Thinblade (64 page)

Both turned and fled, Rangle retreating back into the square toward the rubble of the collapsed palace wing and the giant into the storefront he’d just demolished. Alexander wanted to pursue them but he reminded himself that the battle mage may well have survived the confrontation with Kelvin and could still be coming for him. Alexander gave one last look toward the burning mound of broken stone and timber that only minutes ago had been his lavish quarters and silently asked the Maker to deliver Kelvin alive and whole from the rubble. He turned without a word and found his pack.

Chapter 52

“Let’s go.”

Alexander headed off down the street, drawing stares from the people he passed. It wasn’t five minutes before he heard the sound of galloping horses. He started looking for a way off the road when a platoon of palace guards rounded the corner and headed straight for him. The commander was Captain Sava.

“To the King!” he shouted fiercely to his men at the sight of Alexander.

Only moments later Alexander and his friends were surrounded by a protective cordon of loyal soldiers.

Captain Sava dismounted and saluted crisply, fist to heart. “Lord Alexander, we feared the worst when the north wing collapsed. The Regent has ordered …”

Alexander cut him off. “Have six of your men dismount. We need their horses. Six men will provide escort to the stables. The rest will begin searching for a giant about seven feet tall and maybe three hundred and fifty pounds, a wizard dressed in brown robes with a knife sticking out of his right shoulder, and another wizard about five and a half feet tall and dressed in black. Engage with superior numbers using archers or crossbows. They’re all extremely dangerous, especially the one in black. Finally, the Guild Mage may be buried in the rubble of the visitor’s wing. Summon what men you need to dig him out.”

Captain Sava didn’t hesitate. He ordered the nearest six men to dismount. Without taking a breath, he started assigning duties to the rest of his men. Only moments later Alexander and his companions were on horseback and racing through the streets of the city toward the stables. They arrived quickly with Captain Sava in the lead. The captain called out orders to make Alexander’s horses ready immediately. The stable master was a competent man who understood an occasional need for urgency. He didn’t ask questions but instead started barking commands to his stable hands and had Alexander’s group mounted on well-bred, well-trained steeds in minutes.

“Captain Sava, see that the Regent is aware of the events of this morning. I will return soon.” Alexander offered the man his hand.

Captain Sava took it with pride. “I will see to it myself. Safe journey, Lord Alexander.”

Jack led the way down the winding roads away from the central plateau and into the less affluent neighborhoods below. People stopped to look when they passed and whispered or pointed at Alexander. He didn’t pay any attention to them; instead he scanned for threats. He didn’t know what Phane might throw at him next and wanted to be sure that he saw it coming, whatever it was.

Soon they were out of the city and on the plains to the north of New Ruatha, riding hard toward the looming black mountain on the horizon that was Blackstone Keep. The road they followed looked as though it had once been well traveled but had long ago fallen into disuse and disrepair. An hour out of the city they slowed their pace to rest the horses. Blackstone Keep was a two-day ride even if it looked like it was only a few hours away. He had to assume that his enemies would be coming after him, so he felt a sense of urgency to cover more ground, to keep running, but he had to protect the horses. If they lost even one, it would slow them down more than anything else.

He was lost in thought when he heard Slyder overhead. He looked up to see the small-framed forest hawk circling high above. Isabel tipped her head back slightly and closed her eyes. Her shoulders tensed in alarm even before her piercing green eyes snapped open.

“Enemy to the north, maybe an hour’s ride. Looks like troops from Headwater. They’re spread out in a watch line for miles in each direction.”

Alexander reined in his horse and brought the big chestnut stallion to a stop, patting the side of his neck to reassure him.

“How thin is the line?” he asked.

“Squads of four every mile or so,” Isabel answered. “Just close enough to see the next link in the chain.”

Alexander was tired of running. He was tired of being hunted. And he was angry. The simple injustice of it gnawed at him. Phane wanted to rule the world, not to help make it a better place, not to heal people or bring nations together, not to prevent war or establish stability through just and moral law. He wanted to rule the world to placate his ego. He wanted to be more important than everybody else and he wanted everyone alive to know it. Petty ego. Self-aggrandizement. Narcissism.

Alexander stared at the silhouette of Blackstone Keep while his blood boiled at a low simmer. When the thought occurred to him, he almost laughed.

“Have you tried talking to your horse yet?” he asked Isabel.

She looked almost startled.

“No. In the excitement I forgot all about it,” she said. Her hand came up to the finely crafted animal-charm necklace around her neck.

“Give it a try. Ask your horse how she’s feeling. In fact, ask them all, if you can,” Alexander suggested.

She gave him a blank look for a moment. “I’m not sure how it works but I’ll try.” She placed her hand on the neck of her horse and closed her eyes. Alexander could see the aura of the necklace swell with the flow of magic.

When Isabel opened her eyes, she had a strange look on her face. “The mind of a horse is much different than the mind of a bird. I always felt some of Slyder’s cravings, instincts, and impulses when I was connected to him. It’s similar with the horses only they want entirely different things for completely different reasons. They’re all feeling fine and are good for several miles at a gallop, except they would like a drink of water sometime soon.”

Alexander smiled. “Good. Let’s find them some water and then we’re going to run that watch line. Isabel, call Slyder down here, please. I’d like him to carry a message north to Erik and his men. They should be in the vicinity of Blackstone Keep by now and I think we could use their help. How many men did it look like the enemy had in total?”

“I’d estimate almost a hundred, all on horseback and well armed,” she answered.

Alexander nodded in thought as he looked out over the desolate grassland. The last of winter was still hanging on here and the new starts hadn’t yet ventured forth, leaving the place looking bereft of life or purpose. The sky was a dull, monotone grey that looked like it went on in every direction forever. The position of the sun could not be discerned nor the fact that a sun even existed, for that matter. The daylight was even and lifeless through the indifference of the cloud cover. The air was still and just a few degrees below comfortable. The day matched Alexander’s mood.

“When we run the line, take what opportunity you get to kill any enemy you can without slowing to fight them. Once we’re through, we run for Blackstone Keep. Isabel, I need you to talk to the horses and tell them our plan. Let them know we’re going to need all of their speed and stamina. Also, while we ride, check on them from time to time to make sure we aren’t injuring any of them.”

She nodded and closed her eyes to talk to the animals. Slyder landed on her shoulder, looking at her quizzically.

Jack eased his horse forward and handed Alexander a note. “I took the liberty. Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Alexander read the note: “Being pursued—come south along road with haste to assist. Alexander Ruatha.” He nodded approval, rolled the slip of paper tightly and handed it to Isabel. She tied it to Slyder’s leg and sent him on his way. He gave one shriek when he took to wing and grew smaller against the grey backdrop as he ascended toward the clouds.

“We’ll walk our horses until we see the watch line, then we charge them.” Everyone nodded agreement. “Once we’re through and have some distance, we’ll slow to a steady gallop. When darkness falls, we’ll walk in the night along the road. The enemy probably knows we’re headed for Blackstone Keep. They also know we’ll be much harder to attack once we’re there. I doubt they’ll stop for dark tonight.”

It was midday when they crested a small rise in the low rolling grasslands and saw the squad not a mile away. Alexander urged his horse into a gallop. He saw the enemy become aware of them and heard a whistler arrow streak into the sky. To his left and right in the distance, he thought he could just see the stirrings of other men mounting up to give chase. He led his charge straight ahead. He was tired of being the defender. He knew from long hours of study that battle is decided by attack, not defense, that life itself is action, not passivity. He meant to take action. He meant to attack.

The four-man squad, seeing the charge, chose to meet it head-on. They came in a line at Alexander and his companions. Anatoly pulled up alongside Alexander and barked orders to Abigail and Isabel to form the second rank of a wedge formation and then to Lucky and Jack to form the third.

“At close bow range, break away from us and flank them,” he shouted.

They thundered across the rolling plain toward the four soldiers wielding long spears. Alexander drew his sword, and everything else faded away. The world narrowed to this moment. He was in a fight and he had a blade in his hand. Nothing else mattered.

He could hear the pounding of his heart even over the roar of the galloping horses and the rush of wind. When they closed the distance to thirty feet, Abigail and Jack on one side and Isabel and Lucky on the other broke away from Anatoly and Alexander, veering off at forty-five degree angles. Alexander fixed on his opponent. He could see the stubble on the man’s face and the grime in his stringy hair. The men on the left and right of the charging line simultaneously pitched backward off their horses with arrows protruding from their chests; Isabel and Abigail had drawn first blood.

Alexander smiled grimly at the look of uncertainty that ghosted across his opponent’s face. He didn’t give the fourth man a moment’s attention; he belonged to Anatoly, and Alexander knew that the man’s fate was already decided.

The space closed between them. The enemy’s spear came up for the strike.

The battle spanned the moment of a blink. Alexander’s opponent thrust forward with his spear. Alexander swept his sword vertically across his body from left to right, catching the blade of the enemy spear and driving the point past his right shoulder, tipped his blade over the haft of the spear just before his opponent passed on the right, then brought his blade horizontally at the level of the man’s neck and thrust forward hard. The man’s head came free and spun idly, forehead over neck nape. The corpse rode out from under its severed head before it remembered gravity’s pull and thudded to the ground.

Anatoly held his war axe in his right hand with the haft running down the side of his horse. He flipped it sideways just before the enemy struck, causing the point of the enemy’s spear to strike the side of the axe blade and glance wide across his body. The impact turned the spike on the back of Anatoly’s axe forward, bringing it into perfect position for a quick thrust into the man’s chest. Without missing a step, Anatoly lifted the man up and off his horse, then casually tipped his axe forward to let the man slide off the spike.

Alexander and his companions continued running toward Blackstone Keep. More whistler arrows rose into the sky shrieking the alarm to all of the soldiers stretched out along the watch line.

By midafternoon, the enemy had fully regrouped and were pursuing with reckless abandon. They didn’t seem to be concerned for their horses. Like a man in a footrace pours every last scrap of energy into the final stretch, the enemy ran their horses like tomorrow wouldn’t matter, but Alexander knew it would.

He kept a measured and steady pace, checking with Isabel regularly about the condition of the animals. They were still strong and eager to run, but Alexander knew that just one wrong step and they would be facing far too many enemy soldiers to defeat in a fight. He rode as cautiously as he could while still keeping the gap between them from closing too quickly.

When he looked back he imagined that the enemy force numbered at least a hundred. They were maybe twenty minutes behind and gaining slowly. He told himself he just had to make it until dark. Once they had the cover of night they would all have to slow to a walk at best or risk hobbling their horses. He knew the enemy wouldn’t stop. They could see their quarry. They had them on the run and they smelled blood. They would ride through the night but they didn’t have Alexander’s vision. He could see them coming. He could fight them at night like a man who can see fights the blind, with unfair advantage.

He chuckled at the thought of fairness in relation to a fight, remembering another lesson his father had taught him: The only fair fight is one you live to walk away from. There were no rules in the realm of violence except the most basic moral laws that governed the conditions under which violence was acceptable.

Once the threshold was reached, once it was decided that force was necessary to protect life, liberty, or property, then half measures and restraint were imaginary concepts best left to childish fantasy. Violence was a contest with death. The stakes were life itself. There were no rules worthy of being taken seriously in such a contest, only the singular, primordial command to survive.