The Smoke-Scented Girl (41 page)

Clouds of smoke continued to gather along the
horizon as if the land itself were burning. The Despot must have
tens of thousands of soldiers at his command. Tens of thousands of
soldiers, and who knew how many of those tens stood between Evon
and the Despot. The idea that Alvor, legendary hero or not, might
be able to fight his way past them seemed suddenly ridiculous. The
Gods only knew how much harder it would be for Evon Lorantis. The
horse slowed a little going up a short incline, and when they
reached its crest, Evon pulled it up sharply and stared,
disbelieving, at the bowl-shaped valley below.

He was too far away to make out individual
features; instead, the valley teemed with soldiers the way an ant
hill might overflow with tiny, scrambling bodies. They marched in
sloppy order, squares and columns distorted into rhombi and curves,
but there were so many of them their lack of martial discipline
hardly mattered. Blood-red standards bearing the image of a black
raven and topped with some object too small for Evon to make out
dotted the field, but his eye was drawn to one twice the size of
the others. It bore two ravens, each clawing and gouging at the
other, neither appearing to have the upper hand, and it was borne
by a soldier wearing silvery armor that winked with light even in
the gloom. Several horsemen stood near it, but at this distance
Evon could not see any distinctions between them that might mark
the Despot. He heard no shouts of battle, saw no frenzied movement
that would indicate combat, but he also couldn’t see Alvor and the
others anywhere. He kicked his horse into a gallop again and
plunged down the side of the incline. They had to be here
somewhere. He knew he hadn’t gotten ahead of them; Kerensa’s scent
led straight—no, it was turning to the right, away from the
army—

More smoke shrouded the hillside ahead as if
one of the storm clouds had descended to roll along the plains.
This one, however, was white, and something inside it flashed
briefly, reflecting light that did not come from the sun. It
reminded him of something, one of the only things he’d known about
Alvorian myth before meeting Kerensa, something one of the heroes
had said…Dania’s Glass. One of the Four Talismans. Alvor’s Mace,
Dania’s Glass, Wystylth’s Claws. Carall’s Breath. A concealing mist
that protected the four as they surrounded Murakot just before
killing him.

Evon began shouting and waving one arm as he
urged the horse directly into the center of the cloudbank, which
was moving rapidly toward the army. It was so thick he could barely
see the horse’s head less than two feet from his, and he slowed the
horse to a walk, afraid of getting turned around. “Wait!” he
shouted. “Alvor, wait! I know how to save Kerensa! Please!”

The only thing he heard were his own words
reflected back at him by the thick fog. “
Please
,” he said.
Please
, came the echo. He could see nothing except his hands
on the reins and the blackened burn stripes circling his wrists.
His pulse sang in his ears, high and fast. The horse nickered at
nothing and shook her mane as if shooing flies.

Then, “
Solto spexa
,” Dania said, and
it was as if the fog bank was nothing more than a light gauze
through which Evon could clearly see three horses and a shorter,
crouching figure about ten yards from where he stood. “I
underestimated you,” Dania said.

“I was lucky,” Evon said. “And I know how the
magic works. I can free Kerensa and still use it to kill the
Despot.”

Alvor looked at him, his eyes narrowed.
“Desperation drives men to many things,” he said, “but I think you
would not dare to lie to me.”

Evon shook his head. “I swear to you, sir,
the Enemy will die today. I just need the four of you to defend me
while I cast my spells. Hold them off for five minutes. Dania, will
you paralyze the Despot when we see him? I intend to cast some very
complicated spells and I will need all of my reserves to do
it.”

“If you tell me what you intend, perhaps I
can assist you,” Dania said.

Evon shook his head again. “The truth is, I’m
still working out everything in my head, and I think if I tell you
what I have in mind, you will all simply be distracted. Please.
Five minutes. Ten at the most.”

“Evon,” Kerensa said, “please don’t do this.
I don’t think I can bear it if you give me false hope.”

“It’s not false hope, I swear it.” Evon
dismounted and went to her side, looked up at her where she sat
behind Alvor. She had been crying, though she was dry-eyed now, and
when he reached out to her she slid awkwardly down and threw
herself into his arms. “Just…when we near the Despot, just hold the
weapon in check for as long as you can, and I’ll do the rest.” He
put his fingers under her chin and tilted her head so she had to
look at him. “Please. If it doesn’t work….”

Kerensa drew a deep, shuddering breath, then
nodded. “If it doesn’t work…Evon, promise me you’ll shield yourself
before the end. I don’t want you to die.”

“I promise. But it won’t be necessary.” He
looked at Alvor. “Ten minutes. If it doesn’t work, then Kerensa
will….” He couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence any more
than he could the previous one.

The heroes looked at one another. Wystylth
said, “I believe I can occupy the Enemy’s guards for at least that
long. I have seen them as closely as I dare, and I do not believe
they are entirely human. Something upon which I am something of an
expert,” he added with a grin.

“It will be like the battle at Riskin Falls,”
Dania said.

Carall scowled. “I should hope not. I was
knocked unconscious at Riskin Falls and woke to find the battle
over. I would see my blade run red with blood today.”

Alvor gazed steadily at Evon. “I think you
are desperate to save the woman you love,” he said.

“I am, sir, but I also know what I’m doing.”
I hope I know what I’m doing. This could mean my own death, and
theirs
.

Alvor took a deep breath and let it out
slowly. “Then we will try this your way,” he said, “and I hope you
are not mistaken.”

“So do I, sir.”

“We should be moving,” Carall said. His horse
jigged nervously as if picking up on Carall’s restless movements.
“The Breath cannot be stopped once it is set in motion, and it will
leave us behind soon.”

Evon led Kerensa to his horse and helped her
mount, daring Alvor to make an issue of it. Alvor said nothing,
merely wheeled his horse and set off toward the army. The others
gathered behind him, Evon at the rear with Kerensa holding tight to
his waist. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but none of
it seemed very important right now. Time enough for that when this
was all over. He reviewed the spells in his mind; the sequence was
important, and so was the timing, and there were so many things he
was leaving to chance, but he had to believe it was possible.
Kerensa shifted a little behind him, but said nothing. What was she
thinking? Her voice had had that same dead tone he remembered from
Inveros. He prayed she hadn’t given up again. This would only work
if she could keep the weapon from activating immediately.

They came over the top of another small rise
and saw the army spread out before them. The edge of the Breath had
only just begun to reach the first soldiers, none of whom seemed to
notice anything amiss. “Ride out, Dania,” Alvor said.

Dania cracked her horse’s reins and set off
down the hill at a gallop, the others following her, Evon trailing
a little behind because the command had taken him off guard. They
rode without speaking or shouting, the only sound the thrumming of
their horses’ hooves on the snowy frozen ground. Evon wasn’t sure
exactly when the soldiers heard the sound of hooves, but they
hadn’t done more than stop and begin to turn when Dania raised both
her hands, snapped her fingers and shouted,
“Forva!”

White fire exploded through the ranks, so hot
Evon could feel his skin tighten. The Breath vanished, vaporized.
Five rows of soldiers sagged and fell, and the air was filled with
the smell of smoked meat and the sound of screaming. Part of Evon
gaped in astonishment at Dania’s unparalleled abilities, another
part made a mental note to have her teach him that when this was
all over, but most of him was occupied with not falling off his
horse, which might be an excellent animal but clearly didn’t have
the experience the heroes’ mounts did with
forva
that could
crisp your eyeballs.

Dania gestured again and the fire divided,
burning hotly on both sides of a cool corridor that led deeper into
the heart of the army. Alvor hefted his mace, Carall drew his
sword, and to his left Evon saw Wystylth’s claws fully extended and
his hood tossed back to reveal a head of blond hair much like
Evon’s own. He didn’t have time to notice more than this, because
then they reached the first rank of soldiers and battle was
joined.

Evon wished he were watching this from the
outside, not only because it was less dangerous but because the
four heroes fighting together must be what legends were made of.
Alvor laid about him with the mace that no ordinary man could have
lifted, let alone broken heads and backs with. Carall was more
subtle but equally deadly, his blade flicking from soldier to
soldier and leaving piles of bodies in its wake. Dania cast spell
after spell Evon couldn’t even recognize, sending enemy fighters to
the ground with their bodies contorted or their faces blue with
asphyxiation or, in a few cases, turned completely to ash. And
Wystylth was everywhere at once, snarling defiance, his hands and
claws bloody from tearing out the throats of anyone stupid enough
to come within arm’s reach of him. Evon could only keep his horse
under control and pray that no one got close enough to him or
Kerensa that he would have to fight back. In the back of his mind
he again ran through the sequence of spells he needed, testing
their order—he would have one chance to do this, and it had to be
perfect and perfectly timed.

They were somehow pressing forward through
the masses. Dania found a clear spot and cast
forva
again,
though it was not as big as the first one because they were all too
close to the enemy soldiers, and cleared out a few more ranks so
they could advance more quickly. Alvor swung at another head,
crushing the skull, and raised his voice to say, “I think we are
near our Enemy.”

“We are,” Kerensa shouted, and Evon craned
his neck to see that she’d gone pale and was sweating. “I can feel
the urge pulling at me. It’s strong.”

“Then ware guards,” Alvor said, ducking a
sword thrust and booting the soldier in the face so hard his neck
snapped.

They fought for a few more seconds before
Carall shouted, “I see them!” and spurred forward a bit to exchange
blows with something whose head and neck weren’t quite right. Its
forehead bulged high above tiny eyes, and the tips of fangs
protruded from its lips. Its neck was as thick around as Evon’s
thigh and corded with sinew so tight you could have plucked it like
a harp string and seen it vibrate. It roared in Carall’s face just
before Carall’s blade took it in the throat, then shook itself so
hard Carall nearly lost his seat and his sword. Carall withdrew and
stabbed at its stomach, striking below the heavy hide armor it wore
to cover its chest. It shrieked and collapsed. “They die as any man
does!” he shouted.

“Then we shall have to assist them in that
endeavor,” Alvor called out, and began laying about him with his
mace. Evon had thought they were fighting well before, but now the
blows came furiously on all sides and Evon could see their forward
progress had stopped. He clenched his fists. So close. Should he
help? He couldn’t afford to. But if they failed to reach the
Despot....

A gap opened up near Evon, and Kerensa
groaned and her entire body went rigid with concentration, her
fingers digging into his side. Evon looked around just in time to
see the two-raven banner hovering nearby, framing a man in a
shining steel cuirass on a massive horse armored for war. Standing,
he would have been a full head taller than the inhuman creatures
battling around him. His long hair hung lank and greasy around his
face, and Evon could smell the sour odor of unwashed body wafting
toward him on the cold breeze. The Despot kicked one of his own
guards out of the way, and Evon heard a crack as the thing’s leg
broke, but the man’s face showed no anger or cruelty, only a
chilling impassivity more frightening than either of those. Evon
jigged the horse away from the Despot, but he ignored Evon and
Kerensa and made straight for Alvor, whose mace was gory with blood
too red to be human. He was fighting two of the inhuman guards at
once and had no idea that death was coming at him from behind.

Evon shouted a warning that was lost in the
furor of battle, then spurred his horse toward the Despot, though
he had no idea what he would do—beat him over the head with his
fists, maybe? He could not afford to waste any of his reserves on
offensive spells. Kerensa groaned again as they neared the Despot,
shoving through the melee, and Evon realized he was screaming
incoherently and waving his arms. He pushed his way in front of the
Despot’s horse, between him and Alvor, and the Despot looked at him
with that impassive expression, then brought his sword around to
strike at Evon, and Evon raised his hands because there was nothing
else he could do—

“
Desini cucurri!
” Dania shouted, and
the Despot froze in mid-swing, then fell face down and hit the
frozen ground, his right arm still outstretched with the enormous
sword clutched in it. The horse reared up and screamed, then came
down on the Despot’s shoulder, crushing it. Terrified, Evon kicked
at it to make it flee. Everything hinged on the Despot being alive
for this. “Whatever your spell is, you should cast it now!” Dania
yelled at him, and turned her attention to one of the deformed
things that was trying to disembowel her.