He watched as information melted back through the army. One by one the magicians riding before him looked over their shoulder at those riding behind, lips moving. Narvelan turned to speak to Dakon. Then Tessia’s horse moved to the side of the road and slowed. She looked back at him.
Stop it, he told himself as his heart suddenly began beating faster.
“What are you scowling at?” she asked as she guided her horse in alongside his.
“I’m not,” he told her. “But everyone else is. What’s got them stirred up?”
Her brows lowered and she glowered at the back of her horse’s neck. “News has come that another group of Sachakans have been attacking villages in the north-west. They might have headed west to cut off the Elynes, or they may be taking advantage of the fact that the people in the western leys weren’t evacuated.”
“Oh,” he said. He opened his mouth to say more, then realised he had nothing to say that wasn’t obvious or didn’t involve cursing. Not that Tessia wasn’t used to cursing. But he wasn’t about to break a long habit of avoiding it around women just because she was used to it.
They continued in silence for a while. “Sorry,” she said eventually. “I keep forgetting to call you ‘Magician Jayan’.”
“So do I,” Mikken inserted quietly.
Jayan looked from one side to the other, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re my friends. I’d rather nothing changed between us.”
Tessia looked up at him, her eyebrows rising. “Really? Nothing?”
“Yes.”
“How wonderful.” She looked across at Mikken. “I guess that means he wants to continue to be as rude and annoying as ever.”
Mikken laughed, then, as Jayan shot him a glare, covered his mouth.
Jayan turned to her. “If I have been rude I apologise. I do believe, as a higher magician, I have an obligation to . . .” He stopped. Tessia’s eyes were bright with humour and anticipation. Relaxing, he allowed himself a rueful smile. “Yes, I promise to be as rude and annoying as before.”
She sniffed with disappointment. “You were supposed to promise to not be rude and annoying.”
“I know.”
“Hmph!” She urged her horse forward, leaving him and Mikken behind as she returned to Dakon’s side.
“You two are like old friends, or brother and sister,” Mikken said. Then he added: “Magician Jayan.”
Jayan stopped himself from wincing. But I don’t want us to be. Curse this war! Sighing, he resolutely set his gaze on the road ahead.
Towards the end of the day, reports of the distance between the army and the king grew more frequent. At first both forces were on the road, closing the gap between them steadily. Then news reached them that the king had camped outside Coldbridge. He would wait for them to arrive. Dakon could not help feeling annoyance that the king was giving up more ground to the Sachakans, probably for the convenience of having a town nearby to service the army.
But it made sense. The army servants were exhausted. Several were ill and were travelling in a cart. With all the best food served to the magicians, some of the servants had cooked meat kept too long after slaughter for themselves. Two had died, and neither the guild healers nor Tessia had been able to help.
“What water or sustenance we give them goes straight through their bodies,” she’d told him. “We’ll see more of this, if we begin to run short of food.”
It was incredible that she could mend a broken back, yet was helpless to stop simple gut sickness claiming lives. Refan had the advantage of magic giving him resilience, though. Tessia’s description of sensing magic repairing Refan’s body had fascinated Dakon. It confirmed what all magicians had long believed without any proof, except the observation that they lived long, healed fast and were resistant to disease.
A murmur among the magicians and apprentices around him brought his attention back from his thoughts. Looking ahead, he saw what the others were remarking on. A town lay ahead, houses dotted along each side of the road.
Coldbridge. Spread before it were lines of tents and wagons, with tiny figures roaming about the space between them. The king and the rest of Kyralia’s magicians, he thought. Which should increase the size of our army to just over a hundred.
At the centre, beside the road, was a large tent striped in the colours of the king’s family. Already a crowd was gathering around the tent, no doubt in expectation of meeting the advancing army.
The pace quickened and the sound of voices rose around Dakon. He glanced around, noting the excitement and relief in the expressions of magicians and apprentices alike. Tessia, however, was frowning.
“What are you worrying over, Tessia?” he asked.
She looked up at him. “I’m not sure. Every time we gain more magicians we have to teach them so much. Not just Ardalen’s method, but not to wander off, or who’s in charge. Do we have the time, this time?”
Dakon looked at the tents ahead and considered. “We may have to give up more ground in order to gain the time we need.”
She nodded. “There is another thing I’ve been wondering about.”
“Yes?”
“Lord Ardalen taught us how to give power to another magician. He died at the pass. Would the Sachakan who killed him have had the chance to read his mind and discover the trick?”
Dakon shook his head. “Mikken said his master was killed instantly, once his shield was overcome.”
She grimaced. “I guess we should be thankful for that.”
He sighed. “Yes, I guess we should. Though . . . I’m not sure a Sachakan would have paid much attention anyway. He or she would not have known the significance of what he saw, since we hadn’t fought them in direct battle at that time. If a Kyralian magician were captured now, however, I’m sure their mind would be thoroughly searched.”
“Let’s hope they don’t get the chance, then.”
The front of the column had reached the edge of the field of tents now. All fell silent as the leaders of the army approached the king’s tent. Dakon saw that a line of three men stood waiting. He recognised the young man standing at the centre. The two men on either side of King Errik were magicians more than twice his age, regarded as two of the most powerful and wealthy men in Kyralia.
Werrin and Sabin signalled for the army to stop several paces from the king. Slowly the long column widened as magicians and apprentices gathered before the tent. Then, as all movement ceased and sounds quietened, Werrin and Sabin dismounted and bowed, and the rest of the army followed suit.
“Lord Werrin,” King Errik said, stopping before them. “Magician Sabin. My loyal friends and magicians. It is good to see you again.” He grasped their arms in turn, then straightened and faced the army, raising his voice. “Welcome, magicians of Kyralia. You risked your lives to face our enemy, responding quickly and bravely to the country’s need. Though the first battle was lost, we are far from beaten. We have the rest of Kyralia’s magicians with me, bar those too feeble to ride and fight. We are now one army, and as such we must ready ourselves to face the enemy with our full strength. We have the assistance of magicians from other lands.” He turned and gestured towards five men standing nearby. Dakon saw, with surprise, that two were tall, well-tattooed Lans and the other three were of the less imposing Vindo race. Between them stood Magician Genfel, looking pleased with himself.
The king had paused, and his expression grew more serious as he scanned the faces of the newcomers. “There is no time to lose. The leaders are to join me to discuss our strategy. The rest of you may rest, eat and make camp for the night. By tomorrow we will have decided what our next move will be.”
As he turned back to Sabin, the army stirred and began to disperse. Dakon looked at Tessia.
“Duty summons me yet again,” he said.
The corner of her mouth twitched in a half-smile. “I expect a full report later, Lord Dakon,” she said loftily, then nudged her horse after the crowd.
He chuckled, then rode up beside Werrin’s horse, dismounted, and handed his reins to a waiting servant. Narvelan was already hovering nearby. Dakon moved to the young magician’s side.
“That’s Lord Perkin. And Lord Innali,” Narvelan choked out. Dakon looked at the two older men who had been standing beside the king. “The unofficial patriarchs of Kyralia?” He shrugged. “They had to show their faces eventually. And they’re hardly going to be excluded from this discussion.”
“I guess not,” Narvelan said, his voice thin with resignation.
“Don’t let them intimidate you,” Dakon told him. “They may have money, and ancestry that goes back before the Sachakan occupation, but neither will matter in battle. You have fought and killed Sachakans. That makes you far more impressive than a pair of old men with only fancy names to speak of.”