“I tried to shape the blast so it wouldn’t hit our soldiers. Is everyone okay?”
“You didn’t catch a single one of my men in the blast, but you killed thousands of ogres and trolls. When the dragon fled the monsters lost their enthusiasm for the fight. We swept the field clear and according to my scouts they’re still running. I suspect the war’s over for this year, thanks to you. I dispatched a letter to His Majesty and the king insists on having a feast and award ceremony in your honor. You, Jen, and her squad are to head south as soon as you’re able to travel.” He shot a look at the sorcerer.
Her face twisted in a grimace. “Well done, young man. You blew away over half the dragon’s soul force with your attack. It’ll take centuries for it to recover. The Northlands owe you a great debt. You have my thanks and the thanks of my lord duke.”
Damien smiled. What sort of threats had General Kord made to get her to say that? Whatever he said, Damien appreciated it. “I’m just glad I made a difference.” He brought his fist to his heart. “For the person beside you.”
The general grinned and returned the salute. “For the person beside you. You’re welcome in my army any time, Damien. Your father would be proud.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The general nodded and he and the sorcerer left. When they’d gone Damien turned to his sister. “How long was I out?”
“Most of a day. John said you’d be fine, but I was starting to wonder.”
“I didn’t mean to worry you.” Damien grinned. “Did he ask you out?”
Jen sighed. “Of course. That boy won’t take no for an answer.”
Damien laughed even though it made his whole body hurt. “What do you expect, he’s in love.”
Chapter 38
Damien managed another day resting before he couldn’t stand it anymore. He still ached, but it was bearable and getting less painful all the time. In another week, hopefully, he’d be recovered. It still hurt to draw his soul force. John said it was because he’d used too much all at once, but he hadn’t done any permanent damage. Better yet, if Damien had to do it again it would hurt less since he’d done it once already.
Damien, Jen, and the rest of her squad rode for the better part of three weeks before the walls of the capital rose in the distance. Damien would have preferred a conjured mount, but John assured him riding a real horse would be better under the circumstances. So here he was, on a rolling, breathing, stinking mount ten miles from the capital. Snow blanketed everything; trees, fields, and fences were reduced to white blobs.
He hated winter. Anything might be hiding out under that white expanse. A clever, patient enemy could sneak within a few feet of his target before he struck. Of course, anyone stupid enough to sneak up on Damien and his companions would end up dead in very short order. At least the traffic to the city had tromped down the snow covering the road so the horses didn’t have to slog through knee-deep piles of the stuff.
“What are you thinking about?” Jen asked.
“Assassins.”
She frowned. “What about them?”
“I’d rather fight half a dozen than go to some stupid feast.”
She laughed. “It’ll be fine. Just smile and nod, shake some hands, and plead exhaustion. You could probably escape inside an hour.”
He grimaced. An hour? How would he manage an hour of smiling and listening to those idiots talk about the battles they watched like they had some part in the fighting?
At least the food should be good. After a month plus on the road and eating in camp Damien wanted a hot, well-cooked meal in the worst way.
Not tiny sandwiches covered in cold cucumbers either, but meat and hot bread. And a mug of mulled cider, he’d sell his soul for a mug of hot cider.
“Looks like they sent out a welcoming committee.”
Jen’s words shook him out of his thoughts. A dozen horsemen cantered out from the main gate toward them. Damien squinted, but couldn’t tell who it was.
“It’s Dad.” Jen must have used her soul force to sharpen her sight.
Damien warped the air in front of his eyes to mimic the lenses of a spy glass. A little twinge of pain coursed through him, but nothing to bother about. Sure enough, through the magnification field, he saw his father riding at the head of ten horsemen dressed in blue-and-silver tabards, a gold crown embroidered on their chests. They carried lances with matching pennants flapping in the wind.
An escort of royal guardsmen, how nice. It looked like the king, or as he preferred Jen and Damien to call him in private, Uncle Andy, was going all out.
They reined in when the two groups were ten yards apart. Jen and her squad saluted his father, their fists touching their chests. Damien waved. He wasn’t a warlord and he didn’t answer to his father.
Dad returned the salute. “Congratulations on your successful mission.” He turned his intense gaze on Damien. “I understand you made a good showing for yourself, son. His Majesty wishes to extend his most sincere thanks for your efforts on his behalf. Well done.”
The pride in the old man’s voice surprised Damien. He’d never had much use for sorcerers and even less for Damien himself. He considered them cowards for the most part since they didn’t fight the enemy face to face. “Thank you, sir. It’ll be nice to see Uncle Andy, I mean the king, again.”
Dad winced at his slip. Damien had to remember not to act too familiar with Uncle Andy when other people were around. Sometimes he forgot the kind man that used to run around with Damien on his shoulders as a child was also his king.
