Cold Magics (15 page)

“So why are they attacking?” asked Thomas. “I mean, you said they aren’t enough to take over, so why attack?”

“No idea,” said Henry.

“So how do we go after them?”

“No idea.”

Thomas sighed. “Well, as long as you’ve got a plan.”

“I have a plan,” said Henry. “Send you out, make you win the war for us.”

“Aye, well, thanks for that,” said Thomas. He looked out into the night. “So how long are we up?”

“A couple of hours,” said Henry.

“Should we both be on the same side of the fire?”

“No,” said Henry. “We should be on separate sides of the fire, looking out into the darkness, and constantly moving around the camp to keep all sides watched. But I wanted to talk.”

“Fair enough,” said Thomas. “I’ll take that side.”

He did, and they moved slowly around the perimeter of their campsite. The night was not as dark to Thomas as to Henry, but most of the life—which gave Thomas its light to see by—had hidden itself beneath the snow. The light of the trees was faint, there was no light from grass or other plants, and there were no animals beyond their camp for him to see. The horses, tied up among the thin trees, radiated brown and green. The sleepers on the ground glowed with a myriad of hues from deep red to green to blue, though most of their light was hidden by their thick blankets.

Time crawled its way along until Henry deemed two hours had passed. They woke Sir Gareth and George to take the next watch. Thomas crawled back under his blankets and wrapped himself as tightly as he could, shivering until he fell asleep.

An hour later, George shook Thomas’s shoulder.

“What?” said Thomas, forcing his eyes open. “What do you want?”

“There’s something out there,” said George.

That woke Thomas up. “Where?”

“Not sure,” said George. “But I heard something. Come look.”

Thomas forced himself out of the blankets, the shivers taking him the moment the cold night wind touched his flesh. He pulled his coat closer, wrapped his cloak tight around his body, and put on his sword-belt as he followed George across the campsite.

Gareth met them on the far side of the camp. The look on his face was not at all pleased. “What are you doing leaving your post?” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “And why are you waking him? He’s already had his turn.”

Thomas spoke before George could. “There’s someone out there.”

“What?”

“You’re sure?” asked George.

“Aye.”

“Where?” Gareth’s hand went to his sword and he peered out into the darkness. “I don’t see anyone.”

“I do.” Thomas watched as man-shaped, red-tinged figures moved though the darkness. They were too far away to see the camp, Thomas was sure, but they were moving towards them. They had weapons of some sort, but Thomas couldn’t make out what they were; only hints of darkness against the glowing shapes of the men. “Get Henry.”

George headed for where Henry was sleeping. The night was cloudy and no light was coming from the sky. Just as well, Thomas guessed, or the men would be moving faster. As Thomas watched, the men stopped at the bottom of the rise, waiting.

Henry appeared at his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“There’s men out there,” said Thomas.

“How many?”

“I’m not sure, yet. Fifteen or twenty, maybe.”

“How far away?”

“A hundred yards, or so. George heard them.”

“Thank the Four for George’s hearing.”

“How can you see them at that distance?” demanded Gareth, though he kept his voice to a whisper.

“Keep watching,” said Henry. “Gareth, get everyone awake and get them ready to move. I want all the horses ready to go immediately.”

Gareth looked from one to the other, then turned and headed back into the camp. Thomas watched ghostly-red shapes. “They’re starting to split up.”

“Where are they going?”

“To either side of us, I think.”

Henry swore softly. “Get your things together and get to the horses. We need to move right now before they know we see them.”

Thomas did as he was told. Gareth had already stirred the camp. The knights moved silently as possible in the snow, packing up their gear. Thomas quickly shoved his blankets into his own bag and put it on the back of his horse. Lawrence was already there, holding the animals still and keeping them quiet. Thomas went to his mount, started to put the saddle bags onto it, then froze.

On the far side of the horses, another six figures crouched in the darkness.

Thomas quickly tied the bags to the horses and went to tell Henry what he’d seen.

Henry swore with great, if quiet, passion. “Who could field two dozen men out here?”

“The enemy you talked about?”

“No,” said Henry, shaking his head. “They would have attacked by now.”

“Could they be the same ones that attacked us in the city?”

“If they are, they have better lines of communication than we do.”

“So, what do we do?”

“Run,” said Henry. “We charge toward the road and hope to break through.” Henry looked at Thomas. “Can you do anything?”

“I…” Thomas thought about it, thought about the magic he had at his disposal. “I don’t know.”

“Lightning?”

Thomas shook his head. “I’m not that powerful anymore. I could get one or two, but that’s it.”

Henry nodded. “Then get ready to ride.”

I’ve got to do something
, thought Thomas, watching Henry’s back as he headed toward the horses.
If we have to fight, a good number of us are going to get hurt. Or killed
.

He looked out to the moving figures, slowly crossing the empty ground toward the little copse of trees, then looked up to the sky. The clouds were thick above, hiding each group from the other. Thomas remembered when, many months before, he had first summoned fog. He’d only been able to make enough to fill a cup. He’d gained power since then, and had been practising, but even so, he knew there was no way he could summon enough fog to cover them all, especially not with the wind waiting to pull it apart. For the first time, he found himself wishing for a blizzard.

I wonder if there’s a spell to summon snow.

Thomas reached into his coat for the small spell book he had stolen from the theology building months before and began to page through it. The last section was filled with what Thomas called the “great spells”; spells that only worked if one had great power. It was there he found the spell to call lightning. There was another to control water, and yet another to cause an earthquake. Even at his most powerful, Thomas was certain that he hadn’t had the strength for that last one.

But a little snow…

He found the weather spells. Like the one that called lightning, the spell for snow was easy enough: just concentrate on what he wanted the weather to be, and wish it into existence. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and did his best to ignore the impending danger. He envisioned snow falling from the skies. A thick snow, he wanted; one that blew in the winds around their camp and though the woods beyond. He concentrated hard on it, imagining it falling so thick that no one could see through it. When he had the vision fixed in his head, he opened his eyes.

The air was cold, the wind colder, and no snow was coming down.

It should have worked
, thought Thomas.
Something should be happening.

He started concentrating again, only this time leaving his eyes open and looking up into the darkness of the night sky. Around him, Henry and the knights were standing beside their horses, weapons in hand. Eileen, her rapier in her hand, went to Thomas. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make it snow,” whispered Thomas, looking at the sky. He wished he could reach out and pull the snow from it.

The magic began to flow. Instead of the sense of strong focus that usually came with magic, he could feel himself spreading out; feel his consciousness expanding outward from his body. Suddenly, part of him was sky, part of him was made of water crystals being pulled together, and part of him was the earth, pulling them downward.

The first snowflakes started a moment later.

“Tell Henry to come here,” said Thomas, not taking his eyes off the sky.

Eileen nodded and ran off. Henry was beside Thomas a moment later. He looked up at the sky and the flakes dancing on the breeze. “Are you doing this?”

“Aye,” said Thomas. “It’s going to get very thick.”

“How long?”

“No idea,” said Thomas. “And I don’t know how long I can keep it up.”

“You’ll keep it up until we leave,” said Henry. “Get that book away and get on your horse. And have your sword in your hand.”

Thomas put away the book and mounted, his eyes still on the sky. His consciousness stretched even further, and the snow began to fall faster and thicker.

“We ride through them toward the road,” said Henry to the knights, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. “Wait until the snow thickens a bit more, then we go. Understood?”

Thomas, lost in the sky, didn’t even hear the reply. He was beginning to sense the pattern of the winds; to feel the movement of the air and the water that floated in it and to understand their relationship. A thought made the air above the camp colder. Another summoned more water to the spot. A third brought the wind, gusting a little harder than it had been before.

The snow began to fall in thick, swirling clouds that rode on the newly-strengthened breeze. Everyone shielded their eyes as the snowflakes blew back and forth. A voice said something in the distance, and there was movement, though Thomas wasn’t aware of what it was.

A hard fist drove into his shoulder, destroying his concentration. “Ride!” snapped George, putting word to deed as soon as it was past his lips. Thomas shook his head, trying to clear his suddenly blurry senses. The knights tore forward out of the little copse of trees and into the blizzard beyond, George and Eileen right behind them.

Thomas shoved his heels into his own animal and drove after them. In a group they crashed through the trees, startling the men there who shouted and jumped out of the way. From behind them, Thomas could hear other men shouting, and the sounds of running feet. He didn’t bother looking back. A few moments later, they were back on the road and riding hard to the north. The snow swirled about them for a few more paces, then vanished, leaving them to ride through the darkness.

“Thomas!” shouted Henry. “Get up here!”

Thomas drove his heels harder into his horse’s sides, and galloped around the others to catch up to Henry.

“Take the lead,” said Henry. “Get us as far down the road as you can until the sun comes up.”

Thomas took the lead, driving his horse as fast as he dared, the few scant grasses and odd tree pushing up through the snow providing him what light they had. It was barely enough. Henry called to Thomas to slow down, and Thomas pulled his horse back to a trot, remembering the other riders could see hardly anything at all. They kept going until the sky to the east began to change from black to purple, then from purple to deep blue.

“Halt!” called Henry.

Thomas gratefully pulled his animal to a stop. The rest of the group closed around him. Eileen rode up beside him and leaned over to hug him with one arm, while holding onto her saddle with the other. George hit him on the shoulder. Henry nodded his approval silently.

The knights dismounted, checking their horses and rubbing at the animals’ cold flesh. A moment later, George and Eileen did the same. Thomas stayed where he was, swaying in his saddle.

“Who were they?” demanded Martin.

“No idea,” said Henry.

“How did you see them?” asked Gareth. “Not that I’m complaining, mind
you.”

“I see very well in the dark,” said Thomas.

“Better than most,” said Lawrence. “I couldn’t see anything out there.”

“Neither could they, thank the Four,” said Michael. “A good thing that storm came in.”

“A strange storm,” said Martin. “To fall only on our little copse.”

“It didn’t only fall there,” lied Henry. “It just ended there.”

“I’ve not seen the like.”

“I have,” said Eileen. “I remember walking from rain to sun in three steps, and when I looked back it was like the rain was a curtain, drawn across the road.”

“I’ve seen that myself,” said Gareth. “Seen the rain draw a line across a lake.”

“Good luck on our part,” said Patrick. “And good eyes, Thomas.”

“Thank you,” said Thomas, forcing himself to stay upright in his seat. “Now what?”

Henry looked over at the slowly-brightening eastern sky. “We keep going,” he said. “There’s an inn at the border, which we should reach by the end of the night. Everyone’s horses all right?”

There was a chorus of “Aye.”

“Then mount up.”

Thomas leaned forward to rub his horse’s neck and everything went black for a moment. He clung to the seat to stay mounted, waiting until the darkness faded away. He should have expected it, he supposed, but he didn’t think it was going to be so bad, so soon. Of course, he’d never called weather before, so how would he know?

The wind caught into his clothes and he began to shiver uncontrollably. He wrapped himself tighter in his coat and cloak, and hunched over in his horse to expose as little of himself to the wind as possible.

“Thomas?” said Eileen. “Are you all right?”

Thomas shook his head. “Cold,” he said. “Tired and cold.”

Eileen rode closer. “From…?”

She left the question remain unspoken and when Thomas nodded, she asked, “Will you be able to stay in your seat?”

“Not a lot of choice,” said Thomas.

“No, there isn’t.” Eileen called George over. “Thomas is unwell. Can you ride beside him in case he needs help?”

George looked at Thomas and nodded. “Aye. I will. You might want to tell Henry, though.”

“Aye,” agreed Eileen. He watched Henry listen to her, and then ask something quietly. When Eileen nodded, Henry called out, “Forward,” and the group began riding once more.

Thomas fought through the morning to keep in his seat. His vision kept blurring, and every now and then would fade to black. The sun breached the horizon in the east and climbed its way upward, but Thomas scarcely noticed it. The world around him swam in and out of focus. The ground was mostly scrub; few trees and clumps of bushes. The terrain rippled gently, as if it had been carved by a large, meandering hand. There was not a rise high enough to be a hill, or a dip low enough to be a valley, but it never stayed truly level.