Blood of War (61 page)

“
No, no,” Gixen admonished. “We will have none of that.”

Then, she watched in horror as he cocked a fist back and drove it into her face. Her head bounced back against the chest of the man holding her. Lights flashed behind her eyes. Pain flared.

Darkness fell.

* * *

Jurel's sword took the head off a Soldier. He spun to meet his next challenge. He thrust, the point of his blade shearing through white-clad armor. Kicking the twitching body from his blade, he scanned the battlement. For the moment, he only saw troops of his own diminished force.

Beside him, Gaven panted, leaning against a crenelation.

“
We're clear for the moment,” Jurel said.

Gaven managed to nod as Jurel glanced quickly at the killing field beyond the wall. The army of Soldiers of God was greatly diminished; instead of a sea of white, it was merely a large lake. He was heartened until he glanced at the ragtag remnants of his own army.

He considered calling for Mikal's force but discarded it almost immediately. The prelacy forces were still too numerous; Mikal would be overrun in minutes. It had to be soon, though. Otherwise, Mikal's small force would be too late to change anything. Too early, or too late: it was a fine line to walk.

His thoughts turned to Metana. He was certain he had seen her earlier, wreathed in the inferno of her power like a goddess of retribution. But now his search showed no sign of her. He was grateful for that; he did not want her in harm's way. He could not bear the thought of finding her among the broken and the slain. Gods, how he wished things had been otherwise. How he wished he could be with her, hold her in his arms, feel her heartbeat against his chest, breath in the perfume of her. Angrily, he stamped out that foolishness before it could truly take hold. It could not be. She deserved better than him.

Turning back to Gaven, he began to speak, to tell him to take a few moments to gather himself. He still needed Gaven's sword. But even as he opened his mouth, he staggered, gasped a painful breath. He searched wildly for the source of this sudden attack but nothing presented itself to him. An image of Metana sprang to his mind; she appeared frightened, in danger. Foolishness, he thought. She was certainly safe down in the infirmary with Kurin where she had been assigned.

The strange attack passed, leaving him with a lump of foreboding loneliness in his soul. Trying to shake this, he again began to tell Gaven to take a break.

But Gaven interrupted him.

“
What's going on out there?”

Jurel turned to where his friend was looking. At the rear of the prelacy forces, Soldiers of God were maneuvering, frantically changing position. Within moments, the rear lines faced back toward the forest and the road.

Cocking his head, Jurel frowned. “I don't know,” he murmured.

But it soon became apparent.

Chapter 55

“
Here's to you, Lord Prelate,” Jon announced, raising his goblet in toast. Jon's eyes twinkled with mirth.

Thalor raised his own glass in response, then took a mouthful of the mellow red wine, surprised at the quality. He nodded his appreciation. The meal, as promised, was nothing to brag about, but this almost made up for it.

The tent was nothing to brag about either. It was large enough for the table and chairs and for the three retainers who stood awaiting Thalor's or the seneschal's pleasure. But it was spartan and dirty gray, ratty and drafty. Nothing like Thalor's own opulent pavilion. It had been quite a feat for him to not sniff disdainfully when he saw it. He deserved to be guested in better than this. The seneschal was, however, no more than a servant, no matter what the man may think. Thalor supposed that even this much must be an extravagance for a servant. It would do. Thalor just wished it was not quite so hot.

Setting his goblet down, Jon gazed speculatively at his guest.

“
Perhaps, with your consent, Prelate, we may dispense with the pleasantries and get down to business.”

Once again, Thalor nodded. To which he added, “Of course. Your ten thousand will be much appreciated. Reowynn, brief the seneschal on our situation so that we may discuss how best to deploy his men.”

Spreading a survey map of the area on the table, Reowynn did, describing, in a businesslike manner, the forces they had sent against the Abbey, jabbing a thick finger where their weakest points were and the points where they had the most effect. He showed the position of the Gaorlan priests—it would not do to have allied forces stumble upon them. He described the Salosian forces and the defenses they had encountered.

“
And what of the fires we noticed as we rode north?” Jon asked. “Did these Salosians set them?”

“
I did,” Thalor answered.

Canting his head, Jon spread his hands. “May I ask why?”

Was this fool questioning him? Questioning
his
decision? How dare he?

“
It was necessary,” he answered curtly, wiping sweat from his brow.

Nodding his understanding, Jon said, “They lay in wait for you? Yes, of course. The good news is, the fires seem to be burning themselves out. My lord, the duke, requested, however, that I impress upon you the difficulties this act has presented. You see, the duchy of Grayson relies heavily on the lumber harvested from these forests.”

Thalor snorted. Whatever that slop was he had been served disagreed with him. It thinned his patience. “A small price to pay to see this danger eradicated.”

Conceding, Jon murmured, “As you say. Would you care for more wine? You don't look well.” He snapped his fingers and one of the retainers promptly stepped forward and refilled Thalor's goblet, then Reowynn's. “Perhaps some of the spices we use did not agree?”

In truth, Thalor did not feel well. Not at all. His head had begun a slow pounding, his vision swam, his guts had tied themselves in knots. He downed his wine, hoping that might settle him.

A glance at Reowynn rocked him. The major was ashen with bruised bags forming under his eyes. The man seemed to be gasping for breath as though he had run a marathon.

Muzzily, he tried to concentrate.

“
Would you care to lie down, Prelate?” Jon asked.

Thalor glared at the seneschal, a hot retort trying to form but his tongue stumbled over the words. Jon rose, his bearing that of concern. But his eyes...

Thalor registered it finally. Though Jon bore the look of solicitousness, his eyes said otherwise. The man was...satisfied.

“
Perhaps it was not the food,” the seneschal remarked. His lips spread in a smile. “Perhaps it was the wine.

“
You see, Prelate, at the king's command, the duke ordered me to march to your aid two weeks ago. I mustered our forces and we set out the very next morning. But he was more than slightly put out with your decision to light half his countryside—and a goodly fraction of his income—on fire. He became uncertain that he wished to support a cause that wrought such wholesale destruction.”

It struck Thalor then, like a hammer. Desperation clawed some of his energy back to him. Haltingly, his voice barely more than a croak, he said, “You were sent to support the heretics.”

With a pained expression, Jon sat back down. “Well, not quite. Although my duke did send new instructions through his priest. As I said, I was sent to assess the situation and lend assistance as necessary. When I arrived, there was still the possibility that I would join with you.”

“
But you said...you would assist...”

“
Where necessary. Yes. Now I'm repeating myself. It was your arrogant assumption that I would automatically assist
you
.”

His expression hardened. He appeared a judge about to pronounce a harsh sentence.

“
I've spoken with the duke of my findings. I've spoken of your recklessness. I've spoken of the beacon of fire atop the Abbey walls and the continued repelling of your Soldiers of God. That is no work of a mere adept. How else do you explain a force of a few thousand holding off the might of your church without invoking such words as deity? Even your utter incompetence could not explain such a disastrous effort.

“
The duke agrees with me. Therefore, Prelate Thalor Stock, I hereby charge you with wanton destruction of property, with acts of war committed against citizens of the Duchy of Grayson, and,” a raptor's smile showed the man's teeth, “with heresy.”

“
Impossible! I am a prelate of-”

“
You are a prelate of a church that is being investigated by the king himself. With the proof of this young god roaming the land, we now know that it is not the Salosians but the Gaorlans who are the heretics. Word has already reached us from the king's general staff, one Theissen, I believe. The king has had his suspicions for years but your Soldiers of God have always caused him to wait. He did not want a holy war waged in his kingdom that would beggar his population.

“
Thankfully, most of the Soldiers of God are here. Those remaining garrisons in the west have already been ordered incarcerated until the king can finish this business with the Dakariin and formal inquiries can be made into the depth of the corruption in your ranks.

“
We march against your Soldiers of God in moments. Your game is over.”

“
You are...outnumbered.” Thalor blinked owlishly, dragged a burning breath into his lungs. “My Soldiers will crush you.”

“
I think not.” Jon smiled mysteriously, his eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge. “If I had been feeling charitable, I would not have drugged your wine. I would have kept you awake so that I could show you my greatest surprise. Oh, I can only imagine the look on your face when you saw your army destroyed. Alas, it is too late. The deed is done.”

Trying to rise from his seat, Thalor reached for his power. This fool servant thought he would contest against a prelate, did he? It was difficult; his concentration kept slipping and his power went with it. He tried again.

But not quickly enough. Before he could utter a protest, a black hood was draped over his head and he was lifted roughly from his seat. The first ragged edges of fear began to gnaw at his edges.

“
Get them out of my sight,” Jon barked.

Thalor was dragged out of the tent into the coolness of the autumn day. The chill served to enliven him. He began to try again for his source, but he was brought up short as Jon's voice drifted to him.

“
Oh, and Prelate? If you happen to wake up, I don't suggest trying to use your arcanum. I have three Salosian priests guarding you. They were only told to keep you alive for the investigation. They were not told to be gentle.”

The second cup of drugged wine began its insidious work adding its effect to the first. His thoughts scattered like chaff on the wind, his limbs felt miles away. His head felt it must weigh as much as a mountain.

The only thing that was coherent about former Prelate Thalor Stock as he was dragged to his destiny was the sense of astonished horror and black dismay that followed him even into the depths of poison tainted torpor.

Chapter 56

Jurel watched the scene unfold beneath him, not entirely believing his eyes. Had he gone mad? A river of men flowed over a rise in the distance and slammed into the rear of the prelacy forces. The white-caped forces faltered like a shock wave, and heads began to turn. The front ranks continued to assault the Abbey's weakening walls—the enspelled battering ram had caused the main gate to lean dangerously; a few more solid hits and even the Salosians who actively fortified the gate with their arcanum would crumple under the devastating pressure—but the attack seemed hesitant, half-hearted, as though they were not sure whether to attack or defend.

He was whirled by Gaven who had an exultant look.

“
That's Grayson, Jurel,
Grayson.
He sided with us!”

“
Grayson?” Dumbstruck, Jurel could think of nothing useful to say.

“
I recognize his colors. It's his garrison marching all over the prelate's ass! We have to help them.”

Jurel turned blank eyes back to the battlefield, watched pillars of fire erupt as the Grayson forces set torches to the last of the prelacy's catapults. As he watched, he saw the tail end of the Grayson forces crest the rise in the distance. Dismay gripped him. There were many, perhaps as many as ten thousand, but they were still dwarfed against the prelacy forces, outnumbered perhaps three to one. Facing off on the field this way, they would be overwhelmed.

“
Jurel! What should we do?”

Shaking himself, Jurel gave the only orders he could think of. He did not know if it would be enough, but maybe...maybe...

“
Redouble our attacks from the walls. Get as many cavalry as you can to the gate for a sally. Call Mikal.”

Gaven nodded, grinning tightly, his eyes slitted with pent bloodlust, before he spun and sprinted away, shouting commands.

Archers and ballistae sent their missiles within heartbeats. The sizzle of arcanum raised the hair on his arms. The courtyard before the failing gate filled with cavalry as though they had all been waiting just out of sight for him to give the order. A horn, long, eerie, hollow, echoed from the other end of the battlements.

Though Grayson's men fought fiercely, the Soldiers of God had already begun to push them back. Jurel had been right: they were too outnumbered to pose a real threat to the Soldiers of God.