Ruby Guardian (22 page)

But the blaring sound of horns began ringing out through the forest. The clarion call echoed from down the path the Crescents had followed upon arriving at the camp. Kovrim turned just in time to spot a contingent of cavalry bursting into the clearing, charging ahead to attack the scattered, ill-equipped druids. Behind the cavalry, a large force of infantry marched into view, a wide column of troops who maneuvered precisely into a skirmish line and moved through the camp at a steady if not spectacular pace.

Damn it to the nine hells, Kovrim thought, yanking the door open. This may get dicey.

“Hurry!” he said. “Before the reinforcements catch us!”

The prisoners inside the barn began filing out, turning and making a beeline for the trees. Before even half of the Crescents were out of the prison, though, shouts rose up from nearby. Kovrim spun in time to see a trio of mounted soldiers bearing down on him and the men escaping with him.

“Run!” he shouted, urging the soldiers to fade into the woods. As the rest of the Crescents fled, Kovrim turned back toward the mounted soldiers, planning a distraction to slow them down and give the men time to escape. Slipping a hand inside his shirt, the

priest removed a bit of parchment he had stored in a secret pocket. He gave it a quick kiss then began muttering a prayer as he crumpled the scrap and made a circular motion with it around his body.

The parchment crumbled to dust in Kovrim’s hand while at the same time, a glowing field of protective energy sprang up, surrounding his body. He ran toward the cavalrymen, hoping his magical barrier would be enough to protect him from a stray attack or two. In the back of his mind, he began to formulate the words of a final spell, one that he could use to whisk himself away from the fighting.

When the time comes, he told himself. Not too soon, though. Must give them time to get deep into the woods.

The first of the cavalrymen began to twirl a light mace menacingly, and Kovrim darted in the opposite direction, hoping to lure the soldier along with him. The priest huffed and puffed as he zigzagged through the camp, trying to draw attention to himself while at the same time avoiding being cornered. The woodland folk had gone into a full retreat, it seemed, for there were only the dead among them still within the confines of the camp. It became apparent that he was alone in his frantic plan, and more and more mounted soldiers closed in about him, trying to contain him. He felt a bit foolish, like a lone chicken in a fenced yard, running willy-nilly all about, trying to keep himself off the chopping block.

When a mounted soldier approached him with a halfspear leveled at his chest, Kovrim stopped and raised his arms out to his sides as a show of surrender. He began to speak the words of that last spell, ready to send himself instantly over many miles of terrain in an instant, all the way back to Arrabar, where he would regroup and bring reinforcements to aid the stranded Crescents.

Before he could complete the triggering phrases, though, something struck him hard from behind, on the back of the head, and he sank to his knees, stunned. The words of the spell vanished from his mind, and blackness replaced them.

• • •

Kovrim slowly came awake with a throbbing pain at the base of his skull. He discovered, to his dismay, that he had a large, leather-wrapped bar of steel rammed into his mouth like the bit of a bridle. The bulging thing pressed back against the corners of his mouth, keeping his teeth pried open and depressing his tongue. It was firmly anchored with leather straps that ran over and around his head, as well as beneath his chin. The entire thing buckled in back somewhere. Furthermore, his arms were stoutly manacled in front of himself, each fist tightly encased in a hinged metal ball that prevented him from even flexing his fingers. Kovrim was helpless to even try to unbuckle the harness. The mercenaries who had recaptured him were apparently used to dealing with enemy mages and priests. All in all, it was a rather effective way to keep the priest from talking. Or casting any more spells.

Kovrim realized to his further dismay that he was back inside the barn, along with most of the Crescents. The men had not made it far into the woods, it appeared, before they had been rounded up and returned to the makeshift prison, and the glum faces made it clear to the grizzled priest that their failed escape attempt had cost more than a spell. They were without much hope.

The larger surprise came a few moments later, though, when Kovrim realized there were more Crescents in the prison than before they had tried

to escape. He winced as he counted them, for several were wounded, two seriously enough that they were lying on makeshift stretchers, brought to the camp that way by other members of the company. In all, there were fourteen new members there, nearly a third of the total company. Coupled with the twelve that had originally accompanied Kovrim, that meant well over half of the soldiers had been taken since Lady’s Favor had gone down and the mercenaries had floundered to shore. With the four he knew to be dead at sea, that meant that at most, Vambran had nearly a dozen men with him. Kovrim strongly suspected there were fewer than that, for the uncertainties of war always left a few more dead scattered on the battlefield than anyone expected.

Less than ten, he surmised. Vambran would never have tried to assault this camp with that few. Perhaps it’s good that we did not manage to flee, he told himself, realizing that, had the escape attempt proven successful, it would have meant that the other Crescents would have been left behind. No, the priest decided, it was better to consolidate the troops. Strangely, he felt relief at that.

In addition to the members of the Sapphire Crescent, two of the woodland folk had been captured alive. They both looked sullen and angry, as best Kovrim could tell, for they, too, sported the harsh bit-gag head harnesses and hand-restraining manacles he himself wore. All the old priest could really see of their expressions were their eyes. Both were younger men, dressed in crude animal-skin clothing. Their weapons, of course, had been taken away during the night.

Kovrim sat up and peered about, peeking through one of the cracks in the barn’s wall, and he saw that the sky to the east was just beginning to get a little pink. The rest of the reinforcements who had arrived to

turn the tide of the fight were assembled in the clearing. Kovrim reckoned that the group that had taken him and the other Crescents prisoner the day before were only perhaps a fifth of the total force of the army bearing the silver raven that was gathered there.

One of the new arrivals, Tholis, who had served in Vambran’s platoon for several years, saw that Kovrim was awake.

“Well met,” he said, greeting the old priest. “We tried to find a way to get that out of your mouth, but they locked it on too well.” Kovrim nodded, hoping the younger man understood that he appreciated the effort.

“Tell him your tale,” Hort said, coming up to stand beside Tholis. “He might not be able to speak, but he needs to know your side of things.”

“We made it to shore with Lieutenant Matrell after Lady’s Favor went down,” Tholis began, looking forlorn at what he was having to say. “There were twenty-three of us. We parceled out supplies and were just about to get on the move when we were attacked by that bunch out there. Lieutenant Matrell ordered us to charge through their skirmish line and make for the woods, but those bastards put the magic to us but good, and everyone you see here went down. We lost two,” the man added, bowing his head, “and seven escaped, or so we hope, including Lieutenant Matrell.” Then Tholis sighed. “They spent most of the day beating the brush, trying to flush the seven out, with no luck. By evening, they were sending trackers into the woods to hunt them down, and we marched all night. Now here we are.”

Kovrim nodded.

“Well, soldier,” Hort said, “you’ll be happy to know that Lieutenant Matrell and his remaining companions made it here, too. The lieutenant spoke to me just before the commotion. Said they were going to try to

break us out, but that attack must have altered their plans. Let’s hope they’re still out there, thinking of something clever to do.”

“So, what’s going to happen now?” Tholis asked, sagging down to the ground. “Have they told us why we’re prisoners?”

Kovrim shook his head as Hort snorted. “They haven’t bothered to tell us anything, soldier,” the grizzled old veteran complained, “but we might find out soon. It looks like they’re having a serious discussion right now.”

Indeed, Kovrim could see what looked to be the leaders of the mercenary army standing in a group near the center of the camp, talking and gesticulating animatedly at the trees, the barn, and various other points. The priest wondered if his identity had finally been ferreted out, and if he had further endangered the soldiers in his charge by not departing when he had had the opportunity.

The priest wished for a moment that he could cast a spell to eavesdrop on the conversation in the distance. Of course, if that were the case, he thought, I could do a lot more than eavesdrop.

After a moment, officers began to shout orders, and soon enough, a contingent of mercenaries approached’ the barn. The guards jumped to obey as orders were given to open the door leading into the makeshift prison. As the portal was unbarred and swung wide, the commanding officer strode into the middle of the group of Crescents. Several other soldiers followed him inside.

“My name is Captain Beltrim Havalla. I have orders to get you to Reth, so that’s exactly what we’re going to do. As soon as you’ve been served breakfast, we’ll be setting out.”

Several of the prisoners groaned, particularly the newer ones who had just arrived.

Captain Havalla eyed Kovrim appreciatively. “Sergeant,” he said in a commanding voice, at which point one of the other soldiers by his side leaped forward, at the ready. “This man gets no breakfast, for we can’t afford for him to be speaking. In fact, go ahead and load him into a wagon now. I don’t want to torment him with the smell of any food.”

The sergeant nodded and snapped his fingers. Immediately, two more soldiers moved forward, grabbing Kovrim by each arm.

Kovrim grimaced and closed his eyes in consternation as his personal escort began to lead him away.

111 II II

Vambran opened his eyes to discover that he was watching the trees drift past upside down, swaying rhythmically. It took him another moment or two to understand that he was hanging that way, hands and feet bound across a stout log carried on the shoulders of two men. All of his belongings, including his breastplate and his weapons, had been taken from him. His neck and back ached.

The lieutenant lifted his head up and peered between his arms, trying to get some sense of what was happening. The other five Crescents who had still been with him during the night were bound similarly, each dangling from a pole borne on strong shoulders. Their escort consisted of perhaps two dozen figures, all strung out in a line, following a trail through the woods. Only some of them were human.

In addition to a handful of men and women roughly clad in the skins of animals and further camouflaged with twigs and leaves interwoven into their clothing and hair, there were a couple of elves in the group—one was a male in a simple loincloth with dark brown skin covered in tattoos, and the

other had more coppery skin and red hair. There were also a handful of creatures that seemed to be a cross between an elf and an antelope. Vambran would have named them centaurs had they had the bodies of horses, but they were much smaller. The druids and their companions moved easily among the trees, practically vanishing from sight as they glided past shadows and underbrush with the greatest of ease.

Dropping his head back down for a moment, Vambran noticed that the sun was beginning to rise behind him and to his left. That meant they were heading southwest, at least assuming it was morning. They were moving deeper into the forest, to its heart, if he remembered the maps correctly. All around Vambran, the forest was nearly silent, though a few early birds were beginning to stir.

A wild-haired halfling carrying a small bow appeared along the trail behind the group and quickly caught up, passing Vambran. The lieutenant craned his neck and watched as the halfling began to speak with a human, the one who had first laid steel to Vambran’s throat the night before. He was a slender man, with matted dark hair and a strong jaw line.

The leader, Vambran surmised.

As he watched the human listen to the messenger’s words, Vambran saw his captor tense. Then he nodded and barked a quick command to those around him, and the group halted. Vambran and the other Crescents were set down none too gently, still tied to the poles that bore them. The lieutenant found that an exposed root was poking him in his backside, and he tried unsuccessfully to shift off of it before giving up.

“What has occurred?” the lieutenant asked.

The leader looked at him, perhaps angry that the mercenary had deigned to speak. Then his features

softened somewhat in the dim glow of dawn, and he said, “Our attack on the soldier camp was unsuccessful. Reinforcements arrived and drove us from the field.”

“Reinforcements?” Vambran said, surprised. “That’s a good-sized mercenary company!”

“Your brethren scour the land all throughout these woods, killing one another and poisoning the land. You are everywhere. Why does the size of this one army surprise you?”

“Because I did not come here to fight,” Vambran replied. “We are not involved in the wars of these other soldiers.”

The druid sniffed. “I very much doubt that is true,” he said.

“What of my soldiers?” Vambran persisted. “They were prisoners, being held in the barn. What is their fate?”

“I do not differentiate one group from another anymore,” the leader replied coldly. “You all kill and destroy equally well.” Vambran opened his mouth to protest, but the leader gave him a warning look. “Do not mock me with your lies. I would see you dead, but Arbeenok has foreseen some use for you in his visions, so I have stayed my hand—for the moment. Do not try my patience, though, or not even Arbeenok can save you.”