The Sorcerer's Scourge (33 page)

Ellyssa’s blood froze as her heart hammered in her chest. Slavers! She took off running again, choosing the only route available to her. She darted down a small alleyway to her left. That narrow alley quickly turned into a complete maze created by the walls of shabby homes and businesses. She continued to follow the twists and turns of the alleys that sometimes got so narrow, she had to turn sideways to squeeze through.

She had no idea how many men were now chasing her, but the shouts seemed to be coming from all directions. Until now, she had chosen her path by keeping those voices to her back. Now she did know what direction was safe. Picking a suitable spot, she decided to try to wait them out. Casting another illusion spell, she squatted down, pressed her back against the filthy wall of the alley, and did a remarkable impression of an old wooden barrel.

She spotted the orange glow of torches and lanterns before she saw the men appear at the end of the alley in which she hid. A couple of men walked partway down and called out to another lantern-bearing man coming from the other direction.

“You see anything at that end?”

“Naw. She must ‘a kept running,” the lantern bearer called back.

Both men turned away and began walking towards the open end of the alley. Ellyssa began slowly letting out the breath she had been holding. That was when the rat climbed onto her pretty shoe and started crawling up her leg. She shuddered in revulsion as she felt the rat’s tiny claws lift and prick her skin as it moved steadily upward. It was a testament to her focus and willpower that she was able to keep from crying out in revulsion. She had spent almost her entire first year as Azerick’s apprentice killing rats with a goblin named Grick. However, hitting a rat with a stick or skewering it with a dart was far different from having one crawling up your leg.

Ellyssa tried to concentrate on keeping quiet and maintaining the focus on her spell. She only needed to keep it together for a few more seconds and then the men will have left and be busy searching elsewhere. She almost made it. Her resolve failed her when the rat reached her shoulder and gave her cheek a lick to see if she was edible.

The young wizard student lost control of far more than her spell. She screamed loudly as she jumped to her feet and began dancing and flailing at her hair in an effort to knock the rat from her shoulder and crush it under the wooden soles of her gold shoes. Every slaver in the area heard her cries and instantly converged on the alley. The men already standing at the ends smiled gleefully as they stalked towards the helpless girl.

What they did not know was that Ellyssa was far from helpless, and now she was furious. First, her grand night of watching the greatest minstrel in the kingdom was cut short, forcing her to walk home in her painful shoes. Then a bunch of filthy, lowlife slavers chases her across half the district and through filth-strewn alleys. Then to top it all off, a rat climbs up her leg and plants a wet kiss on her face!

“You want to chase me?” the furious girl shouted. “Well now you caught me, so here’s your reward!”

Ellyssa reached down and grabbed a broken shard of pottery. The spells she had prepared were not geared towards combat, but for the topics of this week’s classes. That still did not mean she was defenseless. Not all magic required precise forms to have an effect.

She pulled from the source and used its raw energy without bothering to form the weave required to achieve more precise or dramatic effects. Such use of magic was more in line with a hedge wizard and not a true student of the arcane. She let that force build up inside the fired clay shard and then released it all at once, launching the sharp piece of pottery from her hand like a stone from a sling. The shard caught the man approaching from one end of the alley right in the neck. He fell to the ground, clutching his throat and making a strangling sound as he choked on his own blood.

Ellyssa then turned towards the larger group approaching with a little more caution from the other end. Pulling a reagent from her purse, she formed a far more complex spell and fueled it with her anger. A strong wind began blowing down the alley, causing her hair to fly about her face like some fearsome spirit.

The wind began to howl as it strengthened, picking up lighter pieces of grit and debris and blowing it into the faces of the approaching men. The slavers drew short blades with one hand and tried to protect their eyes and face with the other as they continued to slowly advance.

Ellyssa sneered maliciously as she slowly raised her palms face up. Larger pieces of trash consisting of shattered boards, nails, pottery, and refuse rose from the ground and were taken by the wind into the swirling vortex forming in the middle of the alleyway. The slavers could no longer see their prey through that tiny tornado nor could Ellyssa see them. Nevertheless, the alley was narrow and she did not need to see them. There was no way for them to escape except back the way they came, and she doubted any of them could outrun the wind.

With a small shift in focus, Ellyssa sent the whirling mass of debris towards the men who now realized they were not dealing just with a rich young girl that found herself in the wrong part of town. They turned almost as one and raced fearfully back down the alley with the wizard-made tornado rapidly closing on them.

Pieces of wood and other solid bits of debris smashed into the slavers, breaking bones, cracking skulls, and bludgeoning tender flesh while sharper things like pottery and the occasional piece of glass sliced them like so many knives all whipped about by winds over a hundred miles per hour.

In such close confines, the spell was devastating. Had the men been able to split apart or had other avenues of escape, most of them would have escaped with only a few injuries or none at all. As it was, none of them did. Several unlucky men who had not even been in the alley ran right into the lethal vortex just as it reached the entrance, leaving a mass of dead and badly injured bodies lying still or moaning in pain.

Ellyssa reveled in her handiwork as she turned to escape out the other end of the alley. She barely had time to process the whirring sound speeding towards her from the end of the alley as she turned to leave. The small cudgel smacked her right between the eyes, felling her instantly.

A man stepped confidently out of the shadows near the end of the alley, strode towards Ellyssa, and looked down at her motionless form.

“Sweetheart, you just made me a very wealthy man,” the slaver captain told her unconscious body as he easily stuffed her in a large burlap sack and slung her over his shoulder.

CHAPTER
12

The army had been traveling for just over a week now and was halfway to their destination. Partway through the journey, sleigh runners replaced the wagon wheels to allow the conveyances to navigate the deep snow more easily. Azerick and the other spell casters used their magic to clear the deeper drifts, which prevented the wagons from becoming mired within the powdery terrain.

General Brague had done an admirable job of avoiding Azerick and his party, but he now stood in the waist-deep snow outside their tent. The General knew trying to enter it without permission was futile. He had quickly learned that it was no mere tent but some infernal wizard contraption, and walking in unannounced would simply deposit him in an empty tent bereft of furnishings.

Allister soon appeared at the entrance and held the flap open for the General. Brague stepped inside the vestibule then beyond where it emptied into a lavish interior fit for a Sumaran king. It was not the appearance of the tent that always drew his attention first, but the warmth. It took only minutes for the multiple layers of wool he wore to become very uncomfortable.

Azerick made his appearance with perfect timing. He strode through another entryway in a robe, scrubbing his hair vigorously with a towel. The sorcerer looked up at General Brague as he entered.

“I tell you, Allister, that bath is so hot I feel like a carrot in stew pot. Ah, General Brague, I did not realize it was that hour yet,” Azerick said, feigning both his surprise and apology.

“Hot bath…,” Brague whispered almost deliriously.

The only ablutions he and his men achieved on the march was from a pot of water heated on a camp stove inside a frigid tent.

Azerick arched his eyebrows. “You are welcome to use the bath, General. I am sure your men would understand that leadership has its rewards.”

Azerick only offered because he knew the prideful and stubborn man would refuse. They had a similar discussion the first time Brague had entered the opulent tent to discuss the wizards’ assistance in clearing the deeper snowdrifts so to hasten their travel. Azerick smiled as he watched the internal war ripple across the General’s face.

“I will endure as my men endure. It is what a man of integrity and leadership does,” Brague slowly proclaimed through clamped teeth.

“Well, I am glad I am not in charge then. So what is it you wish to discuss tonight?”

Brague pulled a map from a large leather tube and laid it out on the long table occupying the center of the room. He used two silver candlesticks and bowls filled with dates and nuts to hold down the corners.

“We should arrive in End’s Run within the week and I thought it a good time to show you what we have to work with so that you all can best prepare whatever you need in order to provide the greatest benefit to the battle.”

The General began identifying key points already marked on the map. “Here is End’s Run. About two days to the south, the pass is at its narrowest and steepest. If we can prepare some defensive fortifications at the head of that pass, we can offset what we can assume is our enemy’s numerical superiority.”

“How do we know how many soldiers Caalendor is bringing north?” Alex asked. “For all he knows Jarvin rode to North Haven or is simply hiding in End’s Run without a more than a handful of loyal followers.”

Brague shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You can bet a pigeon left North Haven before we were even lined up and headed north. He knows we are going to End’s Run. Even if he did not, he would bring every man he could. If he does not find Jarvin in End’s Run, the only place for him to go is North Haven. Caalendor’s troops would simply march from End’s Run to North Haven along the same route from which we are approaching and lay siege to city if the Duchess refused to surrender the King. No matter what Jarvin does, Caalendor knows he has to deal with North Haven’s military.”

The group around the table nodded their understanding of the situation. There was no way Caalendor was going to come to End’s Run with less than enough troops to lay waste to any town or city in which Jarvin might take refuge. Allister studied the map, particularly the pass.

“If there is a large amount of snow on the walls of that pass, we could conceivably cause an avalanche. Timed properly, it could be devastating to the men marching through it,” the archmage pointed out.

“I’ll leave that up to you all and keep our own men well enough away. If you can cause such an effect, you will have to do it before the first engagement. I will not sacrifice my men needlessly.”

“Of course, General.”

Rusty asked, “How long until we reach End’s Run?”

Brague did a quick calculation in his head then answered, “A week, maybe five days if we really push ourselves.”

“Can you guess at how far ahead that will put us of the Bishop’s forces?”

“That is a bit harder to figure. It depends on how hard they push themselves and how long it took Caalendor to assemble his forces. From what I have heard, the Bishop has played this whole thing like a patient chess master. I have to assume he had all of his pieces in place before he made his final gambit. Based on that assumption, that would mean having his army close to Brelland and knowing he will not want to rest until he captures or kills the King. I think we can expect to reach End’s Run one or two weeks ahead of him at best.”

“It’s not a great lead but enough to allow us to dig in and prepare the battlefield,” Alex put in.

“I will leave it to you gentlemen, and Lord Giles, to prepare yourselves. Now I must go see to three wagons with broken runners.”