Chapter Twenty The Pass of Cartuom #2
“It’s a good plan, princeling,” Tomaz rumbled as quietly as was possible for him.
“Even a Blade Master would be cautious here. I know the Training as well as you do: you bring the full force to bear before advancing on a possibly fortified position, and you never do it at night. And with a force this large, they won’t be expecting an ambush to be effective.
We’ll catch them off guard and teach them otherwise. ”
The Prince’s gut still told him that it wouldn’t be so simple, but he had to admit that it seemed like a good plan. It played on the enemy’s strategy, which was a safe bet considering the standardization of the Empire’s forces. He put his doubts aside for the time being.
After a few muted orders from Captain Autmaran, passed along down the column of riders, the force of Kindred arranged themselves along the mountain pass, in positions in the trees.
The Prince was amazed at how well and quickly they managed it; one minute they were there, the next the narrow path seemed to be nothing more than a forested ravine.
And just in time, the Prince thought to himself. The Prince of Oxen and his army were no more than a mile away, and already he could feel the earth rumbling underfoot.
“I suppose I don’t need to ask how close he is,” Leah said breathlessly to the Prince as they made their trek up the road to the castle situated on the hill, leading their horses; a grunt of amusement from her other side told him that Tomaz agreed.
The illusion was certainly a good one: even when they were no more than fifty feet away from the castle’s large exterior wall, the Prince thought it looked real.
True, fallen into disrepair, but certainly whole.
But once the five of them crossed under the wall’s large gate, the Prince could clearly see what the Exile girl had been talking about: this wall, the one that faced the road and the sheer mountainside, was the only one standing.
The other walls and, indeed, most of the interior structure of the castle, was scattered and strewn about the ground, looking like so many children’s building blocks toppled and thrown about in a tantrum.
The wall had a second, smaller gate that was hidden from view, what the Prince thought had likely been a sally port.
The five of them made their way in that direction, Davydd telling them Autmaran had asked them to take position on the outer side of the wall so that they could have a view of the battle below and be in position for a counter-offensive should the need arise to cover a retreat.
They crossed through the gate in single file, having tied their horses in the Kindred’s makeshift stable inside the decrepit castle’s walls.
There were another few dozen Kindred soldiers already in place there, in addition to the several score inside the castle itself.
The clouds were out, and the moon was completely concealed, and the night seemed like a yawning abyss.
The Kindred soldiers had all been told to extinguish their torches once they were in place, aside from those set inside the castle.
On this side of the wall, it was dark enough that they could see light coming through the hills, snaking toward them.
The Prince shivered and rubbed his arms.
“I don’t like knowing I’m a sitting target,” he growled to Leah.
“Like it or not, we’re the bait, princeling,” she snapped back. “We’re still their only lead in uncharted territory, and if we don’t stay up here then they’ll know, or at least suspect, some kind of trickery is coming their way.”
“I don’t know what you two are complaining about,” Davydd broke in. “Any day I have an excuse to kill Imperials is a good day to me.”
“Each and every one of those men have lives,” the Prince started hotly, the memories of the men he’d killed floating up in the back of his mind as they always seemed to do before he was about to commit violence.
“Be quiet,” said the authoritative voice of Captain Autmaran.
The captain, who had appeared behind them in a swirl of a red cloak that blended in surprisingly well with the dark shadows of the night, knelt next to them, looking out over the ambush set before them.
“Yes, sir,” all of the Exiles responded.
The Prince rolled his eyes. Now they respected authority.
“He should stop for the night when he sees the pass is guarded,” the captain said. “Don’t worry. I have fought against the Ox Lord in various skirmishes—he is predictable. He will stop for the night.”
The captain rose to his feet, his bald head shining in the reflected light of the few torches that still remained lit, and walked back along the line, speaking softly to others as he went.
“I will bet you the Diamond Throne I know him better than you do,” the Prince muttered under his breath. To his surprise, Davydd let out an appreciative chuckle.
The Prince wasn’t sure how long they waited in the deep black of night, the ground shaking underneath them as the enormous host advanced.
He wasn’t sure about the others, but to him it felt like a lifetime.
Barely able to keep still, his heart pumping more pure, unadulterated emotion into his blood with every second, common sense screaming at him like an animal sensing a predator—run!
Run now!—it was all he could do to keep still and silent.
A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead, and his tunic and undershirt were suddenly stiflingly hot under his leather jerkin and breastplate.
“Breathe, princeling,” said Leah’s voice from next to him. He could barely make her out in the pitch-blackness of the night.
“We should be running,” he told her in a harsh whisper through clenched teeth. “This is not a good idea!”
“Look, they come,” said Lorna softly, voice like the quiet murmur of far-off thunder.
They all shifted and peeked their heads the barest fraction over the small barrier they were crouched behind, just enough to see the advancing force.
It was true—the first column of men, light infantry clad in the white-and-red of Roarke, had rounded the corner.
A number of scout cavalry accompanied them, but pulled up short when the light from their torches revealed a glimpse of the mountain rising up through the nighttime fog.
A man with a long red plume in his helmet motioned to one of the mounted scouts, scribbled a message, and sent the man running back through the pass.
They continued to march, but the pace slowed as they waited for confirmation of orders.
“We are committed,” rumbled Tomaz. “There is no other course of action.”
“We can still run,” the Prince reminded them.
“In times like this, there’s only one thing you need to remember,” said Davydd. His red eyes seemed to gather the light from the torches down below, turning him into a devilish creature of the night. “A brave man is no more courageous than a normal man.”
“He is simply brave five minutes longer,” Leah finished. Her green eyes had the same gleam as Davydd’s.
“You’re all insane,” the Prince said. “Have I made that abundantly clear?”
Leah smiled at him.
“They’re resting for the night,” Tomaz broke in.
They all looked over the wall at the men, who were indeed stopping.
The mounted messenger had returned, and the red-plumed captain was holding a scroll and motioning for a full-company halt.
There was a ripple in the columns of soldiers and more riders came forward.
“Bloodmages,” Lorna said suddenly.
They all lifted their heads the slightest bit more, craning their necks just far enough that they could make out in the distant torch light four men in hooded black cloaks so voluminous that they covered the entire body of the rider and a large portion of the horse as well.
One of them was talking to the captain and motioning to the top of the hill, while the others were staring blankly forward—straight toward where the five of them sat.
The Prince knew they were too far away to be seen and too well covered, but he shivered nonetheless, feeling as though a long icy finger had just been run down his spine.
The five of them ducked back down behind the wall.
“Are you certain you’re the Prince of Ravens?” Davydd whispered, half exasperated, half mocking. “You’re acting like the Prince of Mice.”
“Not my fault,” the Prince said, shifting from foot to foot, his hands wringing each other over and over again.
He had a slight headache and he felt as though he had drunk too much soufa.
“The power of the Bloodmages is connected to the Talismans. When there is a group of them gathered together, particularly when they’re using an enchantment like this light-forsaken tracking spell, the Children get this way unless Mother is near.
She dampens the effect somehow. But the central part of the Bloodmage’s power is based off, in essence, the Raven Talisman.
That’s why we have the same black marks.
The process to make the Bloodmages… it’s messy, and the Raven Talisman picks up on the aftermath; it’s like putting a lodestone next to a compass. ”
The Exiles exchanged glances, but even Davydd remained silent. Perhaps they weren’t too keen to go into exactly how he was connected to the Bloodmages.
“What’s he saying?” Leah wondered.
“What?” the Prince asked.
“Look,” she said, motioning with her head.
It appeared that the captain of the infantry column was arguing with the messenger and the first Bloodmage.
He kept making references to the mountain and then to the ground, and the Prince got the distinct impression that he was saying he didn’t want to ascend the mountain in the dark and foggy night, but wanted to camp.
The messenger, who the Prince noticed had a tunic embroidered with the sign of the Ox, was motioning vehemently toward the mountain pass. He was joined by the Bloodmage. The message was clear: they were to keep going, not to make camp.