War of Shadows (51 page)

Blaine jumped back, and Kestel closed from the opposite side, careful not to get close to Tormod Solveig lest her amulet blunt his powers. For a moment, the
divi
’s power dropped out, as if a curtain of steel had fallen between it and them. It lunged at Kestel, and she danced out of its reach, releasing it from the grip of her null amulet.

The monster beckoned, and the ghosts wavered, torn between Solveig’s call to them and the creature’s infernal power. Again, Blaine ran forward, deflecting the power of the
divi
’s call. When the monster came at him, Blaine scrambled
backward as Kestel ran forward, and the null amulet broke the
divi
’s hold on the ghosts, which had the good sense to disappear. Kestel and Blaine both fell back as the
divi
roared in rage.

Solveig muttered under his breath, and his hands wove a complex pattern in the air. The monster took a step backward, then dove forward, and it was Solveig who was forced back to avoid the creature’s deadly claws. All around Solveig, the ghosts faded in and out, as if torn between the mortal master who called them from slumber and the beast that demanded their allegiance.

Blaine staggered from the flow of magic, but his amulet’s protections deflected the worst of it. He felt the storm of magic surge toward them, power he was certain meant to kill. The magic was deflected when it came within range of his charm. Blaine steeled himself to feel the magic like a body blow, but his charm held, letting the wild power slide away from him and ricochet toward the monster. It was impossible to gauge surprise on the creature’s inhuman features, but the thing fell back several steps, and its form wavered, as if crippled by its own magic.

“Now!” Blaine shouted to Solveig as he and Kestel threw themselves out of the way. Tormod Solveig’s power swelled, and the ghost tide rushed toward the creature, sweeping it back toward the darkness. Blaine took back his position, so that the power echoed between him and the monster, magnifying the damage of Solveig’s intent. The monster roared and shrieked as the ghosts pushed it into the darkness, and then the rift closed behind it, leaving only a patch of scorched ground in its wake.

Blaine wavered on his feet, and the tide of spectral warriors drew back. Kestel grabbed his arm, steadying him and extending the protection of her null amulet to shield him.

“Thank you,” Tormod Solveig said. “I could not have fought the
divi
without help—at least, not without great cost.”

“Don’t let me stand in your way,” Blaine said with a weary grin. “Go get those bastards.” He stepped aside, and Solveig and his ghostly army swept by.

“
That’s
a
divi
?” Kestel asked, eyes wide. “Quintrel controls that?”

Blaine nodded tiredly. “More likely, it controls Quintrel. I have the feeling that we haven’t seen the last of it.”

Piran ran up to them, anger and worry clear in his face. “You all right, mate?”

“Not exactly,” Blaine replied, “but there’s no helping it.”

That was not entirely the truth. Blaine expected that being in the presence of magic would take its toll. He did not expect that he would be burning up with fever in a wind as cold as any on Edgeland. Nor did he think his head would swim and pound as if he had been dashed against the rocks, or that his blood would feel ready to boil while he labored for breath and struggled for the energy to move, let alone fight. It was growing rapidly clear that if he did not die in battle, magic itself would do the job.

Blaine’s soldiers, having been warned of the
talishte
attack and the Solveigs’ likely offensive, saw their chance and took it. Roaring like madmen, the soldiers swarmed forward, setting about mercilessly with swords and axes and descending on their panicked opponents like hornets.

Borya and Desya rode at the front, standing in their stirrups, howling like wolves. Borya’s bow loosed arrow after arrow, firing into the fleeing Lysander ranks. Desya’s bullwhip snapped from side to side, herding the enemy soldiers into retreat. The sharp metal tip set in Desya’s whip dug deep into flesh when it struck, opening deep gashes and pulling strips of skin away with it when he cracked the leather free.

Blaine grasped the magic-deflecting amulet that hung
around his neck, wishing that it could do more, frightened to think about what a toll Tormod’s sorcery and the
divi
’s attack would have taken without the charm. He felt a sudden quiet descend on him, as if someone had covered him with a large glass box that shut out sound and magic. He knew the respite could not last long, but while it did, his strength was replenished. Beneath it all, he felt his
kruvgaldur
bond to Penhallow like a thin, strong cord, shoring up his strength.

A few breaths later, the roar of battle returned, but by then, Blaine had regained his footing and enough stamina to rejoin the fight. All around him, soldiers cheered as they harried the enemy, excited that their fortunes had finally changed.

“What in Raka is going on?” Piran asked, pointing.

Amid the milling chaos of battle, half of Lysander’s army appeared to be in full retreat. Archers fired sporadically at
talishte
, who for the most part easily dodged their arrows, only to swoop down again like raptors and snatch an officer from his horse. Soldiers shouted curses and shook their fists at the sky, or ran enraged at the enemy, while others made a hasty retreat toward the rear lines. Those officers who remained, mostly on foot, shouted in vain to regain control of their troops.

“They’re running,” Kestel said.

Blaine shook his head. “No, look. They’re moving in an orderly retreat, watch them.”

Kestel frowned. “Whatever their commander’s doing, no one else seemed to expect it.”

Blaine grinned. “Maybe not, but it opens a door for us. Let’s go!” he shouted, rallying his soldiers to surge forward, giving chase to Lysander’s retreating forces.

Blaine lost track of the candlemarks as they fought their way through the chaos. He was sticky with blood, covered in gore, but most of it was not his own. When the mercenaries
retreated, they left a hole in the line between Lysander’s army and Rostivan’s troops. And before the mistake could be remedied, Blaine and Niklas sent their armies into the breach to make the most of it.

For the first time that day, Blaine let himself think about Carr. He had given clear orders that Quintrel was his to deal with, no matter what the mages had to do to shut down the man’s magic. Carr would be avenged. After all they had endured, all that the battle had cost, Blaine intended to make Quintrel pay.

Verner’s army stormed in along with Blaine’s soldiers, their energy renewed by the unexpected stroke of luck. Blaine’s troops rallied, despite being weary and wounded from days on the field. In the forefront, Rinka and Tormod Solveig cut a swath through the attackers as they ushered wave upon wave of the angry dead into the fight, enabling them to get their vengeance at last.

All the while, Blaine had searched the throng of soldiers for Lysander. This morning, Lysander might have expected an easy victory. Now, with his mercenaries in retreat and his army in disarray, hounded by the living, dead, and undead, Lysander would be lucky to secure a quick death.

It would be relatively easy for Geir or one of the
talishte
to snatch Lysander into the air and behead him, but that would make Lysander into a martyr, potentially a rallying point against those who would destroy the
talishte
. Blaine knew that his undead allies had endured enough at the hands of mortals without adding more to the legends to feed the fire.

Still, he was taken aback when Geir dropped down suddenly in front of him, Karstan Lysander firmly in his grip. Geir threw the black-clad warlord down so that Lysander landed on his
hands and knees in front of Blaine. Kestel and Piran came to stand behind him, and Geir made no move to leave.

Lysander was weaponless and battered. Blood-spattered and bearing the gashes and bruises of battle, he nonetheless drew himself up to kneel with a straight back, head held high.

We all have parts to play
, Blaine thought.
And play them we must
.

He withdrew his sword and moved to stand in front of Lysander. Unlike Quintrel, Blaine had no personal grievance against Lysander. His soldiers had fought admirably, and his strategies had been sound.

“Do you yield?” Blaine asked, his sword visible but not yet threatening.

Lysander regarded him with a baleful gaze. “What choice do I have?” He spat to the side. “I yield.”

“Will you swear fealty, pledging your sword and loyalty to the House of Glenreith?” Blaine asked. He expected Lysander’s answer, but his own sense of honor required him to ask.

“Go to Raka. I’m no man’s liegeman.” Lysander replied.

“Isn’t it worth your life to swear fealty, man?” Piran asked.

Lysander glared at them both. “Torven take your souls. I’d rather die now than pledge my allegiance to any man.”

“As you wish,” Blaine replied. With one swift stroke, his sword parted Lysander’s head from his body. When the body fell, a glass orb on a leather strap slipped from around his neck. The orb gave a faint, stuttering flicker, and Blaine ground it under the heel of his boot into dust.

Piran snatched up the fallen head and held it aloft by its hair. “Unless you want the fate of your dead lord, best you fall on your knees and confess allegiance,” he shouted.

Only a remnant was left of Lysander’s crack troops. Blaine
estimated that a few hundred enemy soldiers remained, perhaps fewer. Almost to a man, Lysander’s troops knelt. Some fell to their knees and others bent grudgingly, but to Blaine’s relief, only a small fraction preferred death to fealty.

Rikard and Leiv caught up to Blaine. Trying to minimize the impact of their magic on him, they had kept their distance during the battle. Both were red in the face from running, and despite the cold, Rikard mopped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his robe.

“Can you bewitch the captives, make sure there are no surprises?” Blaine asked.

Rikard nodded. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” He glanced at the kneeling men. “I assume your soldiers will take precautions?”

Blaine motioned to a nearby captain. “March the captives behind the lines, build a stockade, and lock them up,” he ordered. “Mage Rikard and Mage Leiv will keep them from causing trouble. We’ll deal with them later.”

The captain eyed the mages with suspicion, but nodded. “Aye, sir.” He shouted for his men to surround the captives and begin tying their hands with their belts.

Rikard turned back to Blaine. “I’ll magick them once we’re clear of you… just in case.”

Blaine nodded his assent and returned his attention to the battle.

The Solveigs had gone into a full assault on what remained of Rostivan’s line as Verner’s troops chased down strays from Lysander’s army. Blaine’s gaze sought the horizon, and Kestel moved up next to him.

“It’s Quintrel you want,” she said, watching his face.

Blaine nodded. “I can’t bring Carr back, but I can avenge him.”

Geir slipped up beside them. “I don’t think you’ll have long
to wait,” he said, a nod of his head indicating the direction of Rostivan’s army. “They seem to be collapsing.” He grinned, exposing the tips of his eyeteeth. “Nidhud spared me a few of his men. The Knights were mage-warriors, after all, and they hosted Quintrel’s group in Valshoa long enough to get to know them. They’ll help contain whatever Quintrel’s mages throw at them, and tamp down the worst of it.”

Blaine glanced at Geir. “Is everything ready at Mirdalur?” he asked.

Geir nodded. “Waiting for you.” He shrugged. “Not that there haven’t been a few bumps in the road, but we’ve gotten past them.”

From the way Geir said it, Blaine was certain that the obstacles had been far greater than ‘bumps,’ but he let it go.

“Like?” Kestel asked.

Geir shrugged. “Some of Reese’s brood decided to take this personally. Seems they’ve thrown their lot in with the other side—not a surprise, but hardly a welcome addition.”

“You held them off?”

“Yes. But we could have done without the aggravation.” Geir paused. “When you’re finished here, I’m to bring you directly to Mirdalur. My orders, from Penhallow and Dolan.”

Blaine managed a quiet chuckle. “Good enough. We wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

The battle shifted, and Blaine followed Geir’s gaze. The Solveigs’ army drove straight to the heart of Rostivan’s forces. Niklas and Traher Voss followed with their troops, offering no quarter as they slashed a path through the broken line.

“Let’s go. I want to be there when it falls apart,” he said.

Blaine sent runners to Niklas with an update of what had happened, modifying the battle plan and providing new orders for the altered situation. He rallied his men, and they headed
at a run for the action. Kestel, Piran, and Geir stuck close to Blaine, and he suspected that they could see the toll the battle had taken on him.

He felt worn and hard used. Tormod’s magic, even at a distance, was a persistent drain. His fever had returned, and Blaine knew that nothing the healers could do would remedy it. Yet beneath the fatigue, Blaine could feel another presence, a silent strength, helping to shore up his defenses.

Penhallow. The
kruvgaldur.
Very well. I’ll take help wherever I can get it
, he thought, with a silent word of thanks for the bond that connected him to the
talishte
’s distant thoughts and immortal strength.

Stubbornness and rage drove him on over his body’s protests. Carr’s savaged face and battered body haunted his dreams, and now that Quintrel was nearly within his grasp, Blaine intended to have his revenge.

Neither Rostivan nor Quintrel was going to give in easily. Blaine’s soldiers came pouring in behind Niklas’s troops, joining their comrades with an earsplitting battle cry. With fresh soldiers swelling their ranks, Niklas’s soldiers and Voss’s mercenaries fought with new energy, leaving Rostivan’s men no hope of reversing their fate and nowhere to run.