Mage Hunter Omnibus (Complete 5 Book Series) Read online

  Watching the captain’s lips close once more, Guthrie got to his feet. “What is it?”

  For a moment Werner said not a thing, then he whispered, “I heard something.”

  Guthrie marched out to the other man and offered up his knife, the small weapon taken without a word. Then the sergeant slid his mace free of its belt loop. Both men stared back along the trail, but there was little to see as the path disappeared around a bend.

  Werner opened his mouth again.

  Then slammed it shut as a shadow grew in size near the curve in the trail. A shape separated itself from its hiding spot among the walls of stone, stepping into the light of the day from above. It was a cat, a mountain beast, nearly as large as a pony. Its fur was the color of frost and the creature hosted six legs, three on either side and bearing claws as long as spear heads.

  “A mountain cougar,” Guthrie whispered out of the side of his mouth. He had heard of the creatures for years, but had never seen one, always believing them to be legends. Now legend had become fact and the animal was padding its way forward slowly, stalking, its rough tongue slipping out to wipe at its mouth as if hungry.

  More troubling to the sergeant was the golden glow around the creature. Despite their size and extra limbs, mountain cougars were not known to be magical beasts. This monster had been summoned and set on the hunt. Ildra had done this, the wyrd woman wanting revenge for what Guthrie had done to her camp and her people, and for helping Werner to escape. The animal’s appearance explained why the Dartague had not come after the two Ursians. The barbarians were busy with the results of Guthrie’s magical fire, but Ildra had not wanted to be denied her vengeance, the woman using her magic on the big cat to put it on the Ursians’ trail.

  “Really wish we had a bow about now,” Werner said, moving a few feet to Guthrie’s right as the large mountain cat continued forward, its head sinking low as it glared from one of its prey to the other.

  Guthrie recognized what the captain was doing, putting space between the two of them. That way the cat could only attack one of them when it pounced, giving the other man a chance to attack.

  “Hiyah!” Werner shouted, raising his arms above his head.

  The cat stopped, its eyes locked on the older man.

  It seemed a foolish move, meant to draw the animal toward the captain, but Guthrie recognized this was the smart thing to do. He was the one with the larger, heavier weapon. He would need to be the one to provide the killing strike.

  The sergeant hefted his weapon, his grip tightening on its shaft as he slowly rose it to one side.

  Werner stamped at the ground, slashing at air with the dagger. “Come on, you damn beast! Get it over with!”

  The big cat leaned back, almost sitting on its haunches. It tilted its head to one side, showing confusion.

  Then it sprang.

  The animal arched through the air, forward claws outstretched and reaching for the captain. Werner braced his boots, one arm up across his chest to protect himself as much as possible, the dagger out to one side and ready to sweep in for a stab.

  The beast was fast, faster than Guthrie, but he had an edge, one he had never noticed before now. The light of magic that enveloped the animal in his vision extended slightly ahead of the cat, showing where it would land, where it would strike. It was but a matter of seconds, less than seconds, but Guthrie was given some little foresight to where the beast would travel and land.

  Using both hands, he swung his iron-tipped mace with as much might as he could muster, the studded black ball of the weapon driving around from the sergeant’s side.

  The claws were almost to the captain, within inches of tearing into his raised arm. The mace came across like a hammer, smashing into the monster’s snout, cracking bone and cartilage and spewing blood. Caterwauling, the great animal was thrust aside as if struck by a bolt of lightening, slamming into the wall of stone across from Guthrie before falling to the ravine’s floor.

  The two men did not give the animal time to recover from its shock and wounding. They pounced, much like the cat had done, Werner’s dagger stabbing deep into the creature’s side while the sergeant’s mace swung down from upon high to crack into the thing’s skull. There was a terrible crunching sound and the cat wailed again, yet it still had plenty of life in it. A claw flashed out, catching Werner in the chest and throwing the captain back.

  Guthrie spared no time to look to his companion. Werner might be dead or seriously wounded, but if the mountain beast was not felled soon, both men would perish.

  Now laying on its side, the cat leaned back its crumbled head, blood spilling down into its eyes as it looked up with a gaze of hurt and pain.

  But no pity could be shown.

  The mace came up, then slammed down once more onto the animal’s skull. Another crunching noise followed as the black iron ball sank deep within the brains of the beast. A paw rose up as if to brush at the sergeant, then quivered and dropped.

  Panting, Guthrie eased back from the creature and stared at it. The thing did not move. Its chest did not rise, nor was there any other sign of life.

  A chuckled greeted the sergeant’s back.

  Guthrie turned.

  Captain Werner lay sprawled on his back, the man rubbing at a fresh dent and three long scratches to the chest plate of his armor. He continued to laugh. “Damn thing almost had me there. I thought it was going to take off my head for sure.”

  Offering a brief chuckle himself, Guthrie helped his comrade to his feet.

  Moving toward the dead cat, Werner retrieved the sergeant’s dagger still sticking out of the beast. Wiping the blade clean on the animal’s fur, he looked to Guthrie, a glint in the older man’s eye. “At least we’ve got enough meat to last us a while.”

  Looking about, Guthrie sighed and his shoulder’s drooped. He was looking for their horse. In all the trouble the steed had fled, likely frightened by the sight and smell of the mountain cougar. “Get busy carving those steaks, and I’ll see if I can round up our horse.”

  The next few hours were spent at work. Guthrie had to backtrack more than a mile along their trail to find their riding animal, the beast now docile. Once back in camp, the sergeant went to work with the captain in making the cougar’s remains into a meal. They cooked as much meat as they believed they could carry, wrapping their future meals within the horse blanket.

  “Looks like we’ll be riding bareback for a while,” Werner pointed out.

  By then it was early afternoon. The men discussed their options, finally deciding to continue the way they had been traveling. Going back was not an option, the dangers presented by the Dartague always present. Going forward, they decided to keep their eyes open for more potential threats. The Dartague were not the only dangers in the mountains, and Guthrie believed it not impossible Ildra could send another assassin their way, human or otherwise.

  When they set out, Werner rode on the back of the horse, his legs hanging to either side while Guthrie held the reins and gently pulled the creature and rider along through the narrow pathway.

  They traveled for hours, shadows spreading upon them as the evening came early within the mountains and the confines of the ravine they traveled. As best they could tell, their path had turned to their left, taking them further west.

  Before the night fell, the trail before them opened up into a wider valley. There were lesser mountains here, little more than rocky hills, but they spread all around except directly ahead where dark evergreens grew in numbers. Making their way toward the trees, Guthrie paused long enough to climb up upon a ridge in hopes of being able to better see what lay ahead of them.

  The sergeant climbed down from the hillside with a grin on his lips.

  “What is it?” Werner asked, dislodging himself from the horse’s back.

  “We’re nearly out of the mountains,” Guthrie explained. “The woods ahead, I think they are the northern forest between Dartague and Kobalos. We should only be a day or two from northern Ursia.
”

  The notion brought a grin to the captain’s features. “You know these lands?”

  “Some,” Guthrie said with a nod. “We rarely patrolled here, but I seem to remember a farm or some such once we reach the flatlands again.”

  “Think they’ll be alive?” Werner asked.

  The smile died from both men’s faces.

  “One can hope,” Guthrie responded, realizing the truth was probably bleak. This area of the frontier was home to only a few farmers and loggers, men who preferred to be alone and lived that way, but still Ursian nonetheless. If the Dartague had decided such people were easy prey, they would not have hesitated to bring their wrath down.

  Werner grimaced, pulling the horse along behind him. “Well, we might as well find out what’s ahead of us.”

  Chapter 3

  The black smoke rising above the forest was becoming a familiar sight to the two soldiers. This was no small camp or hearth fire. The Dartague had been here, pressing their war against Ursia.

  It was morning again, the captain and sergeant having camped beneath the trees, and the scent of the smoke had reached them before they saw it. Traveling a few miles, they came upon a clearing, the smoking trailing along the sky ahead of them.

  “Still some miles off,” Werner reckoned.

  He reckoned right.

  The two men coerced their riding beast along, the bag of cougar meat tied securely to its back, and an hour later they came to where the woods petered away into the known prairie and farm lands of northern Ursia. There was still snow stretching to the horizon ahead, but more than a little of it had melted, leaving large splotches of green and brown here and there.

  Less than a hundred yards from the edge of the woods was the remains of a log cabin. The small structure only held one remaining wall, apparently the front one as it sported an open doorway, the door itself burnt to a crisp along with the rest of the building. A chimney of stacked rocks still stood, and within the confines of the burnt husk of the building could be seen charred remains of logs and pieces of what had possibly been furniture.

  The two men proceed with caution, though it was obvious the attackers had been gone for several hours, perhaps even since the night before. There were no flames now, and as they approached there was little heat given off by the wreckage of the former home.

  “There was a woodsman lived here,” Guthrie said as they walked nearer the site. “I don’t remember his name, but a couple of times a year he would ride to the temple or the guard house. He usually brought with him some hard liquor he had made from fruits or berries, always wanting to trade for goods he needed.” Guthrie forced a grin. “We always obliged. He seemed a pleasant enough fellow.”

  They soon found him. Or what was left of him.

  He was splayed out in front of the door to the cabin. Iron nails the size of daggers had been driven through the palms of his hands and his ankles, impaling him into the hard, packed earth that had fronted his placed. A look of anguish was upon the dead man’s features, his mouth widened to either side by slices from a knife or sword, his face and limbs covered with soot from the fire. He was naked, and his body showed signs of having been beaten.

  “At least he is beyond the pain now, poor bastard,” Werner said as the two men and the horse came to a halt. The captain used a finger to draw a circle in the air several inches in front of his chest, starting at his chin before lowering to his belt and then returning to his chin, the holy sign of Ashal.

  The two spent an hour scouring the cabin’s warm remains and its environs, hoping to find anything of use, perhaps food or weapons or tools. All they discovered was a rusting hatchet not far from the corpse. Guthrie took the hatchet, figuring it could come in handy with firewood, if nothing else.

  Finding nothing more of benefit, the captain and the sergeant began the dreaded task of digging a shallow grave. The work was difficult without the proper tools, but they made use of the hatchet and several fallen tree limbs from the forest floor to aid them in digging. Pulling the dead woodsman free of the ground was no easy task, in the end accomplished only after Guthrie accidentally broke one of the man’s wrists. Soon the body was interred and the two soldiers stood over the fresh grave, each muttering nearly silent prayers for sending the soul of the woodsman to the Almighty Ashal.

  “Amen,” Werner finally said.

  As they moved to their horse, Guthrie paused and pointed to the south in the direction they needed to travel. “There’s nothing but open land for as far as one can see. That and the snow will make us stand out. The Dartague could see us from miles away.” His pointing finger shifted to their left where the outskirts of the mountain range they had fled could still be seen encroaching upon the flatlands. “I suggest we travel along the foothills.”

  Werner gazed in the direction pointed out to him, then nodded. “Makes sense. We’ll be harder to spot and there might even be a few places to hide if we have to.”

  With a weak grin, Guthrie added, “And we’ll be able to see any Dartague riding towards us.”

  Soon they were traveling again, this time Guthrie riding their horse while Werner led the way. Throughout the day they took turns riding, giving the other man a rest. By early afternoon they reached the edges of the mountains once more and turned due south.

  “We should be in Herkaig in a matter of days,” Guthrie pointed out. Where else could they go? They were in frontier lands, on the border of what was now enemy territory. The nearest Ursian force of any size was in the village, thus they had to go to the village.

  The nights were cold, the men taking turns huddling beneath the blanket and standing watch throughout the dark hours. They dared not build a fire now that they were in the open, but enough of the cougar meat had been cooked to still fill their bellies.

  By the third day they spotted a change along the prairie grounds a mile or so east of them, out in the remaining snows. Tracks of a sizable force, both men estimating at least a hundred riders.

  “Dartague, you think?” Werner asked from the back of the horse.

  Guthrie lowered a hand from above his eyes, staring into the brightness of the sun settling upon the snows of the flatlands. “Likely. This far north, it might be a Kobalan patrol, but I’ve never known them to travel in such numbers.”

  “No chance its our own people?”

  Guthrie shook his head. “Anything is possible, but I doubt it.”

  As best they could tell without venturing out onto the flatlands to investigate, the tracks traveled from east to west. As the captain was not as familiar with the territory, Guthrie explained it looked to him as if the riders had come from forests near the border with Kobalos and had ridden into the mountains somewhere south of their current position.

  “Sounds like more Dartague to me,” Werner said. “I can’t imagine the Kobalan king wants to embroil himself in our mess.”

  “I agree,” Guthrie said. “There are plenty of Dartague in those woods, mostly Clan Stone.”

  “It looks as if this wyrd woman is consolidating her forces even more.”

  “It would seem so,” Guthrie said, appearing none to happy about it.

  They traveled onward, eventually coming upon a rip in the side of the mountains to their left, a valley with a slender stream running down to the prairie. It was here the riders had been headed, their tracks disappearing along the water and into the heart of the rising crags.

  “I know this place,” Guthrie said, adding a smile. “We are not far from Herkaig.”

  His words were proven true before the day was out.

  When they first spotted the village in the distance, they were not convinced it was the place they had been seeking. It was too large, too spread out. Herkaig was a small village of a dozen or so stone hovels, the place having been enlarged somewhat by a small town of tents erected by Werner’s militia, but what they saw was twice the size of the Herkaig they had put behind them more than a week earlier. If this was indeed Herkaig, it had doubled in size since
their last visit. Tents were stretched out in a wide circle around the village proper, far more men than Werner had commanded, though still not enough to be a full army. Rising smoke from a half a hundred places, likely camp fires, sprang up to the sky here and there from within the tents, and even as far away as they were the two soldiers could spot outriders and posted sentries.

  The place looked like a military encampment. Flapping banners seemed to prove this was so, though Werner and Guthrie were still too far away to tell what type of flags were flying other than they boasted dark colors.

  Still, they were in their homeland and there was a sizable military force ahead. This force was obviously not of Dartague origin, being far too organized for one thing. The two soldiers discussed the possibility of this being a Kobalan force, but the likelihood of that seemed remote; King Verkain of Kobalos was a known tyrant, but he kept his tyranny within his own lands, a small nation, and was not fool enough to challenge the might of Ursia, at least not directly.

  Seeing nothing else to be done, the two rode forward, crossing the open lands and heading directly toward the village.

  They were met halfway by a half dozen riders wearing chain shirts and hoisting spears. Though a ferocious looking force, they wore emblems and the colors of Ursian scouts.

  “Identify yourselves!” the foremost rider roared at the two.

  Werner grinned from the back of the horse as he glanced down to his companion. “Think he’ll fill his pants when he finds out who I am?”

  Guthrie chuckled as he removed his helmet and used its chin strap to tie it to his belt. “Maybe, but go ahead and tell him.”

  The front rider shook his spear at the two. “Identify yourselves now! Or find yourself placed under arrest!”

  Captain Werner sat straighter on the steed. He brushed aside the blanket wrapped around his shoulders so the chest plate of his armor was on view. “Sonny, I’ll make sure your commanding officer receives word of your diligence, but right now the captain of the Corvus Vale militia is tired and hungry. Do you think you could fetch us something to eat, and something proper to drink?”