ordinary looking gray squirrel sitting upright on the leaves, an acorn clasped in its forepaws while it gazed up at him with a fixed, unblinking stare. A chill of sheer terror went through him, and he put his palms on his treetrunk seat and started to shove himself upright.
“ Don’t! ” the voice snapped with a commanding edge, and this time it came unmistakably from the squirrel. The baron froze, and the squirrel dropped the acorn and flirted its tail.
“Better,” it said, and Cassan swallowed hard as he recognized Master Talthar’s voice coming from the small creature. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and perspiration beaded his brow as he stared at the confirmation of the truth about his fellow conspirator he’d so carefully avoided acknowledging to himself for so many years.
“Yes,” the squirrel said with Talthar’s voice, “I’m a wizard. Of course I am! And you’re a traitor. Would you like me to confirm that for your enemies?”
Cassan looked around, eyes darting frantically towards his armsmen, and the squirrel snorted.
“You’re the only one who can hear me…so far,” it told him. “I can always broaden the focus of the spell, if you want, though.”
The baron shook his head almost spastically, and the squirrel cocked its head as it gazed up at him.
“Frankly, I would have preferred to let you remain in blissful ignorance, since we both want the same thing in the end, anyway,” it said. “Unfortunately, we have a problem. The King’s armsmen realized Arthnar’s men were coming. They managed to hold off the initial attack and inflicted heavy losses on them. Half of Swordshank’s men are down, as well, but I’d say the odds are at least even that your ‘allies’ aren’t going to be attacking again anytime soon. I could be wrong about that, but what should matter to you is that a dozen or so of them have been captured, including at least one of their officers. And contrary to what you may have believed,” the wizard’s biting irony came through the squirrel’s voice perfectly, “they think you’re the one who hired them. Which is true enough, in a way, isn’t it?”
Cassan turned even paler as he remembered his conversation with Horsemaster and realized the pretext for massacre he’d invented had become a reality after all.
“Understand me, Milord,” the squirrel told him. “I want you to succeed, and if you do, I’ll be delighted to continue to support you as effectively-and discreetly-as I always have. But for you to do that, you’d better get a move on.”
“Well, that was almost worth it,” Varnaythus said, sitting back in his hidden chamber with a sour expression. He’d released his link to the squirrel, which had promptly scurried off into the forest once more, but the wizard’s gramerhain showed him Cassan’s expression quite clearly, and it was still nearly as stunned as it had been when the “squirrel” first spoke to him. “I thought he was going to have a heart attack.”
“Are you sure that was a good idea?” Sahrdohr asked in a careful tone, looking up from his own stone, where he’d been monitoring the advance of Tiranal’s army across the Ghoul Moor. Too much was coming together too quickly for either of them to keep an eye on everything, and the fact that they’d planned it that way made things no less hectic. Now he met his superior’s gaze, and Varnaythus shrugged.
“No,” he acknowledged. “I don’t see how it could hurt, though, and it should at least keep him from changing his mind at the last moment.”
Sahrdohr frowned thoughtfully, but then, slowly, he nodded.
“It does rather burn his bridges for him, doesn’t it?”
“More to the point, it makes sure he knows his bridges are burned. Now he can’t even pretend he doesn’t know he’s been cooperating with wizards. Any real interogation by one of Markhos’ magi will prove that, and that’s just as much high treason as regicide, as far as the Sothoii are concerned. There’s no way back for him unless he succeeds, and a man like Cassan will figure that if he does succeed he’ll be able to find a way to be rid of us eventually. That should stiffen his spine.”
“I noticed that you didn’t mention anything to him about what Tellian and Hathan did to Traram’s men.”
“No, I didn’t, did I?” Varnaythus smiled nastily, then shrugged. “On the other hand, they ought to be less of a problem for him. The two of them may have ridden Traram’s mercenaries into the ground, but his armsmen know how to fight wind riders. Especially when they have lances and the wind riders don’t…not to mention outnumbering them a couple of hundred to one! Under those circumstances, I’m not that worried about even his ability to deal with them.”
He shrugged again, and Sahrdohr nodded again.
“You didn’t mention Trisu or the war maids, either,” he pointed out.
“Of course not.” Varnaythus snorted. “Why cloud the issue for him? It’s unlikely the threat of them would turn him back at this point, but it might. Besides, it’s not as if we really want him to get away with this. We need at least some of Trisu’s armsmen to escape with word of Cassan’s treachery if we’re going to touch off a proper civil war.”
“And if they get there before he’s had time to kill Markhos?” Sahrdohr asked. The war maids and armsmen from Kalatha and Thalar Keep had faced a far shorter journey than Cassan, and they’d ridden hard enough to cut their arrival time shorter than he’d originally estimated.
“That could be unfortunate,” Varnaythus conceded, “but there aren’t enough of them to stop him. And if it looks as if they might, there’s always the kairsalhain, isn’t there?”
Erkan Traram looked at what was left of his company and managed somehow not to curse out loud.
It wasn’t easy.
At least I’m not going to have to worry about having enough horses for the final run to the river, he thought savagely. Fiendark take those damned wind riders!
“I make it seventy-three, Sir.” Sergeant Selmar’s voice was flat, and Traram winced.
That was even worse than he’d been afraid it would be. He’d expected to take significant losses to Markhos’ guardsmen getting over the wall, but his employer hadn’t mentioned any wind riders in full plate! In fact, he thought sulfurically, he’d been specifically told that any wind riders who might be present would be courtiers who would never be so gauche as to bring armor on a hunting trip with their King.
And this is what I get for trusting someone else’s information about something like that. Even assuming the bastard told me the truth- as far as he knew it, anyway-I should’ve planned from the perspective that he might just be wrong.
His teeth grated as he considered Selmar’s numbers. No wonder even the tough-minded noncom sounded half-stunned. If they were down to only seventy-three effectives, then he’d lost over a hundred and seventy in that murderous exchange.
And I’ll bet those frigging wind riders took down half of them all by themselves.
He glowered down at the bloodstained bandage around his left forearm. He was lucky the pileheaded arrow had punched a neat, round hole through the meat and muscle without hitting bone. A broadheaded arrow would have shredded the limb, but his surgeon had cut the shaft of the one which had actually hit him and drawn it the rest of the way through the wound. It hurt like Phrobus, but it was unlikely to cripple him, and at least he was right-handed. He could still fight…unlike entirely too many of the men he’d brought north with him.
“All right, Guran,” he growled finally. “Get them organized into two platoons.”
The sergeant looked at him wordlessly for a moment, then drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and nodded.
“Aye, Sir,” he said, and Traram turned to Somar Larark, who was no longer simply his senior lieutenant but the only one he still had.
“Well?”
“The best I can give you is a guess, Sir,” the lieutenant said. He shrugged. “Mursam’s estimate is probably the best.”
Traram nodded. Corporal Furkhan Mursam was as hard-bitten and experiencedas they came. He’d never been promoted above corporal because he found it difficult to remain sober in garrison, but he never drank in the field. Indeed, he seemed to get steadily more levelheaded and focused as the crap got deeper and deeper.
