realized that he could strike at Illalla’s
men with impunity. And while he alone could not kill enough of them
to make a difference, common soldiers were a superstitious lot. He
could strike such terror in their hearts over the next few days
that when the final battle came they would be tired, and fearful,
and the edge of their battle skills would be that much blunted. So
before he left the camp he silently slit the throats of two twelves
of men in their sleep, and left them to be found by their comrades
in the morning.