Mage Hunter Omnibus (Complete 5 Book Series) Page 16

  “Let them,” Zanbra said, gritting her teeth. “We have the force of right upon our side. These barbarians have no chance against the Gauntlet of Ashal.”

  Kroff did not appear convinced, but he was not about to question a superior officer, especially a fellow Gauntlet. He turned back in his saddle to face forward.

  “And why didn’t we bring the whole army with us?” he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

  Guthrie chuckled quietly, hoping the sound did not reach Zanbra. Yes, Kroff he was finding a more than tolerable traveling companion. Zanbra, not so much.

  “I heard you, Spear,” the woman said from behind, emphasizing Kroff’s lesser rank. “This wyrd woman is not likely to personally confront our companies, but she might be willing to face only three riders. Even if we allow ourselves to be captured, we would likely be taken before her, much as was Captain Werner.”

  Allow themselves to be captured? Guthrie glanced at Kroff, hoping to see common sense intruding, but was disappointed. Kroff wasn’t going to speak against his commanding officer, and Zanbra did not seem the type to tolerate such. Guthrie believed if the Dartague were going to take them prisoner, there wasn’t much they could do about it. Perhaps they could flee, but even that seemed not likely what with Zanbra thinking they could allow themselves to be captured in hopes of facing Ildra.

  Staring ahead through the slit of his salet helm as they rode, Guthrie had time to reflect upon his situation. It seemed ludicrous to him. He had been allowed one night’s rest and a few hardy meals, then had set back into the open lands of northern Ursia. During the Spring these flatlands would be teeming with workers planting, then in the Summer various crops would be growing high, but here in the winter the land was flat and barren. Ahead were the mountains, which seemed to change little from season to season.

  Glancing back at Zanbra before looking ahead again, Guthrie wondered if the woman had a touch of madness about her. Perhaps such was needed to be part of the Order, though Kroff seemed a decent enough fellow so far. Of Zanbra’s skill, there was little doubt. The sergeant had watched the woman slay Tack with ease, her aim true, no hesitation in her hands as she worked her crossbow. He had no doubt she would make a formidable opponent. Though Kroff had yet to spring into action before Guthrie’s eyes, the man bore himself well as an experienced veteran with little hubris showing. If nothing else, Guthrie would feel somewhat safe with these two as companions in a fight, but if they should learn about his own magical skills, his fate would be sealed.

  The mountains loomed closer and closer with each step of their horses. Guthrie wondered if he was to die in those mountains. Since the hostilities had begun, it seemed he had done little more than ride from one place to another, spending days of tedium and near starving and freezing before coming upon the next conflict. Most times he had been alone, or in the company of one other. He had seen little true warfare since all of this had started, his fate relegating him to small conflicts. With Zanbra’s insistence upon hunting and slaying Ildra, it seemed Guthrie’s luck was holding steady. At least he had not been killed. Yet. He could not say the same for many of those who had been his comrades.

  He wondered at the causes of all this conflict. In many ways he could not blame the Dartague. For centuries the Ursians had been encroaching upon the border, though usually not in a military manner. Groups of Ashalic priests were always traveling into Dartague to spread the word, and merchant trains were not unknown to cross into the border, later the merchants often bragging about what they had taken from the stupid barbarians in trades that benefited only the merchants themselves. Of physical conflict, there had been some from time to time. Every once in a while Dartague clansmen would surge into northern Ursia in small raiding parties, usually stealing a few cows or bushels of grain, on rare occasions slaying farmers who tried to put up a fight; the Ursian response had typically been one of vengeance, sending a squad into Dartague to retrieve any stolen items and sometimes to kill a few barbarians in the name of retribution. This had been going on for years. Now Ildra has risen to a state of power and the situation had changed. The Dartague had had enough.

  The oddity of Dartague’s very existence was not lost upon the sergeant. Ursia itself spread for nearly three thousand miles from the east coast across the mountain range known as The Needles and nearly to the western shores of the continent. From north to south Ursia stretched a thousand miles at least, perhaps more in some places, touching upon the city states of Brome and Trode in the south all the way up to the lands of the Dartague and other, distant relatives to the barbaric clans, the Kobalans and Jorsicans. Ursia took up most of the continent, dominating the northern hemisphere. All along Ursia’s borders were civilized lands, even in the far southeast where the desert peoples of the Pursians dwelled. Only Dartague was a truly uncivilized place, with only one city, one king who was weak in power, and scores upon scores of tribes of all sizes. The border between Ursia and Dartague was the last true frontier in the known world. There was no law nor safety to be found within Dartague for an Ursian, even before open war had been declared.

  In another week or so there would be a new army of northern Ursia, and that army would stretch forth its mighty grip across the border and into Dartague. Guthrie didn’t believe for a minute this would do any good. The Dartague were brave but not foolish. They would not go toe to toe with trained Ursian soldiers, not in the open, even if many of those soldiers were fresh recruits. No, the Dartague would not fight openly unless they were assured of victory. Instead they would snipe from cover, lay ambushes, use their wyrd woman’s magic from afar. It would be a conflict that could potentially rage on for decades upon decades with neither side claiming many true victories.

  Unless Ildra should disappear. Then the Dartague would crumble, splitting into their separate clans once more. Outwardly not much would change from the Ursian perspective, at least not immediately, but a disunited Dartague would mean few major attacks into Ursia itself. The Dartague would lose interest in the Ursians, once more turning upon each other. Within a few years, maybe a little more depending upon the stubbornness of the dukes and other commanders, it would become apparent there was little reason to assault the barbarians. It wasn’t as if the Ursians would actually attempt a full-scale invasion, because that surely would bring the Dartague together, as well as bring the Kobalans and other northern nations into open conflict with the papal state. Ursia might be the most powerful nation in all the known lands, but open war on several fronts at once would tax the holy nation. Oh, it wasn’t likely Ursia would actually fall prey to its attackers, but the years of conflict would do no one any good and would weaken Ursia for decades to come, perhaps centuries. No one wanted that, at least not the Ursians and the pope.

  But would this new border war have happened without the interference of Ildra and those of her ilk? It seemed to Guthrie those with the powers of magic were the ones behind the scenes moving everything, everyone, like pieces in a game. Such a feeling gave him no love for those with magical talents. It was true his own abilities had saved his life, but he had not asked for such powers. In fact, he had not wanted them. Nor had he been able to utilize such powers again, not that he had had much time to think upon the subject nor to experiment. For that matter, he was not sure he wanted to experiment. His newfound powers frightened him, in no small part because he feared what they would do to him, the kind of person they could make him into. Guthrie did not want to be some scheming wizard planning and plotting. More and more he was understanding why magic was not tolerated in his own country, why the likes of Zanbra and Kroff existed to wipe out magic wherever they found it.

  Guthrie snapped up straight in his saddle and realized he had been dozing. When he looked up, he found they were now much closer to the mountains. He could spy the valley opening only a couple of hundred yards ahead and there were plenty of signs riders had been coming and going in numbers.

  Kroff nudged him and pointed ahead. “Fresh tracks,” the older man said. �
��No more than a couple of days old. Looks like a sizable party has ridden into this valley recently.”

  Staring ahead at the mess that was the remains of squashed mud and snow ahead of them, Guthrie had to agree. It appeared a hundred or so riders had made their way into the valley, and he wondered if they were connected to the tracks he and Werner had found days earlier. Were these Dartague riders? Or Kobalans? And if Kobalans, why would they want to embroil themselves in the mess along the Ursian and Dartague border?

  As if to answer some unvoiced question, Zanbra said, “We are not watched.”

  Guthrie glanced back at her. “How can you be sure?”

  “I have my training,” she said, leaving it at that.

  “Members of the Order are trained in tracking and other skills,” Kroff explained off to Guthrie’s right. “It keeps us alive. When going up against magic, we need every edge we can get.”

  “I’ve been wondering about that,” Guthrie said, patting the crossbow strapped to the side of his steed. “From my limited experience, it seems a bow or sword do little good against magic.”

  “We have the righteousness of the Almighty Ashal on our side,” Zanbra said, her voice hard and crisp. “That is all we need.”

  Guthrie looked to Kroff.

  The older Gauntlet smiled. “We cannot thwart all magic, but there are certain skills and knowledge that allow us to circumvent some. It’s mostly common sense, knowing how to think, sometimes knowing how to move. You might be surprised at the simplicity of some of these tactics.”

  “Why not train everyone in such a manner, at least the regular troops?” Guthrie asked.

  “Takes too long,” Kroff answered. “Most of it is a way of thinking, giving oneself a perception that magic will not harm you. It’s difficult to believe such when a giant ball of fire is rolling down upon you.”

  “I see what you mean,” Guthrie said. “So what do you do in such a situation?”

  “Pray,” Zanbra said.

  Kroff chuckled. “Or dive out of the way. That’s what I do, though a brief prayer to Ashal never hurts.”

  The conversation slowed as they found themselves entering the valley proper, Guthrie recognizing the outcrops and crags he had seen more than a week earlier while on foot searching for Captain Werner. It had been night then, but the moon had revealed much that lay before him now.

  “Where do we go from here?” Kroff asked.

  “Straight ahead for some while,” Guthrie said. “I can’t remember exactly how far, but there will be a ravine on our left, heading north. I climbed up to a ridge there and followed it around until I found the camp. If we do the same, we should come out on top of them, though we would have to leave our horses behind.” He intentionally did not mention meeting the old man, the Dartague skald, upon that ridge. The less those of the Gauntlet believed Guthrie had dealings with magic, the better.

  From there they rode in silence. After some little while, Guthrie’s words were proven true and a more narrow valley, a ravine, presented itself on their left. The muddy tracks they had been following led directly into the ravine.

  Zanbra rode around in front of the others, tugging on her horse’s reins until the animal stopped. “Here we tie up our rides,” she said, climbing down from her saddle.

  Kroff looked to the sergeant and shrugged. “Time to do what the lady says.”

  Chapter 5

  The climb up the hillside took more time and was more strenuous than Guthrie had remembered, in no small part due to the partial plate armor worn by Zanbra and Kroff, the sergeant’s own studded leather armor being lighter and more flexible. But climb they did, leaving their horses tied to some scrub brush along with most of their gear other than their weapons, a pair of skins filled with water and a bag of dried beef strips, enough food to last some little while in case they could not make their way back to their rides. Here Guthrie’s experience came into play, the three not wanting to spend days wandering the wastelands with little to sustain them.

  Once atop the ridge, it became apparent the sun was beginning to sink in the west, only a couple of hours of light left to the three. That being the case, they wasted little time in following the ridge around to the north, in the direction Guthrie had found the Dartague camp. There was no sight of smoke, nor scent of burning upon the air, so the three had little hopes the barbarians would still be in residence. Still, a sizable group had ridden into the valley within the last few days, and perhaps there would be some evidence of this force’s location and perhaps that of the Dartague, if the two were not one and the same. If nothing else, the sergeant and the two members of the Gauntlet hoped to find tracks telling them where their enemies and potential enemies had gone.

  With Guthrie leading the way, it did not take long before they came upon the remains of the Dartague camp. Plain in the remaining daylight were the black marks along the ground where the magical wall of fire had spread its destruction. Here and there were the burnt remains of tents and various goods, tent poles and minor personal belongings left behind because they were no longer of use. Also marking the stony ground in various places were the round scorch marks from the camp fires.

  Zanbra dropped flat and climbed out to the edge of the ridge, staring at the sight before them, then she rolled over and glared up at Guthrie. “I thought you said you escaped by smashing a handful of oil lamps and starting a fire.”

  That was, indeed, what Guthrie had told those of the Gauntlet, and anyone else who had asked back in Herkaig. He nodded. “Yes.”

  The woman rolled over again to stare at the destruction below. “Those must have been some rather large lamps.” She pointed out to where the wall of fire had died away. “The blaze reached across the valley and up the wall to the height of at least two men.”

  “Yes?” from the sergeant.

  Zanbra climbed to her knees, her face filled with disgust as if she could detect Guthrie’s lie. “There must have been some tinder, something to have helped the blaze along.”

  Guthrie saw his chance, a slim one. “The tents caught quite easily. Perhaps the Dartague had oiled them for keeping out rain and melting snow.”

  “Perhaps,” Zanbra said, though her face showed she was not quite believing.

  Kroff saved the sergeant from further inquiry. “Where did you say they had their horses stashed?”

  Guthrie pointed north, further along the ridge in the direction they had been traveling. “Up past that bend, within some trees.”

  “Should we check it out?” the Spear asked the Sword.

  Zanbra nodded without saying another word, and the three made their way forward. The path was more narrow here, forcing them to travel in a line, one ahead of the other.

  Once they were past the curve in their trail, they found it not difficult to tell where the Dartague horses had been tied. Signs of hoof marks in the mud, as well as plenty of animal droppings, marked the spot. Blackened stone revealed where the fire wall had rolled down the trail on the other side of the ravine, then swept past the horses and into the larger camp.

  Zanbra pointed up the trail across the narrow valley from them. “Is that where you found Captain Werner?”

  “Yes,” Guthrie said. “The wyrd woman’s tent was there.”

  The Sword took to a knee once more, her eyes roaming the territory some thirty feet below them. “These riders we tracked here, they rode up that path.”

  Guthrie could not disagree. He was no specialized tracker, but as best he could tell, she was right.

  “Then they rode back out,” Zanbra went on. She pointed further to the north. “They headed that way.” She stood, staring, one hand above her eyes to shield the last of the day’s sun. “I can barely make out a trail there, but it appears that is the way they traveled.”

  “It’s tight in there, at least for several miles into the mountains,” Guthrie said. “That’s the way I escaped with Werner. If a hundred riders entered there, they went in single file.”

  “Then that is where we m
ust go,” Zanbra said.

  “Are you sure?” Kroff asked. “We do not even know if they are Dartague, or that they are the ones who traveled with this wyrd woman.”

  Zanbra spun around, her hooded eyes looking from the sergeant to the Spear. “The tracks tell the tale. The Dartague did not leave here from the way we came, and there were many horses who entered that trail. No, the Dartague went there, along with their new comrades. We will follow.”

  Guthrie sighed, realized the futility of his next words. “Do I need to point out that if the three of us go in there and run into a small army of barbarians, we’re likely to get hacked to bits?”

  Zanbra’s eyes were as diamonds as they stared back at him. “No, you do not need to point that out.”

  There was no more debate on the matter. The three began the trek back to their steeds. Along the way, more than once Guthrie pondered the circular route of his recent fate. He was following much the same path he had more than a week earlier. Was he following that path to his own doom? Would he face Ildra yet again? Only time would tell. It seemed his fate was tied with that of the wyrd woman and others with magical powers here in the north. Was it always thus? Was magic drawn to magic?

  By the time the group reached their horses, darkness was layering itself across the heavens. At this Zanbra conceded it would be best if they struck camp for the night before moving into the confines of the mountain trail in the morning. Still, they rode some distance into the ravine that had recently sheltered the Dartague, the three setting up their small camp in the middle of where the barbarians had.

  The sun rose too early as far as Guthrie was concerned the next day, and few words passed among himself and his companions as they ate a breakfast of boiled oats and slices of dried pears. Then the camp was broken and they were riding once more, this time into the narrow pass the sergeant and an unconscious Captain Werner had entered not so far in the past.