Arnlaug opened his mouth to answer, but Sven didn’t wait. He wiggled a finger, and a ray of heat sliced off the amber’s head. Arnlaug’s corpse collapsed into the snow.
As easy as that. I expected him to be better-prepared.
The wizards took several steps back, their faces masks of shock.
You’d think I’d just used morutmanon, Sven thought. Of course, no green could have done that, so I suppose they just don’t know what to expect next.
Something tickled his mind, telling him there must be more to it than that, but he pushed it aside, for now.
“These are Tortz’s terms. Leave or die. Tell your dux this town owes him no tribute. If he sends another army, he will lose another army. Is that understood?”
One of the two remaining auburns nodded her assent, but none of them spoke. She jerked her head, and the withdrawal began. The greens collected the body of their fallen leader, and the remnant of the Duxy of Flasten’s army returned from the direction they had come.
Not all of them reached the edge of Tortz’s reconnaissance. Some fell prey to traps, others to Heliotosis’ wind or Dinah’s Curse. Dissent and desertion would plague them on the way back. But most of them would return to Flasten Palus to tell Volund of their defeat at the hands of a single green.
A green who had killed the dux’s youngest son in cold blood without hesitation or remorse.
* * *
“Why did you not tell me he was Dux Feiglin’s son before I killed him?” Sven demanded.
Brand drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Would it have stayed your hand?”
Sven considered this, but Brand didn’t wait.
“You told me you were not in the habit of killing magocrats. I took you at your word.”
“I said I would be more forceful if they came back.” Sven frowned. “You did not expect me to be here when you returned, did you?”
Brand gave him a weak smile. “You should not have had a chance against the first attack, much less the second.”
“I should have lost the second battle. The snow was higher than the level of the recon stone’s scans, and they could not see the myst in the blizzard, so of course they blundered right into the traps as soon as they were under attack.”
Brand shook his head, expression serious. “I do not know where you learned these magical applications, Sven, but it is not right for you to wear the green any longer. You should leave Tortz before Dux Feiglin shows up to exact his revenge on you.”
“He has no legal grounds against me.”
Brand barked a mirthless laugh.
Sven sighed. “You’re right. That won’t stop him. Still, too many of his magocrats have seen my face.”
“You are my prisoner,” Brand said, his tone matter-of-fact. “You acted in Tortz’s defense under duress. I have been holding your apprentices hostage, and I have threatened to murder the people of your Protectorates if you do not obey me.”
Sven was in no mood for levity. “Very funny. I am sure they will believe … ”
“When was the last time I let you leave?” Brand asked, removing a flask from his cloak pocket. “And is not Erbark late returning?”
Sven stiffened and stared hard at Brand, searching for some sign that this was a joke. He glanced at the closed chest of metal-studded gloves three paces away.
Brand followed his eyes. “You know why that would be a bad idea, right?”
Sven glared at him. “Even if I am fast enough, even if you are bluffing, even if you have not used Elements to disperse the spells in them, killing you will not stop Flasten from coming.”
Brand smiled with satisfaction. “It is good that you remember that. If you kill me, who will you blame for all those wizards you murdered?” He waved the flask at Sven. “Drink.”
Sven snatched it and took a sip of the morutsen, tasted its sickly sweetness. “Volund will not care if I am your prisoner.”
“He will not,” Brand admitted with a shrug, “Unless you can convince him that you are more valuable to him alive than dead.”
“How do you expect me to do that?”
Brand snorted a laugh. “You can be very convincing when you try. He may hate you, but he can not help but respect the effectiveness of your traps.”
“I trust Volund with my knowledge even less than I do you.”
“So be it. The best you can do is to die without betraying your interest in the Protectorates. If you return there, Volund will hunt you and enslave them all just to avenge his son.”
Sven seethed. “And that is where you will be. If I tell the dux where you are, he will hurt the people of the Protectorates to punish you.”
“Yes, but do not think I will be idle. The defenses will give me time to train many, many adepts in the Protectorates. Even Dux Feiglin has limits to his power over his magocrats.” Brand smiled at him wickedly. “You did not really expect an oathbreaker like me to stay true to a promise like that, did you?”
“At least take Erika with you, Brand. You have nothing to fear from her, and as long as she is there, you can be assured I will not betray the Protectorates.”
Brand shook his head. “You missed your opportunity. She stays in Tortz.”
Sven stood up and tried to call the myst before remembering the morutsen.
“None of that, now,” Brand said, and a wave of Power threw Sven to the ground. “Goodbye, old friend.”
Then a fist of force hit Sven in the temple, and darkness descended.
* * *
What if Brand had told you he had been instructed to abandon you?
I would not have believed him. Why would my patrons treat me so cruelly?
You do not feed an entire tree into your fireplace. You must chop it into pieces first. You do not pour soup onto a log. You fashion the wood into a bowl first.
You were shaping me to be the Guardian.
You blamed yourself for your successes. You thought yourself worthy of them because of your intellect and talents. You were too proud to learn faith. Only a miracle could have convinced you. Until you lost everything, you would never appreciate anything, least of all the gifts we gave you.
Tortz was when I started to suspect. If the snow had not hidden the traps, or if Arnlaug had attacked from another direction, I would have been defeated.
Yes. Who commands the snow? Who grants the gift of wisdom? Who rules the waters? Had Volund led an attack from the north with a hundred gallons of torutsen, Marrish himself would have defended you that day. The gods wanted you to make use of the gifts they gave you. We wanted you to know that you are strong because of us.
I do not feel strong now.
No leader is stronger than those who share his vision.
I must make the Mar stronger.
* * *
“I have been ordered to kill you, Sven Takraf.” The voice was Katla’s.
Ordered by whom? Volund?
Still drugged with morutsen, he couldn’t summon the myst. He was as helpless as he had been in Tortz.
“I will not do that, even if it means Marrishland will burn. You must act quickly. The wizards are not here. It is too late for the Domus army to intercept the Flasten army.”
“Too late?” So the deadline passed while I was ill. This will be tricky.
Sven tried to raise his arm, but he couldn’t hold it up very high. “If Flasten’s army makes it here, they will not be able to take Domus. There are still thousands of people here to protect the city.”
“It will not be enough. You must make peace with Flasten before they reach Domus Palus, or all is lost.”
Now I can pass the amendment. Flasten will be removed.
“Have you nothing to say for yourself?”
Every one of my ten thousand mundanes will learn magic.
“It appears I will have to save you once again.”
Sven did not notice Katla vanish into the Tempest.
Chapter 22
“The Mass is the true reason the wizards maintain their
numbers. As the number of magic-wielding Mar rises, the Drakes become more aggressive. Legends say that it is the Mass that guides Dinah’s Children against us. Some say it becomes more powerful every time we activate the myst, like a magical leech. Its power spawns more Drakes, and these Drakes descend upon our towns to destroy them.”
— Nightfire Tradition,
Catalogue of Drakes
“Where is Eda Stormgul?” Sven shouted, irritable.
Here he was, healthy again, sitting upright by himself — at least, with the help of pillows — and he couldn’t go out and do anything with it. He had been wise enough that when Erika had said, “Go ahead, dress yourself if you want,” he had known he wouldn’t be able to. He hadn’t even tried. But it made him angry.
Horsa answered his question. “She went with Bui Beglin and his men as per your orders before your condition.”
Sven recalled the orders. “I did not order her to go. I told her to send someone.”
Horsa remained silent.
Then Sven remembered what he had planned to do with Bui ... Did my patrons plan this, too? His mind raced to trace what could happen. Twenty thousand trained wizards against twenty mundanes and a cyan.
Bui and his nineteen “guerrillas” will die. Eda will die with them.
He shrugged it off as a best-case scenario. Is obedience to me for the sake of revenge pleasing to my patrons? Sven knew he could not answer that. Sooner discern the motives of the Mass.
“Horsa, where is the army?”
Sven had used Horsa and another priest to create a new reconnaissance stone, one that could be transported. Horsa was adept at the use of Vitality, and the latest stone now showed a relief map of the city, every tree pulsing with life. Not quite as bright as the little figures that marked Drakes, wizards, mundanes and slaves, but with some distinction between them.
Horsa gestured. “Well within the Duxy of Flasten, as per your orders.” He frowned. “They would have had to turn back several days ago to be able to intercept Flasten.”
Sven waved off his obvious statement. “Where is Flasten?”
“At the border, here. Between them and us are about a hundred and fifty towns, most of which still have their residents. Very few people wanted to leave their homes.”
As expected, Sven thought. But they will slow Flasten.
He did the vectors in his head. The Domus army will reach Flasten Palus three days ahead of the Flasten army reaching here — and that is still a month away. Can I train enough mundanes between now and then? He wanted to hit himself. The Drakes would have been perfect to attack Flasten, if I could have brought them to bear. Instantly he saw a way he could have used the Drakes, but it was too late now.
“We need the Law,” Sven said. “Or we are defeated.”
“I did not quite catch that, Mardux.”
Sven cleared his throat. “Horsa, you need to go to the army. Can you rebuild this version?”
Horsa nodded.
“Good. Listen. We will not lose Domus Palus to Flasten’s army. You will take command, and this is what you will do ...”
* * *
Horsa Verifien wore a marsord out of devotion.
Since Nightfire had taken him from Rustiford so many years ago to be a slave, and then an apprentice, he had praised Marrish for enlightening him above everyone else. Having the Lord of Wind and Fire as his patron, plus his strength with Vitality, had earned his acceptance into the priesthood, and he had achieved the highest rank they allowed there.
A yellow cloak meant one was a spokesperson for a red, but if there was glory, it all went to the red. Then again, if there was trouble, the red took the blame.
He was as big as Erbark Lasik — in fact, they were cousins — but where Erbark had black hair, Horsa had dark brown. Where Erbark had muscles of steel, Horsa had muscles like rivers. Horsa was devoted to Marrish and the priesthood, and he quietly wielded great influence in that sphere. Horsa doubted even Sven suspected his role in convincing the priests to swear allegiance to him when he took the Chair. Horsa had hoped it would delay the bloodshed between Mar longer than this, but now he held hope that it would save more Mar in the long term than letting Volund have his way.
Upon receiving the Mardux’s orders, he teleported to the leading edge of the army, certain the plan proposed by his Mardux would be enough to save Domus Palus.
* * *
That afternoon, Erika helped Sven to the Council with a frown on her face. He smiled and assured her he would return directly to bed after the meeting.
Dux Gruber Ratsell of Wasfal was there. Duxes Yver Verlren of Piljerka and Borya Zaghaf of Skrem were there — if only because they had no place else to go. Dux Wolber Verden was not there — Flasten’s army was too close to Gunne Palus for him to be away from his army. Duxess Glyda Zaun did not put in an appearance. Since the battle at Skrem Palus, her words that this was an inter-duxy fight no matter how you twisted it had been proven true, and she would not budge from the Bastion at Pidel Palus. Dux Volund Feiglen, though invited, had refused to come.
“Fellow weards,” Sven told the Council. “The Dux of Flasten has committed an egregious sin against the Duxy of Skrem. Even now his army comes through the Duxy of Gunne. Gunne has approved the following decree, which requires only a simple majority: The Dux of Flasten is a traitor for his attack on the Duxy of Skrem and subsequent invasion of the Duxy of Gunne. His lands, title and name are to revert to the Mardux’s authority until such time as this Council agrees Flasten should exist again.
“I have signed this document, and I ask all of you to, as well.”
They did, for what reasons Sven could only guess. But Borya’s pen nearly tore the paper, and Yver was only slightly less emphatic. Gruber looked up as he signed.
“This does not yet give you the votes you need to create your adepts.”
“Pidel’s absence in the previous trouble with the Drakes was marked,” Sven said. “The duxy’s lack of involvement to save the Duxy of Piljerka is reminiscent of the fall of the Duxy of Despar. I make no accusations against the duxess. I merely note that her isolationism is hardly in the interest of the Mar. The following writ, also signed by Gunne already, suspends her seat on the Council until she returns to Domus Palus.”
“You get your unanimous vote,” Gruber said. “Every duxy is involved in this except Pidel, which is too far south now, and Wasfal, which will certainly never be involved. Why should I vote in favor of stripping Pidel of her rights? Then I will be giving up my own.”
In answer, Sven motioned the three duxes to join him at the reconnaissance stone.
“I have not told anyone else about this,” he said, pointing to the area north of Domus Palus. “We had focused our efforts south and east, which makes the stone more powerful. Routinely, though, I do a sweep to the north.”
“The Mass,” Yver whispered.
Sven nodded, redirected the myst. To the north, less than four hundred miles away, was a sea of Drake life. It extended off the map.
“We must make the adepts,” Sven said quietly. “The Mass approaches.”
“We must make peace with Flasten,” Gruber said, his voice shaking.
Skrem shook his head. “Never!”
Gruber did not seem to notice. “We need his wizards to defend Domus Palus!”
Sven displayed the writ for Wasfal and held out a quill. “Sign this, and we will have more magic-wielders in Domus than exist in the rest of Marrishland.”
In the light of tens of thousands of invading Drakes, the Dux of Wasfal stripped the Duxess of Pidel of her Council seat, to save Marrishland from a threat that didn’t exist.
Falsified intelligence is more dangerous than no intelligence at all, Sven thought. With luck, Wasfal and others who might be my enemies will not recognize the deception until the adepts are too numerous and useful to destroy.
No single recon spell could stretch four hundred miles. Sven would have had to set up an entire network of recon stones in the Fens of Reur to se
e across them.
Reconnaissance can be falsified on either end of the spell.
On the map, the imaginary Mass crept forward.
* * *
In the Fens of Reur, the real Mass crept forward.
Riding on a platform on top of a striped guer — one of the largest species of guer — Katla felt like the tiniest speck of myst in Marrishland. The Wave Commander, a jabber guer, stood near her, watching the army pulse below them. He had long since gotten over the novelty of having her there.
Despite herself, she looked back over her shoulder. Of course she could not see the Second Wave. It was more than a span behind them, and east besides — the First Wave stripped the land of everything as it marched south. But it was coming. She had seen it form, and the Third and Fourth Waves. She stared back ahead, trying to convince herself she was still in control. They had not let her talk to the Delegates yet.
You had better get those wizards back to the capital, Sven!
It was the only hope the Mar had of surviving, and even with her brother in charge of the forces there, she knew it was a dim one.
So many will die in this war — Drakes, mundanes and magocrats. By Seruvus, it was not supposed to come to this!
* * *
Bui, Eda and the others from Tortz hid in trees on the edge of Flasten’s army, well above anyone’s line of sight. Like any Mar army, this one stretched and compacted like a snake’s belly as it moved through the swamp. Occasionally, several dozen greens would drift far to one side and then trickle back in.
Slowly but surely, five were headed their way.
Bui waved two fingers at Eda, who passed the signal around to the other side.
Two minutes.
They slowly counted to one hundred twenty, until the five were below them, and then, with a holler, they pounced on the wizards. Eda countered the few spells that would have been effective at such close range as knives flashed and blood spurted.
The five wizards never stood up again.
Quietly, the mundanes stripped the wizards of cloaks, gloves, boots and rations, and then they disappeared into the swamp.
* * *
War.
The word reverberated off the trees. It flowed with the rivers. The mud sucked it up, and konig worms ate it, infected the Drakes, and they knew of it. And as the Mar rediscovered the power they had unleashed, the Mass, dark and sinister, crept south toward Domus Palus.