The Amber Legacy (41 page)

Sleep weighed on her. She wanted to lie down, and close her eyes, but the tent floor was awash, and the rain
seemed endless. She wondered how the soldiers were faring in the torrential downpour—whether or not they, too, were stranded in flooded tents, cursing her for calling in the rain. She created a light sphere and fished in her bag for the spell book, and reread the weather conjuration entries, hoping to find an overlooked key to ending the spell, only to discover that her original understanding of its longevity was accurate. Disappointed, she closed the book. The corner where her possessions were stored was dry, but water still seeped in along the base of the tent flap.
Have I learned any spells that could dry my tent? No. Can I modify the fire spells to create heat to evaporate the water?
She wasn’t sure, and it still wouldn’t solve the problem of the flooding. Patience. That was her only tool.

The rain stopped just before dawn. Through her fog of exhaustion, when she emerged from her tent, legs and body aching, she saw grey ghosts of soldiers trudging across the muddy earth carrying shovels they’d used to dig channels to guide the water away from their tents. No one had dug a channel for her. She watched them blankly, through tired eyes, unable to move, until Leader Strongarm came from the direction of the Marchlord’s tent, and said, ‘Good morning, Lady Amber,’ as he halted before her. ‘Marchlord Longreach has dispatched scouts to ascertain the state of the enemy after the rain.’ He stopped as he realised her condition. ‘Would you like to rest in my tent while we await the report?’ She gratefully accepted his kind offer. Inside the Leader’s dry tent, she shed her wet clothes, curled up in his warm blankets and fell asleep.

‘There were bodies hanging in trees and jammed in the rocks along the creek,’ Leader Strongarm told her, as the early afternoon sun broke through the clouds and lit his face. ‘Half the enemy soldiers perished in the flash
flood, and the rest have fled. Marchlord Longreach is confident the Royal Marches can now drive the surviving barbarians out of the kingdom from this region. He asked me to commend you for your work, Lady Amber, and wishes you a safe journey south.’

‘How many?’

‘How many what?’

‘How many—died?’

Strongarm shrugged. ‘Hard to say. Six or seven hundred. Maybe more. No one’s counting.’

Meg nodded, but didn’t say any more. Instead, she mounted her horse. She hadn’t expected the Marchlord to personally thank her for flooding the valley to defeat the enemy, but she was annoyed that he remained dismissive of her. Her spell had saved the lives of hundreds of his men—possibly even his own life—and he arrogantly chose to remain aloof, as if her presence had been an annoyingly necessary interruption in his course of affairs. And if she’d been a Seer—a
male
Seer—then how would Longreach have reacted? And she hadn’t managed to speak to Blade—and now it was too late, and she was too tired. She urged her horse into a walk, glad to be leaving. Her spells had worked, but her heart was heavy because she was coming to terms with being responsible for the deaths of hundreds of men.
Is killing the final consequence of having power?
she wondered, as the Elite Group descended the escarpment.
Is my only real value to the Queen as a weapon?
If that was all she was becoming by acquiring magical skill, then she had no desire to learn anymore. There were enough legitimate killers in the kingdom, in the army ranks, and she would not be one of them.

T
he south-west journey took three days of steady riding, and Meg was exhausted and in real pain for most of the time. The nights were restless, despite her tired body, and she dreamed endlessly, caught between images of a tortured figure pinned cruelly to a dragon statue and men drowning in a flash flood as it ripped through a valley. Each morning she struggled to wake and had to be helped onto her horse, but she refused to be carried or for the Group to lose time waiting for her. The amber crystal healed injuries and illnesses, but not fatigue.

When they reached the battle front line, midmorning of the fourth day, they discovered that constant fighting had savagely mauled the Queen’s army, and Beranix’s army was within a day’s march of Port of Joy. Warmaster Waters’ command post was stationed in Greenhill, a farming town straddling Settlers’ Creek. His army was camped on the southern side, facing Beranix’s troops. Smoke billowing from house fires along the outskirts of the town’s southern quarter testified to fierce fighting that morning. ‘So, you’re the infamous Lady Amber,’ Warmaster Waters said, as Meg was introduced. ‘You’re every part as beautiful as Her
Majesty described.’ Surprised by the Warmaster’s compliment, after dealing with the Marchlord’s arrogance and Leader Strongarm’s indifference, the flattery made her blush, which broadened Waters’ smile. ‘According to my reports, you dealt very effectively with Beranix’s force at Kangaroo Ridge, Lady Amber. I hope you can do the same here before we lose everything.’

‘I’d prefer to resolve this without magic,’ she said.

‘And I’d like to end it without fighting. But Beranix has other ideas.’ Waters ordered his attending soldiers to return to their posts and nodded to Strongarm.

Understanding the Warmaster’s hint, the Elite Guards’ leader bowed, and said, ‘Warmaster Waters, please excuse me, but I need to organise my Group in preparation for Lady Amber’s comfort and protection. I will leave her in your care.’ He motioned to Meg’s bodyguards as he turned to depart.

Waters took Meg’s arm, as she remembered Follower Servant taking it to condescendingly lead her, and he said, ‘Forgive my forward manner, Lady Amber, but I want to explain the current situation to you, privately.’ He led her across the street from his command post to an empty alley, released her arm, and said, ‘Lady Amber, I have a problem.’ He glanced into the street before explaining, ‘Her Majesty has sent me orders to accept your advice and to use your skills to defeat Beranix’s army. Of course, you know this. That’s why you are here.’ He checked the street again, and asked, ‘Are you a disciple of Jarudha?’

That question
, she thought, and didn’t answer.

‘So,’ he said, and shrugged. ‘My brother said that might be how you would answer.’

‘Your brother?’

‘You know him,’ Waters said. ‘We look alike.’

Meg stared at the Warmaster’s weathered face, the
exhaustion in his lines, the peppered beard, and saw a likeness emerge. ‘Seer Diamond?’

Waters gave a brief, ironic smile. ‘My brother told me that I can’t trust you. He says you’re a heretic, a work of evil.’ Meg tensed, suspecting that she was in danger. ‘It’s all right,’ Waters told her. ‘You don’t know whether I’m worthy of your trust now, any more than my brother would have me trust you.’ He glanced again in the direction of the street, and, voice lowered, he said, ‘I’m not a religious man, Lady Amber. My brother has enough religion for the two of us. I’ve seen religion’s poison and I took the cure. Killing men in battle can do that. You either see the hand of Jarudha in your sword, or you don’t. I don’t. Jarudha, if he exists, is not a murderer. My brother, unfortunately, sees Jarudha as his excuse to kill those who would not follow in his way. I can’t believe in that kind of god. Even Her Majesty has more compassion.’ He looked at the street again.

‘Why are you so nervous?’

‘In the middle of a war, accidents happen. Death in wartime is random, and everyone can conveniently blame a death on the enemy.’

‘Someone is trying to kill you?’

‘Not just me, Lady Amber.’

A soldier appeared in the alley entrance. ‘Warmaster?’

‘What is it?’ Waters demanded.

There was a thud and a fireball curled over the rooftops. ‘Sir, the enemy are mounting another attack.’

Waters swore. ‘I’m coming,’ he told the soldier, who promptly left. To Meg, he said, ‘Stay close to your bodyguards. I’ll come to discuss tactics when this little interruption is over.’ He led her out of the alley, into a river of soldiers running to positions. Leader Strongarm appeared with twenty Elite Guards. ‘Look after your
charge!’ Waters bellowed, before he plunged into the river of men heading for the defences. Another ball of fire mushroomed.

‘Lady Amber, it’s prudent for you to follow us to a safer position,’ Strongarm recommended.

‘Where’s the highest point?’ she asked.

‘Pardon?’ Strongarm queried.

‘A building? I want to see the battle.’

‘There’s a tower in the temple grounds,’ he replied. ‘But it’s on the riverbank.’

‘Take me there.’

‘But it’s too close to the fighting,’ he argued.

‘Better,’ she said. ‘Take me there now.’

Strongarm’s expression showed he was caught between decisions. Finally he said, ‘This way,’ and led Meg and his Guards along the street.

Surrounded by a low wall, imitating the walled seclusion of the Jarudhan temple in Port of Joy, the temple was a small stone and thatch building, a round hall with half-a-dozen wooden room extensions. A circular stone tower beside the temple rose four storeys. As Meg’s entourage approached the tower, a yellow-robed Jarudhan acolyte emerged from the temple to intercept them. ‘This is holy ground!’ he declared, waving his arms as if to ward them away. ‘No soldiers! No war!’

‘I need the tower,’ Meg told him.

‘Who are you?’ he challenged.

‘“Asking a guest his business when he is already in your house is the mark of the ill-prepared host,”’ she replied. Shocked to hear her recite scripture, the acolyte watched as Meg tried the tower door handle. ‘Where’s the key?’ she asked.

‘It’s not permitted,’ the acolyte blurted.

‘“Open the doors to all my people who are in need,”’ she quoted. ‘Open it.’

The acolyte stared at the red-haired woman dressed in men’s black tunic and trousers. ‘I know you,’ he said. ‘You are the abomination.’

‘Break the door open!’ she ordered.

‘This is holy ground,’ Strongarm reminded her.

Meg rounded on him, glaring. ‘Break the door open!’ Strongarm issued orders to six Elite Guards who commenced battering the door with their shoulders and heavy boots.

‘Stop!’ the acolyte screamed. He lunged at the men, but two Elite Guards pinned him to the ground, and when the door cracked open, Meg strode in and climbed the winding wooden stairs, pursued by Strongarm and five Elite Guards.

She emerged through a trapdoor onto a parapet from where she could see over the town. The river was directly behind and the two bridges spanning the river were clogged with Royal soldiers pushing towards the front line. Three blocks south the entire quarter was burning. A wall of black smoke rose from the flames that were consuming the houses and the thick smoke masked the enemy lines. Balls of fire erupted irregularly, setting more buildings ablaze. Along the visible narrow streets and lanes, soldiers were desperately fighting Beranix’s troops who were only distinguishable from the Queen’s men by the direction from which they came and occasional strips of green signifying Beranix’s heraldry. The enemy were pushing inexorably north as the town’s defences collapsed.

She glanced at the clouds. The weather would at best permit her to conjure light rain. She shivered at the memory of the flooding and mass killing that she’d brought upon Beranix’s army at Kangaroo Ridge. That, she would never do again. But how could she help the defenders below? How could she drive Beranix’s army back without killing anyone?

‘Lady Amber?’ Leader Strongarm interrupted her thoughts by pointing south-east. Through the smoke haze, a small group of people were gathered at a grove of gum trees. In front of the group, a single figure was swinging a staff in sweeping circles, and out of the circles rose a thick, grey mist which spread down the hillside, covering a large force of Beranix’s men. ‘The shaman is concealing them,’ Strongarm explained. ‘If it works, they’ll outflank our defenders and trap them before they can cross the bridge to safety.’ He gestured to an Elite Guard. ‘Warn Warmaster Waters. Tell him what you’ve seen.’ The guard pushed past his companions, and as he descended Meg saw the mist pour into the alleys and streets, the faint shadows of men moving within it. The bewildered Queen’s soldiers retreated from the strange, encroaching mist.

Remembering the night when Blade Cutter faced the horse illusion, Meg said, ‘I can do something.’ She closed her eyes and began an incantation.

The mist flowed like a slow flood through the streets, and fireballs exploded among the retreating Queen’s soldiers, spreading the panic. Word of the surprise magical attack reached the southernmost defenders, whose ranks began to fragment. ‘It’s too late!’ Strongarm yelled. ‘We have to get across the river before our escape is cut off! Lady Amber! You have to come!’

Meg ignored his plea. With a fierce arcane utterance, she opened her eyes. A strong northerly breeze whipped her hair as it roared across the river to tear the grey mist apart, exposing Beranix’s troops. Leading the enemy were two shaman who were casting fireballs. Curiously, immediately behind them, Meg saw two boys who, as the shaman waved their arms, threw what looked like small jars. The jars exploded in fireballs as they hit a building.

Strongarm stared at the scene in awe as he assessed the effect of Meg’s spell on the battle. ‘Too late,’ he reiterated. ‘Beranix’s men have got too far, and too many of our people are on the run. You tried. Now we have to get out of here.’ Reluctantly, she followed the Elite Guards down the stairs and into the temple courtyard, still wondering what the boys had thrown to create such impressive explosions.

The Guards led her along the riverbank, towards the bridge, the noise of the retreat and battle and explosions closer with every step. Enemy soldiers burst from an alley. ‘Protect Lady Amber!’ Strongarm yelled, and the Elite Guards formed a cordon around Meg. Trapped behind the Guards, she was surprised at how quickly Strongarm’s men cut through the enemy, and a moment later Strongarm was urgently ushering her on. Another twist and turn along the bank, and the bridge appeared, where a fierce and bloody battle was in progress as the Queen’s men fought to hold back Beranix’s soldiers. Strongarm halted. A fireball erupted in the midst of the Queen’s soldiers’ ranks, followed by a second. Beranix’s force swept onto the bridge, cutting off escape. Strongarm swore. Turning to Meg, he said, ‘We have to go back. Can you swim?’

‘Yes,’ she told him.

‘Good.’ He herded her back along the bank to a stone building. He ordered his men to force open a door and he pushed Meg inside. He gave a sharp command to ten members of his Group, and he led the others away.

As the ten Elite Guards shuffled into the room, Meg asked, ‘What’s going on?’

A guard replied as he closed the door: ‘Leader Strongarm’s going to make sure none of the barbarians come near here. When it gets dark, we’re meant to get you across the river safely.’

‘Is it wise to hide in here? Couldn’t we swim across now?’ she asked.

‘We’d never make it. The barbarians would just shoot us in the water,’ he told her. He turned his attention to the other men, issued orders, and they fanned out through the building.

Meg could hear the faint sounds of the running battle through the streets. The building had only four rooms—two bedrooms, a parlour and a kitchen. It was as if the occupants had just left because the furniture was neatly in place, and the crockery and cooking utensils were positioned as if awaiting someone to go on with the daily chores. The Elite Guards, black armour blending into the shadowy rooms, took stations at the shuttered windows and bolted doors, and waited.

The fighting outside diminished. Meg crept to the front door where she could hear flames crackling. Then she smelt smoke. At her feet, fingers of smoke curled under the doorsill. She stepped back in alarm. ‘Leather!’ the Guard beside her sharply whispered. Leather, who Strongarm had left in charge, appeared and stared at the smoke. At the same moment, an explosion on the wooden shingles sent shards of burning wood tumbling into the room. Something heavy thumped against the front door. ‘To arms!’ Leather yelled. The front door crashed open and Beranix’s men leapt through.

Meg’s instinct was to run. She pushed through the Guards rushing to the attack, but as she reached the back door it shattered into splinters and more soldiers appeared. She dodged the grasping hands of two men, and hit a third across the face with her left arm, before retreating. Smoke swirled through the rooms. More burning shingles crashed to the floor. The situation was hopeless, but she sensed the Elite Guards did not intend to surrender, even against overwhelming odds. Too much was happening too quickly to think of a useful
spell. Instead, she decided her only hope was to break out of the house. Pushing past an Elite Guard who was desperately fending off two attackers, into the one bedroom not filled with fighting soldiers, she flung open the shutters and wriggled out the window. As she straightened, she heard a voice and turned to discover the path to the river was blocked by three of Beranix’s soldiers. Back over her shoulder, she saw five more soldiers in green, and a man in a long cloak made from a variety of animal hides. Dark-bearded with an unkempt mass of grey hair, he held a twisted staff fashioned from a mallee limb in his left hand. She reacted by conjuring a fireball, which exploded in the faces of the three men between her and the river. The soldiers collapsed, screaming in agony, and she sprinted past, but as she reached the riverbank she had the sudden sensation of being punched solidly between the shoulderblades, and she sprawled into the reeds and muddy water. Coughing and spluttering, she lurched to her feet, turning in time to glimpse the shaman swinging his staff before it crunched against her skull.