The Golden Vial Page 5

  Dally wheeled about. “Run!”

  11

  The lead beasts were almost upon them as Myron and Dally fled through the tunnel. Somewhere up ahead, Meda yelled, “Hold your fire!”

  Dally emerged from the shadows at full bolt, only to be blinded by the sunlight blazing straight into her eyes. She tripped over some unseen obstacle and would have gone headlong into the dirt, but strong arms gripped her and pulled her to one side.

  Alembord said, “Call your dogs! For their lives!”

  “Nabu, Dama, to me!”

  Alembord did not follow Myron across the field to where the squads were poised for the assault to come. Instead, he planted Dally by the thorn wall, just to the left of the trailhead.

  Then the fiends burst out.

  Instantly her wolfhounds bayed with their lust to join the fray. Dally screamed, “Hold!” The dogs whined and panted and bayed. But they remained fast by her side.

  Alembord turned to two troopers whom Dally hadn’t noticed until that moment. “Guard her well!” Then he raced back toward the high mound where Meda and Edlyn stood.

  At first glance the enemy looked like oversized boars. Which was how the valley naysayers could remain blind as long as they had. But so much about the beasts was exaggerated. And just plain wrong.

  Forest boars were rarely larger than a farmer’s prize pig. These were huge by comparison, most over chest-high. Their backs were creased by spines that ended in sharpened staves, as if they wore a line of daggers. Their mouths were cruelly shaped, with fangs that jutted forward with each snarl.

  More telling still was the sound they made. They huffed out bone-rattling coughs from deep in their throats.

  Just as they did in Dally’s nightmares.

  She screamed, “Flames!”

  “Down!” Alembord and Meda shouted the order as one.

  Edlyn shrilled, “Shields up!”

  The fiends did not breathe fire. Instead, they coughed out tight balls of flame that seared the grass as they flew, so intense they momentarily outshone the sun.

  The warrior mages had their shields at the ready when the barrage struck. The fireballs splintered and dripped down in brilliant cascades, leaving most squads unscathed. But the flames were magical, or so it seemed to Dally. For they demolished the shields and opened the squads to a frontal assault.

  As the mages reknit their shields, a soldier who did not drop swiftly enough screamed when his arm was clipped by a fireball.

  Meda roared, “Plant halberds!”

  The troopers knelt and jammed the ends of their spears into the earth. Their blades glinted fierce as death in the westering sun.

  “Strike!” Edlyn commanded. “Strike!”

  And strike they did. The mages stood behind the line of spears and shot bolts of their own fire down into the creatures.

  The bloodlust drove these fiends to blind ferocity. They scrambled around their fallen and flung themselves in a mad rush straight into the blades.

  Dally had never known battle before. The dust and noise and stench made it extremely difficult to understand what was happening. Even so, she could see that the beasts threatened to overwhelm the lines. More and more of the fiends sprang through the two tunnels, a surging river of fury and flames.

  Bear and his hounds saved the field that day.

  The first Dally knew of his attack was a pair of whistles, loud enough to pierce the clamor. His dogs were a mangy lot, clearly not chosen for their looks. Instead, they proved to be fast, agile, silent, and extremely well trained.

  “Watch!” Dally shouted to her wolfhounds. “Watch!”

  Bear’s animals slipped alongside the attacking beasts, lithe as dancers. Their assault seemed insignificant in the face of such ferocity. They simply nipped and danced away.

  Dally did not fully understand what was happening until she heard the bones crunch.

  One beast after another was sent tumbling. For each one that suffered a broken leg, three or four more were taken down.

  Dally shot a quick image of instruction to her own beasts, then ordered, “Attack!”

  The wolfhounds may as well have been born and bred for this very moment. Their assault was that swift.

  Alembord yelled for the last supporting troops to engage, and led this assault himself. His own movements were nimble as the dogs’ as he leapt forward, thrusting his sword precisely through the ribs, then jumped away before the fangs could scour his legs. The squads moved forward, the lances rose and fell in an orchestra of battle. The mages sent bolt after bolt down upon the beasts.

  Gradually the screams and bellows ceased. The dust settled. The field was littered with sodden lumps, some big as the soldiers were tall, all dark as night.

  It was over.

  12

  The silence that followed the battle was deafening.

  Wizards trained as healers moved swiftly among the injured. Dally’s sleeve was cut away and her wound sealed. She refused the offer of a soporific, though now that the danger had passed her arm throbbed. The wolfhounds whined and clustered as a white bandage was tied in place. No one complained about the dogs, not the medics nor the others being treated. Dally thanked the mage and forced her unsteady legs to carry her to the top of the rise, where Meda and Alembord stood with Edlyn and Myron. They asked about her arm, complimented the dogs and the role they had played, then demanded a full description of her contact with the enemy.

  Edlyn took note of her pallid state and sent Myron for tea. The mug was rough clay and the brew as sweet as it was strong, and it was very strong indeed. Dally felt the strength returning to her limbs and voice as she described reaching out and making her pair of discoveries.

  “That was reckless,” Edlyn chided her. “Had an enemy mage been among them, we would have lost you.”

  “But as it was, we have learned vital lessons,” Meda replied. “The enemy has weaknesses, and we must use them. Go on, lass.”

  It was the first time she had been addressed in such a manner. Dally flushed with the pleasure of being included among this group. She described casting the spell, and how her lifeblood was expelled and the sense that it was this that had forced the enemy to attack.

  “That was fortunate indeed,” Alembord said.

  “No matter how wise a leader might be, good fortune must still play its role,” Meda said.

  Edlyn frowned at the gathering dusk and did not respond.

  The healer who had treated Dally climbed the ridge with Bear.

  Meda demanded, “What are our losses?”

  “Eleven wounded, two seriously. One may not survive the night.”

  “I will visit with them shortly. What of our dogs?”

  Bear’s voice was made deeper with sorrow. “I lost a friend, Colonel.”

  “I feared as much. We mourn with you. If it’s any solace, they saved many a life today.”

  “And turned the tide in our favor,” Alembord added.

  Meda waved over a young scout and ordered, “Ride ahead and inform the Lady Shona of our victory. Alembord, let’s you and I speak with the wounded.”

  The two officers made their way among the injured, offering them solemn gratitude. By the time they were done, the only light came from mage-torches.

  Meda called for their mounts, then said to Dally, “Ride with me.”

  They crossed empty fields, their way illuminated by Myron and Edlyn and the rising moon. Dally was exhausted now, more tired than she had ever been in her entire life. Holding to the reins and staying in the saddle required enormous effort.

  Meda moved her horse to walk alongside Dally and surveyed the night-clad surroundings. “None of the valley’s occupants came out to witness this battle. I find that most curious indeed. Can you explain this to me, Dally?”

  “These days, most pretend the valley is content to be cut off. It gives them hope despite the unseen dangers pressing in on all sides.” Dally willed her mind to wake from its half-slumber. “But their world is growing smaller wit
h each passing season. All the routes joining us to the outside world run through the forest. Or rather, they did.”

  Meda pointed back to their right, where the eastern hills cut a distant silhouette from the stars. “What about through the mountains?”

  “The trails have not been used in generations,” Dally replied. She knew because the valley elders had often discussed this very topic at Norvin’s table. “It’s two days’ ride from Honor to Eagle’s Claw, the Ashanta settlement. You’d need permission to cross their territory. And it’s said that the hills hold no water. Beasts wouldn’t survive. Plus our main markets are in the other direction.”

  “So the locals . . .”

  Dally found talking helped keep her weariness at bay. “Life was so good here for so long. Many locals always resented the outside world. We’re not on any trade route. The nearest market town is four days’ ride. Or rather, it was.”

  Edlyn said, “Surely they’ve noticed the thorn wall tightening its grip.”

  “The farms closest to the forest complain bitterly,” Dally said. “I heard some of my former neighbors call it the silent invasion. But there’s so much land around here. Between Honor and the Ashanta village there’s not a single settlement.”

  “We were talking,” Meda reminded them, “of why the locals did not offer us their support.”

  “Many elders claim we’re better off without the outside world,” Dally replied. “Especially after reports started coming in about the changes in Port Royal. And the new taxes. And laws that made no sense at all.”

  Alembord said, “You’re very well informed.”

  “I served in the mayor’s house. I listened.”

  “And you learned,” Alembord said. “Can you read and write?”

  “I attended the village school. Norvin insisted upon it.”

  Edlyn asked, “What did his wife have to say about that?”

  Dally veered away from that. “The mayor owns many books. I’ve read them all. My favorites were those about the realm’s history. And of distant lands.”

  Meda said, “Back to my question.”

  There was an easy pace to their conversation, one that left Dally feeling genuinely content. Even the languor of fatigue fit well. Her dogs were comforting shadows padding silently to all sides of their small group. She was among friends.

  She said, “Most villagers want to imagine life is still under their control. Like it has been for generations beyond count. They claim the fiends simply don’t exist.”

  They rode in silence for a time. It was only when Meda spoke again that Dally realized how angry the colonel had become. Meda asked, “Do the elders share this willful blindness?”

  “Some. Perhaps most. They refuse to allow any discussion of what might be going on beyond the thorn wall.”

  “What utter nonsense,” Alembord exclaimed.

  “There are losses in the night,” Dally went on. “Sheep mostly. A few prize steers. Three guards in four years. But they pretend it is bear or boar, for none have survived to say differently.”

  “Captain Alembord, as soon as we’re back I want you to send out two fresh squads. They’re to skin the beasts and return with their pelts.” Meda’s voice had lost all her former ease. “Order a troop to form cross ties from the halberds used in this battle. These spears are not to be cleaned.”

  “Aye, Colonel. Bloody they will remain.”

  “They’re to salt the hides and then lash them to the halberds. And line both sides of the camp’s entry.”

  “It will be done as you say, ma’am.”

  “The beasts exist,” Meda said to the night. “The enemy is here and has been engaged. It’s high time these locals see their world as it truly is.”

  13

  Dally slept deeply and did not awaken until almost noon. She had been given quarters among the junior officers, which meant her berth was made private by way of cloth walls. The allotted space was scarcely large enough to hold her pallet, a chest, a collapsible writing table, and a stool. When she opened her eyes, Dally felt as though she had been transported to a ship of dreams. A gentle wind caused the walls to billow and shake. Sunlight turned the cloth translucent. Shadows danced with each passing figure. It was, in truth, as lovely a place as she had known in a very long while.

  She discovered a pile of fresh clothes outside her portal. Dally followed the sound of splashing and entered the women’s bathhouse. The water was drawn in straight from the river and was frigid enough to cause her to gasp. Just the same, it felt wonderful to be clean. She cut a portion from the hem of her former tunic, bound her wound, then dressed and went out to see her new world.

  She entered a bustling village of cloth and wood. She followed the sound of dogs and found the kennel between the stables and the south river-wall. She greeted Bear, and together with the dog handler she inspected her two injured wolfhounds. Both seemed well enough. As she fed and groomed them, a trooper approached and said she was wanted in the officers’ mess.

  The vast cloth enclosure stood between the officers’ quarters and Shona’s assembly hall. Dally ate with a ravenous appetite and listened to the swirl of talk and planning. The side wall held a detailed map of the Three Valleys, which the officers used for setting out patrols and possible points for the next incursion. The talk was intent and specific. The battle was far from over. They had no idea how large a force they faced or where the next attack might take place. Nor did they understand why the enemy had taken aim at this region. Their planning was separated into two distinct segments—how to protect the villagers, and how to maintain the advantage in coming conflicts. Over and over Dally heard the same four words. Hold the high ground.

  As soon as Dally was done eating, Myron gathered her up and led her to the training field. Mages formed a tight cluster by the outermost wall, an ancient dike so old the stones were almost lost beneath their blanket of moss and lichen. To Dally’s left, young troopers practiced with pike and rapier, while the more seasoned soldiers hacked at each other with blunt broadswords. With this din punctuating his every word, Myron told her that Shona’s wizards only had four wands among them. Shona’s and Edlyn’s and his own made seven. He and the Mistress were joining Shona’s force for the duration, he explained. Dally found no need to ask how long that duration might be.

  Myron then described the wands’ making, the small gemstones created through ancient spellcraft from larger crystals called orbs that had been shattered in the battle for Emporis. Dally found herself marveling at the speed at which she was becoming a part of all this.

  The energy and the earnest manner that Myron’s students listened with was unlike anything she had known. The young mages were divided almost equally into nine boys and ten girls, aged anywhere from thirteen or fourteen to twenty. Myron was patient in the extreme, walking them repeatedly through basic spellcraft for harnessing their innate force, for shielding and attacking. They practiced with wooden sticks and sweated in the afternoon heat.

  In truth, a great deal of these lessons were beyond her abilities. But Dally did not mind. In fact, she had the impression that Myron intentionally wanted the other acolytes to see her in this vulnerable and untrained state. So Dally exaggerated her lack of training and confessed repeatedly that the spells were beyond her ability.

  When a soldier came to say Dally was wanted, Myron saw her off with a quiet, “Well done.”

  Meda met her in the open field before Shona’s tent, surveyed her sweat-drenched uniform, and declared, “This won’t do at all.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “The elders are arriving. Shona wishes you to attend the audience. You’ll need to bathe and change.”

  “Colonel, ma’am, I have no other clothes.”

  Meda frowned. “Wait here.” She disappeared into the tent farthest from the officers’ mess.

  As Dally waited, she observed the last two halberds being fashioned into cross ties and the massive black pelt lashed tightly into place. The cross tie was then thrust upwar
d and planted into holes dug alongside the passage leading into camp. There were thirty-seven of the pelts now, strung up like dark, doom-laden sails. There to transport the valleys into battle. Whether the villagers liked it or not.

  Meda drew her back around with, “Here, lass. Go wash and change into this.”

  The outfit was so fine Dally was reluctant to even touch it. “Colonel . . .”

  “Hurry, now. Shona wishes to speak with you before greeting the elders.” Meda ended any further protest by turning away.

  Dally washed hurriedly, then retreated to her little cubby. The new clothing was soft as a dawn breeze and shaded the gentlest of pastel greens. The colors swam and flowed under her touch. The outfit consisted of leggings and an under-tunic and a sleeveless outer robe. The robe drifted below her knees and was held in place with a jeweled belt.

  When she emerged, Meda surveyed her quickly and demanded, “Where’s your blade?”

  Dally rushed back to her cubby and withdrew the rapier from her chest. When she returned, Meda adjusted the scabbard and said, “Always wear your sword into audience with Lady Shona. It represents your willingness to bear arms in her name.”

  “This is hers, isn’t it? The outfit.”

  “She chose it herself. I’m pleased to see I was correct, saying you two were of a size. Come now.”

  The audience hall was the largest tent of all and draped on both sides by tapestries that shone brilliant and alive in the afternoon light. A small wooden dais rose at the front and held a high-backed chair emblazoned with a gold crest. Two guards stood to either side of the empty throne. Four people gathered in the far corner—Edlyn and Myron and Alembord and the central figure.

  Shona was lovely as the dawn. Dally had been granted no real idea of her physical appearance in their bodiless contacts, more simply an impression of the young woman’s heart. Shona’s dark hair ran like a bejeweled river down her back. She wore an outfit similar to Dally’s, but colored royal purple. The robe’s border was sewn with gold thread and tiny gemstones that glinted as she turned and gestured Dally forward.