Sacrifice (Book 4) (11 page)

But the more they marched, the more Gen worried for the Chalaine. From his discreet vantage points, she appeared almost as an old woman, thin, weak, and hunched over like a small tree in a stiff wind. Through the brand he could sense her physical exhaustion and the discomfort of her raspy, peeling skin. During his ministrations to the soldiers, he would hear the men comment about how she was cursed for displeasing Eldaloth. Even worse, many began to wonder if they were on the wrong side of the battle, if Eldaloth had truly won and if they should have returned with Athan to Echo Hold after all.

“The Uyumaak will catch us in the morning, Gen,” Maewen told him as the exhausted and demoralized camp settled in for the night. “We’ve about two hours before we reach the ridge line, but the Uyumaak may catch us before then. I would push us through the night, but we’d lose half the army if we did.”

Gen leaned against a tree, watching the sky darken with a summer storm. “I’ll do what I can tonight to fortify the men. For all my forays and ambushes, I still can’t get a solid idea of how many Uyumaak are out there. I think they at least double our number.”

“We need your leadership, Gen,” Maewen said.

“I’ll be exposed if I do. Most of the people in this camp think I’m the Ilch. Well, I am—or was—but they won’t listen to me.”

“With the Chalaine’s endorsement. . .”

“They think I put the Chalaine and the First Mother under my power,” he replied. “I must stay concealed. I can work through you. If we are to have a fight with the Uyumaak, then we must do it on our terms. We can’t just let them fall on our rear while we run. Have the men take shifts. We need to build choke points with the forest detritus to inhibit the movement of the Uyumaak, particularly the Bashers. If we can get them entangled and stymied, we can hit them hard with bows while their own Archers will be practically useless. Let’s scout the points together. But this is the most important thing: when the morning comes, the Chalaine and the Dark Guard need to proceed toward Rhugoth. Whether we win or lose, she must get free.”

Maewen nodded, and they walked the length of the camp, Gen marking the points for the men to work piling brush and trees and placing crude traps. After reviewing the placement of men, Maewen returned to the camp to speak with the generals while Gen walked among the soldiers, using the power of Trys to sharpen swords to rival the blade of Aldradan Mikmir that he had wielded. He reinforced armor, created bow tips that could punch through armor with the same ease with which would pass through flesh, and healed what wounded he could. A light rain fell for about two hours during the night, eliciting curses from the men who were still awake.

As he rose from healing a man with an infected cut, he heard a familiar voice. “Excuse me, Amos?”

Gerand Kildan.

“Yes?” Gen answered, thankful for the concealing dark and his wide-brimmed hat.

“The men have told me you’ve demonstrated a great deal of skill at healing.”

“I do what I can,” Gen said, trying to keep his sentences short for fear the prince of Tolnor would recognize his voice.

“Then I wonder if you might aid me,” he said. “An Uyumaak arrow grazed my shoulder a few days back. It was nothing, but it’s turned swollen and painful now.”

“Come near one of the lanterns and let’s get a look,” Gen said. “You’re Lord Kildan’s son and a Dark Guard, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You fight well,” Gen said as they neared the lantern at the center of the camp where Maewen was the hub of the preparations against the Uyumaak. “Let’s take a look. Uyumaak arrowheads are unsavory things.”

Gerand removed his shirt, revealing a wicked, infected gash. Gen went through the motions of his worthless herbs, binding the wound and using Duammagic to heal the cut to where it would no longer fester or hamper Gerand’s movement.

“There. What I gave you will numb it and heal it quickly. Get what rest you can.”

Gerand grabbed his shirt and began to pull it on as Gen turned to leave. “Wait a moment, if you will. I would speak with you about another matter.”

Gen turned, keeping his head low. “And what is that, sir?”

Gerand glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “It is the Chalaine.”

“I can see that she is suffering.”

“Yes, in mind and body, I fear.”

“I have heard the men speak of her skin,” Gen said, “but what of her mind?”

Gerand sighed. “It is the loss of her baby, the absence of her mother, and the death of her Protector, Gen.”

“Most believe him the Ilch,” Gen said.

“I do not and neither does she,” Gerand stated, bringing Gen a sense of relief. “She cared for him a great deal, I think. I wondered if there is some remedy for her mind or her body that you can conjure. Ethris and Maewen have both tried their arts and failed. It is as if, well, I hesitate to say it.”

“As if she is cursed.”

“Yes, though I cannot believe it,” Gerand continued. “I cannot see what fault was hers. To me it seems a dark hopelessness and lack of purpose gnaw at her. It has robbed her of her gifts and her beauty. I cannot think of what might help but hoped you might have some cure.”

“You are a true friend to the Chalaine,” Gen said, proud of his once-faithful comrade in arms. “If the arts of Ethris and Maewen have failed to heal her body, then I doubt I can be of much use. But you are wise to see that it is the heart and mind that may be the seed of her sickness. While she may not be able to heal as she once did, she can bind wounds and speak words of comfort. Remind her of her trips to the Damned Quarter, and what she did for the children there. Remind her she is free to love whom she will now. She lacks a sense of her own strength, but it is there. Remind her.”

“You seem to know her better than I would think a wayfaring woodsman should,” Gerand said, Gen fearing the searching gaze now directed at him.

“I don’t spend all my time in the wild,” Gen answered obliquely. “Remember what I said, and be ready to leave this camp with her when danger arrives. It is clear the enemy still wants her.”

Gerand nodded, and Gen retreated into the night to rest and regain his strength. He slept for two hours once the rain stopped, rising in the dead of the night. A second shift of workers labored to fortify the positions he had marked earlier, the snapping and popping of deadfall dragged from place to place swallowed by the abyss of the forest. Gen found Maewen and let her know he was leaving to scout behind them.

The infusion of Millim Eri blood had improved his eyesight in the dark, and, with the help of damp ground, he passed stealthily toward an Uyumaak army he knew could not be far behind. Choosing every step carefully, he crept into a thicket some two hundred yards from their camp. He paused and waited, listening. Amid the sounds of trilling night birds and the occasional drip of water, something moved. Gen held perfectly still. A breeze brought in the sour smell of an Uyumaak cookpot, and he realized the their pursuers were closer than anyone thought.

A mighty Uyumaak bow creaked as an unseen Archer pulled it back. Gen dropped hard to the forest floor, the missile caroming awkwardly through the branches of the thicket. It had come from somewhere in front of him, but a second arrow from the side sank into the ground near his leg, and he rolled away and crouched, springing forward. The familiar thumping from the Archers broke loose, and a volley of arrows slashed through the night from three sides. The heavy shafts drilled into wood and branches, one tip slicing his cheek before embedding itself in a tree just ahead of him. He had walked into their trap.

Apparently they grew tired of me picking them off
.

With a burst of Duammagic, he kicked up a wind of pine needles and twigs, sending the spray up behind him in a swirl to conceal his location until he found a log thick enough to hide him lying athwart his course. He dove behind it and let his debris storm fade. The thumping started again and then died, the natural sounds of the forest returning, excepting the birds frightened away by the conflict. Gen lay perfectly still, attuning his senses to the night. Several minutes passed before he heard footsteps again, many of them, heading in his direction.

He kept his breathing shallow and his body as still as a corpse as an Uyumaak Hunter nearly stepped on him. With Mynmagic, he turned its mind against its companions, and it bolted away into the darkness. In moments, the sound of a battle in the darkness sent the Uyumaak running in the direction of his thrall until it fell. The thumping resumed as did the march, but instead of just the handful of Archers and Hunters, an entire wave of Uyumaak of every variety poured out of the darkness, marching directly toward the encampment. Gen used Trysmagic to disintegrate a portion of the log and the ground next to him, rolling inside the empty space and then creating a bark shell to conceal himself.

The heavy feet of Bashers and Warriors crunched all around him as the wave of Uyumaak passed by him in the night on their way to slaughter the army that would not be ready for them. Gen kept his awareness sharp and tried to gauge the numbers passing by him. Of the Tolnorian and Rhugothian army that once numbered two thousand strongly, only around twelve hundred remained. He guessed that twice that many Uyumaak marched on their crude fortifications. They had stretched their numbers in a long line, hoping, he guessed, to get around their fortified positions and prevent them from fleeing farther south to the ridge line.

Once they passed, Gen broke through the light bark around him and stood, wary of any stragglers. Once convinced of his safety, he formed a bow and arrow using the power of Trys, firing the arrow up through the canopy. With a quick incantation, he ignited the arrow mid-flight, sending a burning signal into the sky he hoped Maewen would see. Once the arrow burned and winked out, the familiar barking yells of Lord Kildan and General Harband erupted into the night, only the tone of their voices discernible from Gen’s position.

Run, Chalaine,
he thought as he crept forward. Once the battle started, he would harry the enemy from the rear, but doing so alone would be risky.

He didn’t wait long. The human arrows he had improved with his magic shot through the night, punching through Uyumaak and tree trunks with equal ease, dropping multiple Uyumaak on the way through. The Uyumaak archers returned in kind, screams and yells indicating some few arrows found their marks, but the forest and fortifications lessened their effectiveness. Surreptitiously, Gen turned an Archer’s mind against its fellows and watched as it killed five of its brothers before the Warriors turned and hacked it apart. All along the line Gen slunk, using Mynmagic to make traitors among the Uyumaak, conserving his strength with the other magics against greater need.

The battle raged for half an hour before thumping far behind him sent a chill up his spine. Turning, he jogged back at a cautious pace until he confirmed his worst fear. Another wave of Uyumaak approached from the rear. Cursing, he sprinted back toward the fray, and as he approached, he heard the words he had feared since the attack began—“Uyumaak are in the camp! Watch the flanks!”

Gritting his teeth, Gen ran right toward the middle of the fortifications they had created. Dawn had finally started to break, and in the dim, gray light, a pile of Uyumaak lay strewn about. A scant few Bashers hacked away at a wall of intervening deadfall behind which only a handful of defenders remained. The rest of the camp had split into two to intercept the waves of Uyumaak pressing them from either side.

The numbers appeared even but wouldn’t be for long. Using Duammagic, Gen leapt over the Bashers and defenders, forming two swords in midair before landing in the midst of chaos. He cast about for Maewen, not finding her, and pressed farther south, the fighting swirling around him. The weapons and armor he had enhanced lent his allies the advantage, although the Uyumaak’s numbers kept the fighting close.

At last he spotted the half-elf toward the rear near Falael, both elves using their bows to good advantage. “Maewen!” he yelled. “They’ve got another wave coming! We’ve got to run for it now. I’ll hold these for as long as I can and then follow you toward the ridge!”

She nodded and raised a loud whistle, a prearranged signal for retreat. The men fought their way backward as Gen worked his way around to the right flank. His swords whistled as he sprinted through the forest, hacking down Uyumaak in droves to free the men engaged with them. With haste, he worked his way from one end to the other and then back again until the thumping beyond the fortifications signaled that the second wave had pushed forward. Saddened by the wounded he left behind, Gen turned and ran, bringing up the rear of the fleeing column.

The retreat was fast and unorganized, but they emerged from the wood onto a ridgeline much sooner than Gen expected. Before them stretched a deep gash in the earth filled with dense spruce trees that cast up a crisp smell in the dawn. The wetness of the night before veiled much of the depression in a deep fog, but from their vantage point on the ridge, the other side beckoned. Turning east, they ran along a sheep trail on the ridge. The place where the ridge curved along the outer edge of the depression and then turned back west waited a tantalizing mile away. There, the running would get treacherous.

Gen ensured that all the men who could run were ahead of him and then followed. The ruckus of the pursuing Uyumaak crashing through the forest to their left sounded dangerously close. As he brought up the rear, he extended his swords to his sides, their unnaturally sharp blades effortlessly passing through the tree trunks to his left and right, sending trees crashing about on the trail to complicate his enemies’ movements.