Magician's End

  Bethany tossed Martin an oversized nightshirt, belonging to Lily’s father, most likely, and said, ‘Get some sleep. If you wake for the evening meal, fine; otherwise I’ll let you sleep through.’

  ‘Don’t let me sleep through the night.’

  She came over and sat on the side of the bed. ‘As much as I’ve missed you, my darling, I think rest is what you need most now.’

  Bethany wasn’t clear at which precise point Martin had fallen asleep, but he was soundly sleeping by the end of her sentence. She shook her head, torn between slipping between the sheets with him and letting him rest, then let caution overrule desire. He needed whatever respite he could seize during this time in Ylith. Tomorrow he would undoubtedly be away on the Crown’s errand, and she wished him to be in possession of all his wits and resources.

  As she started to rise, he reached up and grabbed her belt, yanking her back into bed. She shrieked in surprise. Wrapping his arms around her, he whispered in her ear, ‘I’m not that tired.’

  The next morning it was a very refreshed if not entirely rested Martin who came down to break fast. He was pleased to see that the mayor had returned and quickly got brought up to date on conditions north of Ylith. Captain Bolton and Sergeant Oaks were already at the table. Martin looked around them and said, ‘I’m very pleased to see how well you’ve all done since I left.’

  The mayor said, ‘We try. Fishing is reasonable, given how far out the boats go – there are a great many warships still on the water – but with all the people who fled when the Keshians arrived, we don’t have as many mouths to feed as before the war.’ He fell silent for a second and Martin realized he was also considering those who had died. ‘Still,’ he added brightly, ‘we’re starting to see some farm produce coming into the city. Higher-than-usual prices have lured farmers previously reluctant to venture from home during the fighting, and while the produce is not of highest quality, it suffices.’

  ‘Some of the townswomen had vegetable gardens,’ said Lily. ‘Rather than merely store the produce for next winter, they’re selling it at market on Sixthday.’

  ‘We get along,’ said the mayor.

  ‘Well, if this peace lasts, we’ll see a return to normality, at least in Yabon,’ said Martin.

  ‘What of the Far Coast?’ asked the mayor.

  ‘We don’t know. Earl Robert—’ he glanced at Bethany whose expression turned sombre at mention of her father, ‘—and the other western lords are with Prince Edward. Until the new king is chosen, I don’t see any of them coming back.

  ‘I was told Carse and Tulan held fast as Crydee fell, so we can hope they’re still secured, but cut off from communication.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ said Captain Bolton.

  Martin paused, then asked, ‘What about the deployment of the Keshians along this front?’

  Bolton rose from the table and returned with a map. ‘They’re dug in along a line from here—’ he pointed to a game trail in the forest to the south of the road to Crydee, ‘—to here: just draw a line north and south a bit from their barricade at the rise.’ His finger stopped at another point a mile north of the road. ‘I think it’s for show, as if they were concerned we might mount some sort of offensive back into Crydee. They patrol, but their hearts aren’t in it.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Sergeant Oaks.

  ‘They send one patrol to the south in the morning and it returns by lunch. Then, after lunch, they send the same patrol to the north and it’s back by nightfall.’ He laughed. ‘We can see them from the western wall. It’s got so predicable my men place bets on which Keshians get sent out. My men are convinced it’s some sort of punishment duty, as the patrollers look either dejected or annoyed when picked. My lads have even given them names. There’s Fatty, Droopy, Thunder Gut—’

  ‘Thunder Gut?’ asked Martin.

  Bolton grinned. ‘Apparently he can fart so loud you can hear him on the wall.’

  ‘No? Really! That’s a quarter mile away!’

  Oaks didn’t look convinced. ‘I don’t know about the names, but soldiers get good at reading the mood of other soldiers. If they’re sending out patrols as a matter of punishment, the captain’s right; they’re doing it for show.’

  Martin thought about this, then said, ‘I had been instructed by Lord James and his grandson that a cautious approach was needed, a discreet bribe to get a small squad across the frontier on the excuse of needing to return to Crydee to recover some family heirlooms, as if any might not have been plundered already. I always thought a better approach would be for the Keshians to not know we crossed the line at all.’

  ‘That should be easy enough if you’re careful, Martin,’ said Bolton. ‘If you sneak out at night down the coast toward the Free Cities, just shy of the Keshians’ first checkpoint on the road to Natal, lie low for the day, then head up into the woodlands and find a game trail.’ He shrugged.

  ‘I think I have a better idea,’ said Martin. ‘How far behind the lines does that old bolt-hole from the castle extend?’

  Bolton said, ‘Only a few dozen yards, really. It’s awfully close to the Keshian line, Martin.’

  ‘But if we come out after their last patrol of the day has returned to their camp, and we’re quiet enough, we can loop around behind their camp and be halfway up the mountain by sunrise.’

  ‘If those elves up there let you get that close,’ said Bolton. ‘We heard a rumour that a Keshian patrol got too close to their city and were routed. I don’t know how true that is. We heard it from a refugee from Walinor, up in the foothills. He and his family managed to get out when the Keshians turned south towards Hu-sh. Before they left, he said they sent that patrol up into the Grey Towers, and not many of them came back. A few of the Keshian soldiers complained about their commander’s decisions in earshot of some of the townspeople before they left for Hu-sh.’ He looked at Martin and added, ‘It’s your mission, Highness, and it’s a bold plan.’ He smiled. ‘Glad it’s you climbing that pile of rocks, and not me.’

  ‘You’ll have your hands full enough for a while, George. I suspect it’s going to be some months before the Duke of Yabon or any of his vassals return. You’re going to be in command of what’s left of the military for all of Yabon.’

  ‘Not that it’s much,’ said Bolton. ‘I can barely scrape together a decent-sized patrol once a week to ride up to LaMut. We only get word from Yabon through LaMut. The Hadati tribes along the northern foothills keep things pretty peaceful up there: they’re not kind to renegades trading with the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, but banditry along the roads south of there is starting to be a problem.’

  ‘We’ll see what we can do,’ said Martin, ‘once I get back.’

  ‘You’re not taking all the lads,’ said Oaks. ‘We could take a small patrol up to Yabon and back. Show the colours, as it were.’

  Martin calculated. ‘I’ve hunted in those mountains since I was a boy.’

  A slight clearing of her throat from Bethany told Martin what she thought of that, given that he was a terrible bowman.

  ‘I have hunted in the Grey Towers from the Crydee side all my life.’ He turned to Oaks. ‘Ignore her.’

  ‘Ignoring the lady, Highness,’ said Oaks, his stoic demeanour barely hiding his amusement.

  ‘I’m not taking any of your men, Oaks. They’re good soldiers, but none of them are mountain-trained.’ Turning to Bolton, Martin said, ‘Get me four of your best hunters or trackers, George. I want lads who know how to move through the woods quietly.’

  Bolton nodded and stood up. ‘Best we go at sunset tonight.’

  Bethany’s expression revealed she was not happy, but she said nothing.

  Martin said, ‘It was suggested we bribe the Keshians to slip past their lines, but I’d rather as few people as possible know what we’re doing. That bolt-hole from the old keep is on the other side of the line.’

  Bolton said, ‘That side, but barely.’

  ‘And if we come out after
their last patrol heads back to the camp by the road …?’

  ‘That assumes they’re being sloppy and not leaving pickets out along the line, Highness,’ said Sergeant Oaks.

  Captain Bolton said, ‘They’ve grown lax. My best appraisal is that they’re bored and waiting for orders.’

  ‘To do what?’ wondered Martin aloud.

  Bolton shrugged. ‘Gods know, Highness. I don’t. None of this makes sense.’

  Martin explained in brief what Lord James had told the brothers about the pointlessness of the war.

  When he finished, Bolton nodded. ‘Well, if the object of the exercise was to throw the region into total chaos, they’ve succeeded. From Yabon City to LaMut, we’ve barely got five hundred of what could reasonably be called fighting men. Mostly old veterans and boys, some town militia who didn’t go marching off under the Duke of Yabon’s banner, and our little garrison here; and, as I’ve said, I’ve barely enough here to mount a decent patrol. Our lads are either watching the Keshians, or getting ready to escort farmers to the city when the mayor says it’s time. The Keshians have also withdrawn the heart of their forces. After that Premier fellow, the highest-ranking soldier I’ve seen up on that barricade when I’ve ridden close, appears to be some sort of sergeant of militia.’ Bolton let out a slow breath. ‘I hope you don’t think me presumptuous, Highness, but I think with your own detachment and the garrison here, we could probably roll over that line up on the ridge.’

  Martin nodded. ‘No doubt, but to what end?’ He looked at the map as if trying to see something he’d missed and spoke almost to himself. ‘We might be able to retake Crydee if we hit them hard and fast and they haven’t rebuilt what I destroyed on the way out. But …’ He looked at the others. ‘Our countryside is now populated with Keshians, most of whom I suspect do not speak the King’s Tongue. Shall we ride out, greet them as new subjects and inform them of when the tax roll will be posted and where to gather to give their due to their new lords? If we get true peace with Kesh, it will be years before we hold anything, truly, north of Carse. We can repopulate Crydee Keep and Jonril’s garrison, but beyond that … My grandfather never got around to rebuilding the old garrison at Barran.’ He slowly shook his head. ‘Even if we could hold Crydee and Jonril, everything north of Carse will be as wild as the Northlands, I fear, for years to come.’

  He glanced at the faces around him, and smiled. ‘We’ll worry about retaking old territories some other time. Right now we’ve got to find out what’s going on up in those mountains, and I think our best chance to get up there quickly will be to come out of the old keep and straight across the road behind the Keshian line and take the old West Rim game trail.’

  He stood up. ‘We’ll head up to the old fortress and rest. After their last evening patrol we’ll head out of the bolt-hole, make straight across the western road and up into the hills. By midnight we’ll be high enough above their position that they’ll never know we passed by.’

  Bethany looked at Martin and said, ‘And …?’

  Martin smiled and said, ‘Oaks, I’m leaving you here as second to Captain Bolton. George, find those lads I need and have them meet me at the old keep in an hour.’

  Bethany smiled, turned and walked towards the stairs without further comment. Martin attempted to look oblivious as he waited for what he hoped would be an appropriate moment to pass; then Bolton said, ‘Sorry, Highness, but it’s probably going to take two hours to organize the scouting party.’

  ‘Well,’ said Martin, following Bethany. ‘Two hours, then.’

  He hurried up the back stairs while Bolton and Oaks stifled their laughter.

  • CHAPTER FIVE •

  E’bar

  MARTIN SIGNALLED.

  The four hunters behind him halted. They were two hours past the Keshian roadblock on the highway between Ylith and Crydee. They had easily passed to the west of that position and moved quickly into the foothills of the Grey Towers mountains. They had executed Martin’s plan without a hitch, crossing the King’s Road from Ylith to Crydee and getting high into the mountains. They made a cold camp there and rested until sunrise. Now they’d been hiking for several hours and Martin sensed something was amiss.

  He listened to a faint sound from behind them and indicated that the four hunters from Ylith should move to either side of the trail, out of sight. He moved as quietly as he could back the way they had just come. It was nearing noon, so there were few hiding places around the trail. The trees were not particularly dense here, but a few clumps of brush and some tightly packed large boles provided him with cover.

  Martin was perhaps half a dozen yards down the trail when a familiar voice said, ‘If I were a Keshian assassin, you’d be dead, my love.’

  Slowly turning, his expression one of exasperation, he said, ‘Beth?’

  She stepped out from behind a nearby tree trunk. ‘Congratulations on hearing me. I didn’t think you would after I caught up with you, two hours after you passed the roadblock.’

  Martin was still tired and already feeling the pressure of leadership. Now he felt close to rage at being disobeyed by the woman he loved. As if reading his mind, she said quietly, ‘Before you make a fool of yourself, listen. You don’t want these lads from Ylith thinking you can’t control a woman. Especially when them obeying you might be the difference between the success of this mission and death. I know you take your duties very seriously, Martin, but there are going to be times you’ll need to listen to me. I really didn’t mean to embarrass you.’

  Whispering through clenched teeth, he said, ‘Then why did you put me in this position, Beth?’

  ‘Because I love you, even though you’re an idiot at times.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘Of the five of you, you’re the only one who’s spent time on the west side of the Grey Towers. These men may be able hunters and trackers, but this is new territory for them. Odds are almost certain you’re the worst bowman and hunter in the band. You don’t have a tenth of my skill and knowledge. While you were studying history and language, my father and I were hunting from the Straits of Darkness to Elvandar.’

  Martin knew the last to be an exaggeration, but not by much, so he said nothing.

  She moved closer. ‘Martin, I love you with all my heart, but if I can keep you safe, I will do just that, no matter what orders you think I must follow. Now, do we understand each other?’

  ‘Beth—’ His tone left no doubt that at that moment there was no understanding, just a young man feeling betrayed and embarrassed.

  She cut him off. ‘Look, why are you following this trail?’

  He blinked, as if he didn’t understand the question. ‘Because it’s leading us up into the peaks, towards where the Star Elves have built their city.’

  ‘And you call yourself a student of history,’ she said softly.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘The Tsurani invasion. Surely you studied the maps.’

  ‘Of course I did …’ He let his voice fall off and his anger drained away as he realized what she was saying. ‘This is the crest trail, the false trail, isn’t it?’

  She nodded. ‘This trail ends five miles ahead at an impassable ravine. It’s why both the Kingdom nobles and the Natalese Rangers left it unguarded. You want the trail a half-mile downslope.’

  Feeling foolish, he said, ‘Thank you, but you could have reminded me back in Ylith.’

  ‘You’d just get lost somewhere else. We have many days of travel ahead, my love, and who knows what will be waiting for us the closer we get to those elves? Either Brendan or I would double your chances to survive, and admit it, I’m a better choice than Brendan; I’ve travelled these trails more and I’m a better archer.’

  Finally Martin turned, motioning for her to follow. He whistled and the four hunters from Ylith appeared from cover. ‘Tom, Jack, Will, and Edgar; Lady Bethany of Carse.’

  Tom and Jack were brothers, fourteen and fifteen years of age. They had been too young to fight when the Keshians had first arri
ved in Yabon, but were now keen to do their bit. Will looked to be in his fifties, with his grey hair and a sallow complexion, but his eyes were sharp and focused. Edgar was a slightly stout man with a bald pate, grey beard, dark eyes and the shoulders of a brawler. All held bows and moved like experienced hunters. Tom and Jack exchanged glances, but neither of them spoke.

  ‘She’ll be taking point,’ Martin told them. ‘Let’s go.’

  Beth said, ‘If memory serves, there’s a dry streambed ahead we can use to get downslope to the next trail.’ She spoke as if this was the expected route and no one said a word. The four hunters from Yabon might not know the young prince well enough to say for certain, but all of them were convinced he was in no mood for questions.

  Beth set off at a slow trot and the others followed in line.

  Days passed quietly. The forest above was thin as they followed the upper game trails. This part of the Grey Towers was below the timberline at the peaks, but still high enough that the foliage was less dense, hence less difficult to pass. It also made it easier to be seen if they weren’t careful, but Bethany was proving to be a skilled trail-breaker.

  Martin was still nursing his injured pride five days into the march, but it was fading as he was forced to admit her reasoning was borne out by the ease with which she led the party. Several times she negotiated them around difficult spots that would have confounded him, forcing him to double back and find another path.

  They ate trail rations, avoiding campfires at night, so this foray lacked any sense of the fun Martin and Bethany had known hunting with their fathers. There was a quiet urgency and earnestness about the mission that was more sobering than any admonition Martin could have made. Everyone knew lives were at stake, their own and others’.