Pillar of Night

CHAPTER SIX

“Tell me all you see,” Ducasien said earnestly. He bent forward, his arm around Inyx. “There must be details you can ferret out with this wondrous talent of yours, Julinne. Show me. Show us.”

“It,” said Nowless, “does not work that way with her. Not always. Julinne’s wondrous fair talent is limited, even at the best of times. What hellish horrors she has been through makes it all the more difficult for her.”

“Julinne,” said Inyx, reaching out and holding one of the woman’s hands in both of hers, “this is a turning point in history. With your vision of the grey-clads’ base we can eliminate them. We can drive them from this world once and for all time.”

Julinne nodded, a bleak expression on her face. “I am unable to choose between my sight and the seeing.”

“Try,” urged Inyx. “For all those you’ve lost to those accursed butchers, try.”

Julinne turned a shade whiter; it made her look less healthy than many corpses Inyx had seen along the Road. Julinne had lost four children and a husband to Claybore’s troops and along with the heartbreak came a boon. The shock of the loss had broken the woman’s spirit and, ironically, had given her the gift required to defeat the grey-clads.

“How many?” asked Ducasien, his voice low and soothing.

Julinne’s eyes glazed over. “Four hundred and some.”

“When will they all be together? When will the commandant muster his troops?” Ducasien and Inyx exchanged worried looks. Julinne turned even paler and her entire body trembled like a leaf in a high wind. Even her teeth chattered in reaction.

“A fortnight from now. They gather to… to…”

“Yes?” Inyx held the woman’s hand and squeezed reassuringly. “What is their plan?”

“I see it so clearly,” Julinne said. “But the words. The words refuse to come.”

“This is harmful to her,” protested Nowless. “We cannot go on.”

“We must!” snapped Ducasien. “I tell you this is the only chance we will have to destroy them, gather them in one spot and close the trap around them.” He clapped his hands together. Jaw set and face grim, Ducasien brooked no argument.

“So many of us have died,” moaned Julinne.

“More will unless you tell us the plan.” Inyx listened carefully as Julinne’s lips barely moved. The whispered words began to make sense and she passed them along to Ducasien and Nowless. When the woman’s vision of the future had come to an end, she slumped forward. Inyx caught her and gently laid her down. Julinne slept deeply.

Ducasien motioned for them to leave the woman. He, Inyx, and Nowless walked the perimeter of the guerrilla camp, discussing all Julinne had seen.

“They feel they have committed enough outrage,” said Ducasien. “The time is ripe for them to systematically eliminate us.”

“The countryside is properly dispirited,” admitted Nowless. “Even our finest victories do little to help when the farmers know that the bedamned grey-clads might descend on them at any time and burn them out.”

“They have no confidence in us,” said Inyx. “But we need that. Without full support by the time the soldiers gather at the fort, we are lost.”

“You have a plan?” asked Ducasien.

Inyx nodded, brushing away her long, dark hair. Her blue eyes sparkled as she launched into it.

“A resounding defeat for a small group of them will set us up nicely,” she said. “We show the countryside we can prevail. That will align them with us. But the victory cannot be so great that it alerts the greys.”

“You’re thinking thoughts of Marktown?” asked Nowless. “The garrison there is undermanned, yet it is a key position for them.”

“It will be our most dangerous raid yet,” said Inyx, “but if we succeed, we will have won.”

“Not quite,” said Ducasien. “Their mage will have returned from his circuit. The fort will boast both soldiers and ward spells. The mage is not overly good, but he is better than none at all, which is what we have.” Ducasien clasped his hands behind his back and walked on. Nowless said nothing as he turned and left.

Inyx watched Ducasien, thinking that they ought to have a mage.

“Lan,” she said softly, then hastened after Ducasien.

“We are too few,” complained Ducasien. “This raid cannot work as you laid it out. We must regroup, plan some other foray.”

Inyx laughed. “You are too caught up in the overall scheme to appreciate the subtle moves. Look, Ducasien, we go yonder and down. The greys rush out to meet us. Nowless and his group sneak in from behind and we have them caught in a pincer. They cannot run and we will outfight them because they are undermanned.”

“Too pat,” said Ducasien. The man chewed on his lower lip and looked worried.

“There is something more bothering you. This is not that daring a plan.”

“You,” Ducasien said finally. “I do not want you in the party. Stay with Julinne and the others.”

“Why this sudden change of heart?” Inyx frowned. This was unlike Ducasien.

“I… I have lost too much,” said Ducasien. “I will not lose you.”

“Oh? And you think I have not lost those I love?” she shot back. “My husband is worm food because of the grey-clads. What if I should lose you to their sword? Would my hurt be less than yours?”

“This is a foolish argument.”

“It is,” Inyx said hotly. “I plan, I fight. I must show confidence in my skills or none will follow.”

Ducasien faced Marktown and the small garrison. He kept his hands locked behind his back, a gesture Inyx had long since interpreted as being one of defiance in the man. But she would not relent. Inyx knew she was right in all she did.

“Leponto province was never like this, was it?” he asked.

“Not in your memory,” Inyx said. “I left just as the soldiers poured over the borders from Jux and Chelanorra. For years they had been threatening such a move, but it was only when Reinhardt and his brothers were dead did they invade us.”

“That was long years before I was even born,” said Ducasien. “The time flows between worlds in odd ways.”

“Tell me of Leponto. The one you remember.” Inyx leaned back against the sun-warmed rock and closed her eyes. No longer stretched out at her feet was the village of Marktown on some world so far along the Road she had no clear idea where it lay. Ducasien’s words took her home, where she had been born and raised and loved and watched death stalk those dearest to her. Back to Leponto.

“The summer I left was extraordinary,” Ducasien said. “The lin were in full bloom. Remember how the blossoms showed brown spirals?”

“Only in the blue blooms,” said Inyx, remembering well. “The red blooms had black spirals. When I was a child we’d pretend we were bugs going along the spiral. We’d describe our path to one another.”

“Pollen grains,” said Ducasien. “We’d always try to be the first to describe the pollen. As large as boulders.”

“You played the game, too? Yes, I suppose all in our province would. The flowers were the mainstay of life.”

Inyx sighed. Leponto had been famed throughout the world for the delicacy of its flowers, especially the lin. Some had curative powers, others were used in dyes. Nowhere in the world had a finer textile factory than in Leponto. And the flowers even had decorative value. The Council of Threes always opened with a flower from Leponto being presented to each of the representatives. Inyx had traveled to the court once for the ceremony. Seeing the three from her home given the lin had been a high point of her young life.

“The autumn feast,” went on Ducasien. He chuckled. “I met my first lover at the feast.”

“Under the moons of good harvest?” asked Inyx, startled. “So did I.”

“Reinhardt?”

Inyx smiled and shook her head. “Reinhardt was later, but not that much so. No, I had forgotten about the autumn feast until you’d mentioned it.”

“You’re lying,” chided Ducasien. “No one forgets their first lover. Their second, perhaps, or their fourth or fortieth, but never their first.”

Inyx swallowed and nodded assent. She had not forgotten. She had remembered how much he looked like Lan Martak. The brown hair and eyes, the quick movements, the quicker smile. They had met under the watchful eyes of the orange harvest moons. Inyx lifted one finger to a spot just under her left eye; he had kissed her there. The finger traced a line down to the line of her jaw and then forward to her chin. His lips had moved along so enticingly. Even now Inyx felt her heart beating faster. Her hand covered her lips.

“It’s time to assemble our troops,” said Inyx. “We dare not put this off any longer.”

“The patrols will not return until sundown,” said Ducasien.

“We attack now.”

Ducasien locked his hands behind his back and his lips thinned to a razor’s slash, but he did not argue. He went to give Nowless and the others last-minute instructions. Inyx gazed downhill and saw Leponto in autumn. She closed her eyes and when she looked again saw only Marktown.

It was time to begin the attack.

Inyx fingered her sword and worried. Something was wrong. She glanced around and noted the placement of her fighters. All waited nervously for the signal to attack Marktown garrison. The woman licked dried lips and forced calm on herself. She had to think. What wasn’t right? What was out of place?

“Nowless and the others are ready,” said Ducasien. He dismissed the messenger, who trotted back to the ranks and waited for further orders. “Let’s get this done.”

“No,” said Inyx.

“We can’t retreat. You said so yourself. We must go forward.”

“Something’s not right. How I wish Lan were here. He’d know.” Inyx agonized over her feelings. She had learned to trust them and they told her disaster awaited any frontal assault. But why?

“We go.” Ducasien’s face darkened. Inyx knew the mention of Lan Martak triggered the rage and pulled a curtain of emotion over his good sense.

“With caution,” she said.

“In battle? Don’t be absurd. We go, we fight, we win! To Marktown!” he cried, lifting his sword high in the air. Sunlight glinted off the blued steel blade and signaled the fighters on either side. With a ragged cheer, they began moving, slowly at first and then with increased momentum as they ran downhill.

Inyx sucked in a deep breath and followed. She would not be left behind. If this were a trap laid by the grey-clads, she wanted to be beside Ducasien when it closed around them. She had lost too many who were dear to her.

“See?” panted Ducasien as they reached the outskirts of the village. “All goes as we planned.”

Inyx agreed it was true. The garrison of soldiers had been caught unawares. The gates were still open and most of them lounged about outside their tiny fort. The front of the assault wave hit and engaged the soldiers, many of whom didn’t even have weapons. It was slaughter-and Inyx forgot her misgivings and joined in.

The main body of greys rushed from the garrison, armed and ready for combat. By this time she saw Nowless and his select few skulking at the edges. When the soldiers rushed forth, Nowless slipped into the garrison proper. When the pitiful few survivors returned-if any did-they would find themselves trapped with a fresh, savage fighting team.

Inyx met a doublehanded sword slash with a parry that made her sword ring like a bell. Her opponent was taller and much stronger. His biceps strained the seams of his grey uniform and his collar hung open because his thick neck had tensed and ripped off the fastener.

“Filth,” he grunted as he swung again. Inyx danced away, knowing she couldn’t continue matching this man’s strength. The blade cut air a fraction of an inch in front of her face. “You killed Droy. He was my best friend.”

A circular cut missed by a larger margin, but Inyx knew she could not hope to wear this one down. His great stamina would be enhanced by fighting rage and need to revenge his fallen comrade. Inyx almost felt sorry for him as she judged the range, waited for another berserk cut to miss and then launched a long, precise lunge. The tip of her blade spitted him in the side.

She danced back as the man stupidly looked at the blood gushing from between his ribs.

“Slut. You won’t kill me. You won’t!” With a bull-throated roar, he lowered his sword and charged. Inyx felt as if she’d dislocated her shoulder as she parried his blade and then lunged as hard as she could. Her blade slid past the man’s belly, opening it in a giant bloody gash. The grey took three more steps, straightened, and tried to hold his guts inside and failed. He toppled like a felled tree.

“Good work,” said Ducasien, sliding to a halt beside the woman. “I couldn’t get free.” Love shone in his eyes. “You are unique. Of all the women I have known, none matches you.”

Inyx caught her breath and stared at the grey on the ground. “We’d killed his best friend. All he fought for was revenge.”

“We wouldn’t have killed his friend if the grey-clads hadn’t tried to subjugate this entire world.”

“They’re only pawns. They fight because they can do nothing else. Claybore uses them and tosses them away when they outgrow their mission.”

“Stop them, stop Claybore.”

“I think Lan was right. Stop Claybore, stop them. Without the head to direct the arm, they wouldn’t fight. And he wouldn’t lose his best friend in a guerrilla raid.”

Ducasien didn’t share her concern. “They’re better off dead, then, than being puppets for Claybore.”

Inyx didn’t reply. A stirring deep within caused her to stare at the open gates of the garrison. Her plan had worked perfectly. When the soldiers had seen they couldn’t outfight the guerrillas, they had retreated to the supposed safety of their fort. Nowless and his men cut them down as they entered.

If she wanted to, Inyx could claim the garrison. But that wasn’t part of the plan. Patrols of considerable strength still roamed the countryside. This foray had been intended only to show a dagger aimed at the heart, not the actual thrust to the death.

“Nowless,” she called out, waving to get the man’s attention. “Did you find anything inside the garrison?”

“Only dead greys.” Nowless laughed and held aloft his bloody sword and dagger.

“There is more,” she said. “I feel it. Being with Lan has taught me to sense magic. Not understand it, but sense it.”

“Stop it!” demanded Ducasien. “Stop talking about Martak. He left you. He refused to rescue you when he had the chance. Stop talking about him.”

“We are in danger, Ducasien. Signal the retreat. Do it now!”

“You’re overwrought,” he said. “We want to burn down the garrison and show the people we have the strength to…” His words trailed off. In the distance a pillar of dust rose. Ducasien frowned and said, “There’s no wind today. What causes that?”

“Magic. Call the retreat.”

Even as Inyx spoke, the other fighters gathered around and stared at the dancing, billowing brown column. They spoke quietly among themselves, commenting on the oddity. It moved toward Marktown with a speed that belied any natural phenomenon.

“Back to the hills,” shouted Inyx. The fighters stood rooted to the spot, watching. A sense of dread built inside Inyx. Magics!

The dust cloud died down and a young man dismounted from a horse. But Inyx saw that the horse’s hooves did not touch ground. The steed floated the barest fraction of an inch above. The young man patted his animal on the neck and pulled his cloak around his shoulders as if he were unconcerned about the men who had just killed an entire garrison of soldiers.

He strutted over and eyed them with disdain. “A ragtag crew. Hardly a good opposition, though you did dispatch those poor fools.” He sneered at the bodies on the ground.

“Who are you?” asked Ducasien.

“Ah, this one can speak. You have a stronger will than the others. My spell was meant to freeze all muscles, including your throat. See?” The young man spun and lifted his right hand so that the palm faced the sky and a single finger pointed. Inyx watched in silence as one of her fighters choked to death. She saw the skin about his neck turn red and fingers marks appeared where no one touched him. He let out a final gasp and died, purple tongue lolling from his mouth. He did not sag to the ground, however. He remained standing.

“Amazing the control I had over that one,” said the mage.

“He refused to relax, even in death.” The young man clapped his hands and the dead guerrilla fell face forward to the ground.

Inyx judged the distance and wondered if she could strike before the mage realized she was not similarly paralyzed.

“My lord Patriccan had worried that such an attack might take place on this garrison. The garrison commander had grown lax. He has been punished.” The mage smiled. “As severely as some of his soldiers, I see.”

The mage walked back and forth through the frozen fighters until he came to Inyx.

“You’re a comely wench to be with such an outlaw band. Are you their whore? Do they all use you?”

Ducasien roared and stepped forward, blade rising sluggishly. The spell did not contain him fully, but he had drawn attention to himself. The mage frowned. His lips moved silently and Ducasien froze as solidly as any of the other men.

“Why didn’t my spell work on you? It must be more than a matter of will,” he mused. The mage’s eyes widened. “You’re a traveler from along the Road.”

He spun and looked into Inyx’s brilliant blue eyes. “You, too!”

Inyx lunged and caught the mage in the mouth with her sword point. He gurgled and then spat blood around the steel blade. She recovered and lunged again. The mage already lay dead on the ground, a look of intense surprise permanently etched on his face. The instant he died, Nowless and the others shook the effect of the spell.

“He held us, he did. One man held us all!” Nowless stared at the dead sorcerer. “I had heard of such, but did not believe. How is this possible?” he asked Inyx.

“Never mind that. We’ve got to get out of here. This one’s death might have alerted others.”

Ducasien stared at her. “You weren’t affected by his spell. Why not?”

The dark-haired woman had no answer for that, but she guessed it had something to do with her close association with Lan Martak. They had shared more than one another’s bodies. During their most intimate moments their minds had meshed perfectly, flowing, melting together in a way she had never before experienced. Some of his magical ability-protection-might have lingered.

“Marktown is ours!” she shouted, drowning out further questions. “Prepare for the assault on their fort!”

Inyx did not mention the mage they knew to be in the fort-and now she knew the mage’s name. Patriccan. Kiska k’Adesina’s pet sorcerer. Inyx had clashed with Patriccan before and the other mage had turned tail and fled.

But Lan Martak had been beside her then. What would happen now when she faced a master sorcerer?