Refuge: Kurt's Quest (11 page)

“And the natural world here is magic,” said
Fenris.  “I heard what your, scientists, said, back at the Refuge valley. 
About how you needed to turn your scientific method to the study of magic. 
Perhaps that is what you must do, to make the magic your own.”

“Easier said than done,” said James, throwing a
small spark into the air with his fingers. “Unless it’s fire.  And there are no
mages here to teach me.”

“Then perhaps I can teach you,” said Fenris
with a smile.  “Oh, not in the  manner of a master.  But I was the leader of
border scouts, and as such had to have a good basic understanding of magic. 
Like.”  Fenris muttered some almost unintelligible words, and faded from
sight.  A second later he was back.  “Or this,” and water flew from his hand.

“And you could teach me these?”

“I think so.  And with your connection to
elemental power, you will be able to do much more powerful versions of them.”

“Then let’s get started,” said James, almost
salivating at the thought of doing things other than lighting objects on fire. 
“I think I’m going to need them before this is through.”

Chapter Nine

 “I want us to move on the village before sunup,”
ordered Marshal Ellisandra, standing in the bow and staring at the lights
ashore, up the body of the fjord a bit.  It was a Nord village, a different
group of those people than formed the Nord kingdom of the K’Elysius continent. 
These were much more primitive, and violent, farmers of a harsh land who turned
into sea pirates when the conditions were hard.  The fires and torches of the
village shone across the water.  His own ships were sitting a kilometer from
the entrance of the fjord, the narrow channel of water that ran inland up the
low valleys of the coastal mountain range.

His men were gathering their gear, clanking
along in the heavy armor they would normally not wear on the water.  Longboats
were lowered into the water.  He hoped to catch the villagers unprepared, and
his mages had cast spells of concealment, visual and audial, on his ships prior
to them reaching this point in the darkness.

“I think we should enlist the aid of these
people,” said Gellusus Janakaris, one of his officers of archers.  “Why start
off our landing by creating an enemy?”

“You will do as you are told,” said the
Marshal, glaring at his subordinate.  “I will not have a potential enemy behind
my back.”  He looked over at a figure dressed all in black, several similar
figures standing behind her.  “Are you ready for a swim?”

“I am not looking forward to it, no,” said
Glassini Ellishanana.  The
master assassin and chief of the others of her ilk who were to accompany her
glaring at the leader.  “That water promises to be colder than the ninth level
of the hells of chaos.”

All of the assassins were dressed in form
fitting black clothing that was magically enhanced to help them stay warm.  But
the waters this far north were frigid indeed, enough to sap the life of any
living creature that wasn’t made for them.

“Just get ashore quickly, and make sure that no
one sees us coming.  Then you and your people can stand around a roaring fire
as long as you wish.”  The Marshal didn’t have to say where the fire would come
from.  The village would provide it.

The Assassin gave a head nod of agreement in
the Ellala manner, then motioned for her people to go over the side.  She
followed the last one, and the Marshal was amazed at how they all entered the
water and started for the shore without a sound.

“Start the men into the longboats,” he ordered
after the black clad Ellala disappeared from his night vision in the dark
waters.

The officers started to round up their teams,
one leader and fourteen men to a boat.  Each ship was deploying three of the
longboats, for a total assault force of one hundred and thirty-five men,
including a half dozen magic users, mages and priests.  It was probably
overkill, but the Marshal wanted to take the village with as few casualties as
possible.  He would need every man he had when they moved inland.

Minutes later the boats were moving off under
the oars of the soldiers.  Two hundred meters from the shore they would ship
most of the oars and continue in under four each, staying as silent as
possible.

“I should go,” said Krug, stomping up in his
armor, great hammer in his right hand.

“You are too large for the longboats,” said
Ellisandra in a growl. 
He had been arguing with the Ogre for hours now.  The huge warrior wanted to
battle, and he was lapsing into an angry frustration.  “You would take up too
much space, and they require stealth.”

“Krug could be stealth,” said the huge
creature, waving his hammer in the air.

A damned fully armored war mammoth could move
with more stealth than you, you clumsy fool
, thought the Marshal.  “You will get
your chance to fight soon enough, my large friend.  When we start moving
inland, there will be humans, Grogatha and Trolls to fight.”  He did not
mention the other Ogre tribes, not knowing how the Gladiator would respond.

“Trolls,” said the huge warrior with a tusk
revealing grin.  “Krug like killing Trolls.  Trolls think they strong and
tough.  But they not as tough as Krug.”

Then I hope you get to fight your fill of them
on the way
,
thought the Marshal, remembering that he needed this warrior for when they
finally reached the sword and armor, which would be required to be worn by a
mighty warrior in order to get the Crown.  And Krug, stupid as he was, was the
mightiest warrior in their party.  He looked once more to shore, and the
longboats that were heading for the beach to the south of the fjord mouth,
where they would unload their soldiers.

“Patience, Krug,” he said to the Ogre as he
heard the massive creature stomp away.  “Patience.”

*     *     *

Glassini waded ashore about fifty meters from
the village up the fjord, near to the four long ships that were pulled up onto
the sands of the beach.  She shivered a moment from the cold, then said the
words of a warming spell that sent waves of warmth through her half frozen
limbs.  Around her the rest of her people came ashore with only the slight
noise of dripping water, two women and a man.  Most assassins were women, as
they were smaller and more agile than the males of the species.  And small size
and agility were much more important that strength in their profession.

Glassini flashed her fingers in sign as the
other assassins said the spells that brought warmth back to their limbs.  The
two women nodded, then ran inland like hunting cats, swift and silent. 
Glassini turned toward the village and moved in a lope that allowed her to stay
in the shadows, the smaller than average male at her heels.

All of the assassins were good at their trade. 
She wouldn’t have had them along otherwise.  But the Master took pride that she
moved better than the rest, and was sure that she would kill much more
efficiently as well.  She was acknowledged as the greatest of her generation,
at least on the K’Elisius subcontinent, if not the world.

So she was the first to pick up the sentry that
walked between the village and the long ships, trying to handle both jobs at
once, and doing poorly.  Glassini waited till the man had turned around, then
padded up to him without his notice and planted a sharp dagger into the base of
his skull, a quick in and out that killed instantly.  The male with her grabbed
the body and lowered it to the ground, while she stepped forward and scanned
the darkness with her night vision.

There was another sentry lined up against the
dying flames of the village’s central fire pit.  A shadow rose up, and the man
was gone, never to be seen alive again.  She nodded to her companion, and they
continued on into the village.

A door to a small hut swung open, and the two
assassins froze in place.  A large Nord came staggering out into the night, his
hands working at the laces of his pants.  He walked a short way away and
started to urinate on the ground.  A couple of dogs barked in the background,
and the man looked that way.  The barking stopped, and Glassini knew that they
had been silenced forever by the other team.  With that thought she crept up
behind the pissing man and killed him in the same way as the first.

They should be getting to the beach by now
, she thought, working
her way through the village and onto the fjord’s shoreline leading down to the
ocean.  There was a small fort there, with a fire going in the center, and a
pair of men walking the ramparts.  This was the direction the Nords expected an
attack if it came, and they had warriors ready.  The two visible, and probably
some more inside.

The Master made another motion, and the male
ran toward the other side of the fortress.  At a return signal from him she
started up the wall, using the climbing hooks she had attached to her hands and
feet while the other assassin was moving into position.  Just before she
reached the top one of the Nords stopped right above her and looked over.

Glassini stifled a curse so she could say the
words to the common Ellala sleep spell, pointing one hand at the Nord.  The man
opened his mouth to scream a warning, then slumped forward in a deep sleep. 
The Master reached up and grabbed him by the throat, pulling him over the wall
with her exceptional strength, punching the claws on her gloves into his
arteries as she pulled.  She let the body fall below, then vaulted over the
wall onto the walkway.

The other Nord turned in alarm at the slight
sound she had made.  A poison dart in his throat ended his life as a twitching
heap on the walkway, and the Master jumped on light feet to the floor of the
fortress.

There were two small buildings inside, and she
made her way first to the largest one, which turned out to be the barracks. 
Three men were sleeping inside, and she had no trouble moving from man to man
and ending their lives in silence.  The second building appeared to be a small
office and eating room, deserted for the moment.

Back outside, the Ellala made her way back to
the walkway, in time to see the soldiers they had landed walking up to the
fort.  She flashed a signal at the lead mage, who had overall control of the
force, then waited for them to head past, walking toward the village, ready for
battle.  From the number of long ships she knew there had to be at least two
hundred warriors here, probably three hundred, as all the males of this variety
of Nords were warriors.  Surprise would be on their side, but the Nords would
still outnumber them.

When the soldiers were about fifty meters from
the edge of the village, she shot a witchlight into the air, the minor cantrip
sending a shining star from her fingertip into the night sky.  A moment later a
pair of long houses in the village flared with fire, which soon engulfed the
entire front of both buildings.  A few seconds later the same happened to
another pair of the long halls, and Glassini jumped from the wall and raced
around her own soldiers to the landward side, looking for a way to add her own
talents to the fight that would develop in any moment.

It didn’t take long for Nords to come boiling
out of their long houses.  All were either still heavy with sleep, or alcohol. 
None were in the typical armor of their people, though some were trying to
shrug into scale mail, or buckle helmets to their heads.  Most were failing,
and the majority had a hard enough time just handling their weapons.

A flurry of arrows and bolts slammed into the
Nords, dropping a score of them to the ground to clutch at protruding shafts. 
The archers fired again in an instant, while crossbowmen worked at reloading
their slower weapons.

The foot soldiers ran in, fully armored and
alert, swinging their weapons to cut down the unarmored Nords.  Here and there
the Nords fought back with skill and courage, but on the whole it was the
slaughter of half drunken fools against skilled warriors.

Glassini ran up behind one of the Nords that
seemed to have his wits about him, stringing an arrow to his bow.  The assassin
ran in and with flashing blades sliced through the throat of the bowman, then
reversed blades and stabbed another warrior in the chest.

Jakisanda Millistara,
the Priest of Bothar,
stepped in front of a group of Nords that had found shields and started to form
a wall.  He raised his staff into the air, then pointed it at the Nords as he
called out words of power that reverberated like thunder through the night.  A
wave of darkness left the staff and washed over the shield wall of Nords.  It
rolled like oil up and over the shields, into the faces of the Nords.  Those
men screamed in terror, then in silent open mouthed agony as the death magic
stole their life force and channeled it back into the Priest, and through him
to his God.  Faces shriveled until they were nothing but desiccated skin
stretched over bone, then their mummified bodies fell to the ground.

A Priest of Life might have been able to
counteract the magic.  The only one the Nords had was already lying dead on the
cold ground with a half severed head, while the surviving Chaos Priests had no
power to counteract death magic.  Two other groups of Nords were starting to
form up, but their courage left them at the sight of the death magic that not
only took their lives, but their souls as well.

An hour later the Marshal came ashore, stepping
from the long boat as soon as its bow had grounded on the beach.  He walked
into the camp with an escort, spotting Glassini and heading her way.

“What kind of village is this?” he asked,
looking at the heaps of warriors laying around.

He notices that there are too many warriors for
such a place
,
noted the Assassin with approval. 
Our leader is no fool.  I really hope I
do not have to end his life. 
“It is not a village,” she answered.  “It’s a
reaver’s camp, and these men were gathered here prior to going to sea to raid. 
There were only a few women, slaves.  And no children.”

“And where did they come from?”

“Most from the villages at the head of this
fjord,” she answered, remembering how the Death Priest had extracted the
information from a survivor, before he drained the human of his life and soul. 
A foul way to die.  Better that I had taken his life with my blade.   
“From
what we gathered, the village is on some flat valley land that branches from
the water about thirty or forty kilometers up.”