Shield Knight Calliande's Tale Read online

  I cursed (using language inappropriate for a Magistria, I should add), and tugged at the reins, trying to get the horse to stop. It was useless. The scent of the revenants had put unreasoning fear into the animal, and I could have yanked on the reins until the bit sawed into the poor horse’s mouth, but it would have done nothing. The horse galloped past the revenants and deeper into the hills, snow and pine needles churning up from the steel-shod hooves.

  I don’t know how far we went as I fought to get the mount under control. Five or six hundred yards, perhaps, or maybe as far as half of a mile.

  Then the horse stumbled and reared up with a scream.

  I lost my seat, my boots sliding backward out of the stirrups. I just had time to remember to tuck my shoulder as my instructor had taught me, which probably saved my life. I hit the rocky ground hard, rolled, and slammed into a tree with enough force to blast the air from my lungs.

  My horse screamed again and galloped off, leaving me alone in the snowy woods.

  I said some more words that were inappropriate for a Magistria and got to my feet, brushing the snow from my robe and cloak.

  For a moment, I had no idea what to do next.

  I wasn’t lost. The River Moradel was to the west, and even with the sky overcast, it was easy enough to see the afternoon sun. I would just have to walk to the west until I found the Moradel road, and then make my way to the town. It was only another five or six miles, and I could manage that on foot.

  But I didn’t like that idea. Marius was fighting the revenants and the cogitaers, and I couldn’t abandon him. For that matter, I had a duty. I was a Magistria, and while the Knights of the Soulblade were the most effective against the revenants, a Magistria could destroy them as well. The magic of the Well cannot harm living mortals, but it can destroy creatures like the revenants.

  I decided to head west until I found the battle, and then see if I could do anything. If there was anything, anything at all, I could do to aid Marius and Hadrian and the others, then I would do it. And if not…I would go to Dun Calpurnia and make sure they were avenged.

  The thought of Marius’s death upset me. After my father died, the old Magistrius had been the closest thing to a father I had found. If the revenants and the cogitaers had hurt him, they would regret it.

  I trudged westward through the snow, grateful that I had worn so many layers. I climbed the slope of a hill and was a little out of breath before I got to the top. Now I can walk from dawn until dusk and think nothing of it, but back then I wasn’t much more than skin and bones. The cooks at the Tower of the Magistri said I needed fattening up, but my stomach was often upset after healing, so I skipped more meals than I should have. Years campaigning against the Frostborn and healing the wounds of the injured men would toughen me up, but that was all in the future.

  After the crest of the hill, I picked my way down the slope into the ravine between two hills. Pine trees cloaked the hills, and I couldn’t see very far in any direction. Nor could I hear the sound of fighting. Was the battle over already? More likely the snow muffled the noises and kept it from traveling.

  Then I saw a blue light in the trees, and I froze in dread.

  Three revenants shambled out of the trees, converging on me. I wondered how they had found me. Perhaps they could see my life force or the heat of my body. Or, more likely, they had followed the footprints of my panicked horse. Which was what I should have been doing, come to think of it.

  Terror stabbed through me, and I wanted to run and hide and wait for them to pass.

  But I didn’t.

  I was suddenly too angry to be afraid. The revenants were going to try to kill Marius. They would try to kill the men-at-arms, who were fighting to defend their homes and their realm from the Frostborn.

  Ridmark once told me there are three ways a man can react the first time he finds himself in danger – he can fight, he can freeze, or he can flee. I suppose that applies to a woman, too, because at that moment I was too angry to do anything but fight.

  I called the power of the Well and threw a shaft of white fire at the first revenant. The magic of the Well slashed at the creature, and the icy magic binding the dead flesh collapsed. The second revenant came at me, and I hit it with the same spell. I had used enough of my strength in the first spell that I couldn’t hit as hard, but I still struck with enough force to dispel the cold magic and destroy the undead.

  The final revenant strode towards me. I think it had once been a human man-at-arms, and it still wore leather and chain mail. I struck it with a shaft of white fire, and the creature recoiled. But I had used too much of my strength, and I didn’t destroy it.

  The revenant lunged at me, the cold blue glow around its fingers brightening.

  I screamed and cast a warding spell, calling a shield of translucent light before me. The revenant walked into it and rebounded, the cold magic within it repulsed by the power of the Well. I dropped the ward, drew in all the power my tired mind could hold and thrust out my hands.

  The blast of white fire struck the revenant, threw it backward, and shattered the spells upon the creature before it hit the ground.

  I lowered my hands, breathing hard. I was annoyed that I was sweating so much. Once I cooled off, that was going to be unpleasant in the chill. But standing here to rest would get me killed, so I pushed onward.

  I made it about three steps before I heard a man’s hoarse shout and the sound of steel clanging against bone.

  I sucked in a freezing breath and started running, and I reached the top of the hill to see a battle underway.

  Sir Hadrian Aurelius stood at the top of the hill, a broken shield at his feet, a battle axe in his hands, blood streaming down his side and right leg. Three revenants circled him, and even as I looked, he bellowed and whipped the axe in a two-handed blow.

  Magic was the most efficient way to destroy a revenant, but cutting off their heads with an axe worked well too.

  Hadrian shouted again and stumbled, falling to one knee. The wound in his side had taken its toll on him. One of the revenants lunged for him, hands reaching for his throat. I yelled and called the power of the Well again, and I hit the revenant with a blast of white fire. I struck the creature with enough force to destroy it, and the empty body fell to the hill.

  With a roar of effort, Hadrian surged to his feet, axe raised over his head, and split the remaining revenant’s skull in half. That proved just as effective as cutting its head off, and the creature collapsed, Hadrian’s axe still buried in its head.

  With a groan, Hadrian fell to his knees, wheezing, his face going gray beneath its coat of sweat.

  “Girl,” he croaked. I stepped closer, looking at his wound as I flexed my gloved fingers. It looked like he had been stabbed in the side, and the blade had penetrated his armor, hit his bowels, and angled up to strike his lung and perhaps his heart. If his heart didn’t give out first, he would die in a great deal of agony in a few days. “I’m done for, girl. Go. Get back to the road and head to Dun Calpurnia. Tell the Dux…tell the Dux…”

  “Stop talking,” I said, stepping closer as I summoned magic.

  He frowned, tried to look affronted, but let out another wheeze of pain.

  I clamped my hands on his temples and cast the healing spell.

  That really hurt. I never enjoy casting the healing spell, but already I was used to pulling the pain into myself. I gritted my teeth and clenched my jaw as the healing magic poured into him and the agony flooded into me. I felt the blade plunge into my belly, felt it shear through my innards and rise to nick my lung. I would have screamed, but it never helped, so I rode through the agony, enduring it in silence as I clenched my jaw.

  By the way, don’t get into that habit. I’ve spent so much time clenching my jaw that the joint is sprained, and sometimes it gives me the nastiest headaches.

  The agony roared on and on for an eternity, and then it winked out as if it had never been.

  I sighed in relief and stepped back, and H
adrian looked up at me, bewildered.

  Then he looked at his side and patted it, and blinked in surprise.

  “It will leave a nasty scar,” I said, “but you won’t die. It will make an interesting story to tell your wife when she sees you next.”

  “I don’t have a wife,” murmured Hadrian, still stunned.

  “Also,” I said, “I told you to call me Magistria.”

  He blinked again, looked at his side, and nodded.

  “As you say, then, Magistria,” said Hadrian. He got to his feet and wrenched his axe from the destroyed revenant. It made a gristly, crackling noise.

  “I have a question,” I said.

  Hadrian nodded.

  “What are we going to do now?” I said.

  “That,” admitted the knight, “is a very good question.”

  Chapter 4: Prisoners

  Hadrian looked to the west and then nodded.

  “Let’s follow my tracks back to the road,” he said. “If the battle is still underway, we shall aid our men and the Magistrius. And if not…”

  He let the sentence trail off. He didn’t need to finish it.

  If not, we would have to bring news of their fate to the Dux in Dun Calpurnia.

  “Lead the way,” I said.

  We started back, following the trail that Hadrian’s horse had hammered through the snow in its terror. He was a good seven or eight inches taller than I was, and I had to work to keep up with him.

  “How did you end up here?” I said, though I could guess the answer.

  “Most likely the same way that you did,” said Hadrian. “My horse panicked, and when I got it under control, I was attacked by a group of revenants that followed me from the road. My horse panicked and threw me from my saddle, and one of the revenants had a spear. I landed right on it.” He grimaced. “The damned things hardly ever carry weapons. Just my luck, I suppose, that I encountered one that did.”

  “Our luck has been ill this day,” I said.

  “Not entirely,” said Hadrian. “If you hadn’t been there, Magistria, I would have bled to death, or the revenants would have killed me.” He paused. “How did you heal that wound? I was sure you wouldn’t have the strength…”

  “Because I’m a young girl?” I said.

  “Well,” said Hadrian. “Yes. I’ve known Magistri thrice your age who would not have had the strength to heal that wound or would have been flat on their back with exhaustion after. Yet you were no more than winded.”

  I shrugged. “If you are familiar with the Magistri, sir knight, then you know that not all of us are equally skilled in all areas of magic. Some are better at warding. My particular talent is healing.” My voice grew quieter. “From the very beginning, in fact.”

  I was spared the need for further conversation when we crested the hill and looked down at the road and the River Moradel.

  Though given the sight that greeted us, I might have preferred more conversation.

  The snow was trampled and churned. A dozen horses were milling around in confusion, but there was no sign of the cogitaers and the revenants. For that matter, there was no trace of Marius and the men-at-arms.

  “God and the saints,” I said, feeling a lump in my throat. “The revenants killed them all.”

  “Maybe,” said Hadrian. He sounded more thoughtful than alarmed. “But maybe not. I want to check something.”

  We hurried down the slope and came to the churned snow that marked the battle. Hadrian stooped, ran his gloved hand through the snow, lifted it to his nose, and nodded.

  “Smell this,” he said.

  I did, and my nose crinkled in disgust. It wasn’t a pleasant smell, like sulfur mixed with rotting vegetation.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “Gas,” said Hadrian, his voice grim. “A weapon the khaldjari brewed up for their Frostborn masters. The cogitaers carry it in clay spheres the size of a man’s fist. When the spheres break, the gas comes roiling out, and it knocks out anyone who breathes it.”

  “Then our men are alive?” I said.

  “Aye,” said Hadrian. He stared at the ground for a bit. “Looks like…aye, the revenants carried them away to the northeast, deeper into the hills. They probably want to avoid the fortifications at Dun Calpurnia.”

  “Why would they take captives?” I said.

  “The Frostborn take slaves, you know that,” said Hadrian. “They raid Caerdracon for slaves, and even the orcish kingdoms of Khaluusk and Mhorluusk when they can get away with it.” He grimaced and shook his head. “Then they’ll work the slaves to death, and raise their corpses as revenants.”

  I didn’t like that thought at all. Marius was vigorous for an old man, but he was still an old man. How long would he last at forced labor? For that matter, it was a cruel fate for the men-at-arms.

  “Can we do anything about it?” I said.

  Hadrian hesitated. “We should return to the Dux in Dun Calpurnia and tell him what happened. Perhaps he can send men after the captives.”

  I took a deep breath. “Or we could go after them ourselves.”

  Hadrian frowned. “We are one knight and one Magistria. There were three cogitaers and dozens of revenants.”

  “In the scriptures, did not Gideon and the three hundred Israelite men defeat the Midianite horde?” I said.

  “Gideon still had three hundred men,” said Hadrian.

  “True,” I said. “Another question. Can you in good conscience leave those men to their fate? When we might have the power to help them?”

  Hadrian grimaced. “No. Nor can you, I think.” He glanced at the sky. “We have some hours of daylight yet. Come. Let us put them to use.”

  We took the reins of two horses, calming the beasts.

  “The horses will help us follow the revenants,” I said, “but won’t they panic at the scent of the creatures?”

  “There is a precaution we can take,” said Hadrian. “No revenants have been seen this far south for months. Had I known they were here, we could have been better prepared.” He reached into the saddlebags of his horse, rummaged for a bit, and then pulled out a small clay jar. I watched as he pried off the lid, and a strange odor came to my nostrils.

  “Ugh,” I said. “What is that?”

  “It numbs the nostrils of the horses,” said Hadrian, dipping a finger into the paste within the jar and rubbing it around his horse’s nostrils. “They don’t like it, but it doesn’t hurt them, and they can’t smell anything for a few hours. The miners of the Northerland thought it up so their pack horses wouldn’t be spooked by urvaalgs.”

  I had claimed the horse of a man-at-arms, so I opened the saddlebags and found another jar of paste. The Dux of Caerdracon must have ordered all the horsemen in the army to carry it. I cracked the jar open and started applying the paste to my horse.

  It was nearly two hundred and forty years ago, but I can still smell it. God, but that was nasty-smelling stuff! Still, it smelled better than the man with the ruptured bowel I had mentioned to Sir Hadrian.

  “Did I do that right?” I said, wiping off my hand on the horse’s side.

  “Yes,” said Hadrian, glancing at my horse. “Let’s go.”

  We mounted up and rode to the northwest, following the trail the revenants had left behind.

  “A question,” said Hadrian.

  I frowned at him. “Should we be talking? The enemy might overhear us.”

  “The revenants aren’t stealthy,” said Hadrian, “and we’ll hear them long before they hear us. And voices do not carry far in a snow-choked forest.”

  I hoped he was right about that. “All right. What did you want to know?”

  “You were born a commoner, yes?” said Hadrian.

  “That’s right,” I said. I knew some of the common-born Magistri were embarrassed by their origins and secretly wished they had been born noble, but I didn’t care. I was who I was, and that was that. “My father was a fisherman. We lived in a little village on the western bank of the River Morade
l, just across from Tarlion itself.”

  It seemed so very far away now.

  Hadrian frowned. “I see.”

  “Why is that troubling?” I said.

  “It isn’t,” he said. “It is puzzling. How does a young girl become a Magistria capable of healing a spear wound like that?”

  “Life is full of mysteries,” I said.

  We rode in silence for a while. The trail climbed into the hills, weaving past the pine trees.

  I opened my mouth, closed it again, and started to speak.

  “When I was younger,” I said, “my mother died of plague. A few years after that, my father died. His heart gave out. I tried to save him, but I didn’t know what to do. I prayed to God to save him, but the answer was no. But it felt like I was on fire, and I didn’t know what to do with the flame.”

  “The magic,” said Hadrian, voice quiet. “That was the magic manifesting.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Marius found me and brought me to the Tower of the Magistri to be trained. He says I’m one of the best healers he’s ever found, and he thinks it is because…”

  “Because of your father,” said Hadrian.

  “Aye,” I said. “Every time I cast the healing spell, I think about my father. I think about how I might have been able to save him, if I had known more. You have to pull the pain into yourself for the healing spell to work, to feel the pain of the wound as if it were your own, and some of the Magistri simply can’t endure that. But I can. I can always endure it. Because if I had understood, I might have been able to save my father.”

  “You should not blame yourself,” said Hadrian. “You were only a child.”

  “I don’t blame myself for anything,” I said. “But I still wish it could have been different.”

  “For a fisherman’s daughter,” said Hadrian, “you are most wise, Magistria.”

  I snorted. “Fishermen are the wisest men in the world by necessity. Stupid fishermen drown.”

  “A practical argument, Magistria,” said Hadrian. He hesitated. “And now, I think, we should be quiet.”

  I offered no argument, and we eased our horses forward. Hadrian gestured, and we slid from the saddle and crept forward, climbing towards the crest of another rocky hill. I feared the horses would bolt, but they were well-trained enough to stay put, and the paste around their nostrils kept any scent of the revenants from reaching them.