“Are we winning?” Kendaria asked, a little breathlessly. She looked at Tessia, “We are, aren’t we? More of them have fallen.”
“It’s hard to tell.”
A Sachakan master only killed a source slave if he was running out of power. If he was desperate. As she watched, the Sachakan who’d killed his slave stepped behind another magician, no longer fighting.
But not all the Sachakans were seeking the protection of their allies. Though over half were now dead or seeking the protection of fellow magicians, the rest were fighting confidently. She forced herself to examine the Kyralian side, and her heart lifted.
None had died. She looked closer. Only one group had sought the protection of another. From the clothing they wore, she recognised them as the Elynes.
Ah! The Elynes wouldn’t have taken magic from the Kyralian people. It would have been too presumptuous of them or the Lans or Vindo to take magic from people not of their own country. And Kyralians might not have volunteered to give magic to foreigners, either. Even foreigners who have come to help us.
She felt a surge of excitement. “It does look promising,” she said.
Kendaria chuckled. “It does, doesn’t it?”
No crops hid Hanara from the sight of the Kyralians, or gave an illusion of protection from the magic that blasted towards him. He ducked every time a strike flashed his way, but each time it was deflected by Takado’s shield.
Only a dozen paces away, a Sachakan magician exploded in flames. Those sheltering behind him scattered hastily to either side. One tripped over slaves groping towards their dead master. He turned and cursed the men, then a thoughtful and calculating look crossed his face. Stepping forward, he grabbed a slave’s arm and drew his knife in one fluid movement. The slave’s wail of protest ended abruptly as the man began to draw power.
The other slaves rose and fled. By the time the magician was finished, they had sought refuge among the slaves holding the horses. The magician scowled and retreated to shelter. Hanara saw that the eyes of the dead slave were open, staring toward his dead master, and shuddered.
He looked up at Takado. Is he strong enough? Can he match Nomako’s reinforcements or will he be forced to take shelter behind the emperor’s fighters?
After the last battle Takado and his allies had ridden down the road, stopping at each town or village then roaming about the area hunting down and killing as many people as they could find. They must have killed hundreds.
But later that day they had encountered another group of twenty Sachakans, who claimed to have come to join Takado. While Takado was welcoming to these newcomers, he told Asara and Dachido later that he had recognised some of the fighters.
“They are Nomako’s allies,” he’d said. “Did you notice how some of them are being so friendly with the last group that joined us? Who, coincidentally, also numbered twenty.”
“Their timing worries me even as it pleases me,” Dachido admitted. “Do you think Nomako sent them south?”
Takado had nodded. “To join us just when we have spent much of our strength on previous battles.”
Asara scowled. “They mean to steal our victory.”
“Not if I can help it,” Takado growled.
So the three had delayed the journey to Imardin a few more hours, so that they could hunt for more strength. They killed people and animals. Anything that might give them the slightest scrap more of magic.
But it hasn’t done them any good, Hanara thought. Looking past Takado, he could see that no Kyralians had fallen. They were not tiring and seeking the protection of their neighbours. Their attack was not failing.
In the next three breaths, two more Sachakans fell.
“Jochara!”
From a few steps away the young slave rose and hurried to Takado’s side. He started to prostrate himself, but Takado’s hand snaked out and grabbed his arm. Hanara saw the flash of a blade and a shock went through him. Jochara stared at Takado in surprise, and kept staring, and was still staring when he slumped, lifeless, to the ground.
“Chinka!”
Hanara looked up to see the female slave, her shoulders back and her expression grim, walk to his master. She knelt and held out her wrist. Takado paused only briefly. Then his knife touched her skin. She closed her eyes and died with a look of relief on her face.
That is how I should die, Hanara found himself thinking. Accepting. Knowing that I served my master well. So why is my heart beating so fast?
“Dokko!”
A wordless protest came from Hanara’s left. He turned to see the big man scramble to his feet and break into a run. But he did not get far. An invisible force pushed him backwards. He fell to the ground and yelled as he slid across the ground. Takado’s face was a mask of anger.
He is annoyed at having to waste power.
The slave’s yells stopped. Takado turned away to access the battlefield.
“Hanara!”
A warmth spread over Hanara’s groin. He looked down, appalled at his loss of control. At his inability to push aside terror and accept his fate. He tried to force his shaking arms to lever his body up.
“Hanara! Get the horse!”
Sweet, sweet relief flooded through him. Strength returned. He scrambled up and raced back to the slaves holding the horses. His hands hadn’t yet caught up with the news he wasn’t to die, and shook as he grabbed the horse’s reins. Fortunately it did not cause him any trouble, though it was not happy to be led towards the noise and vibration of magical battle. He realised other slaves were bringing horses forward. Those magicians who had noticed were looking at Takado, their faces taut with horrified realisation, panic and anger.
“Master,” he called as he drew near.
“Wait,” Takado ordered.
Looking beyond, Hanara saw several magicians in the Kyralian army take a step forward, then stop.
Perhaps it had been a collective reflex. Perhaps it was a quickly reversed order to charge. But the effect was like a gust of wind. Suddenly the Sachakan line broke. Magicians were running. Slaves were fleeing. All were dying.
A great roar came from the city. The ordinary Kyralians were cheering. The sound was deafening.
Takado turned and strode towards Hanara. He took the reins of the horse and swung up into the saddle. Then he paused and looked down at Hanara.
“Get on.”
Hanara scrambled up behind his master, all too conscious of the dampness of his pants pressing against Takado’s back. He felt Takado stiffen, then heard him sniff.
“If I didn’t need a source slave, Hanara . . .” Takado said. He didn’t finish the sentence. He shook his head, then kicked the horse into a gallop and then all Hanara could do was cling on and hope his master’s power lasted long enough to see them beyond the enemy’s range of attack.
As the sound rolled up the slope towards her, Tessia realised the people of Kyralia were cheering. Beside her Kendaria whooped with delight. Grinning, Tessia let out a yell. They looked at each other and both laughed. Then they were both leaping on the spot, throwing their arms around and shouting with abandon. “We beat them! We beat them!” Kendaria chanted. Something inside Tessia relaxed, like a knot released, and she felt the fear and tension of the last months flow out of her. They had won. They had finally overcome the Sachakans. Kyralia was saved.
Growing breathless, Tessia stopped, and as weariness overcame her elation she felt a sadness return. Yes, we beat them. But we have lost so much. So much death and ruin.
“They’re going after them,” Kendaria said.
Looking down the hill again, Tessia saw servants hurrying forward with horses for the magicians.
The healer was no longer smiling. “I hope they find them quickly. We don’t want them roaming around preying on anybody.”