alive!'
Canthor turned to face the others, who now approached with hesitation, looking at their comrade out of the corners of their eyes. Then they, too, dropped their weapons and staggered back. One threw up his forearm across his face. The other dropped to his knees, burying his head in his hands. Canthor turned questioningly to Jemidon. As their eyes met, Jemidon felt a sudden rush of skin-blistering wind and the bombardment of stinging sand,
'What is happening?' Canthor asked. 'I do not know why I spoke as I did. It is strange what a man will say when he thinks the words are his last.'
'Louder,' Jemidon gasped. 'Speak louder so I can locate where you stand.' He staggered forward, arms across his face, hunched against what seemed like a buffeting gale. His ears roared with a deafening whir that almost drowned out all other sound.
'What nonsense is this?' Canthor persisted. 'Stand straight and grab a weapon. We are not yet through.'
'It is your charm,' Jemidon shouted, trying to hear his own voice above the windscream that surged through his mind. 'Somehow it worked. Somehow, someway, sorcery has been restored.'
For a moment Jemidon heard no reply, and then, above the roar, Canthor's voice shouted back.
'Wait here,' the bailiff yelled. 'Wait here until I am done. I will release you from the glamour after I have helped the others as best I can.'
Jemidon tried to crack open his eyelids, but a feeling of swirling grit and din immediately forced them shut. He sighed and curled into a ball, helpless to do more than await the outcome of the battle.
After some measureless time, Jemidon heard the words that ended the illusion of the blasting sands. He stood and stretched, then blinked at what he saw. It was night, and the moon had nearly set. Upslope, barely a hundred feet from where he stood, ran the crestline of the mountains.
'I remember being led like a blind man and stumbling upward for an eternity,' he said. His mouth was dry and felt full of old rags. 'What happened? Why are we here?'
'My apology for taking so long to release you.' Canthor clasped him on the shoulder. 'But others had wounds more greivous than your discomfort. Putting as much distance between us and the pursuit was the primary goal. Enchanting away the pain, when we finally were able to stop, was the next. The royal troops have camped for the night. We can rest here until the dawn.'
Jemidon looked about a second time with more care. The trail and pass were nowhere in sight. Below him stretched the downslopes of the mountains. Like the crumpled robe of a master, the ridges and folds disappeared into the blackness. The ground underfoot was smooth and nearly devoid of plants; it curved gently in a flat arc to form part of the rocky spine that ran to the horizon. Except for the camp, there were no other lights. Of Pelinad's band, barely forty remained huddled around two small fires of brush.
'I caused enough confusion with the glamours for the prince's men to fall back and regroup,' Canthor answered Jemidon's questioning gaze. 'It gave us enough time to withdraw. But by then, Pelinad and most of the others were gone.' The bailiff shrugged. 'The shirts of mail were too many. We did not attack from the rear as was our plan.'
'Ocanar-why did he not appear?' Jemidon asked. 'If we had to bear the brunt of three companies, then he would have had to face only one. He should have finished up quickly and scrambled over the rubble to come to our aid.'
'It was only byrnies from Searoyal that we saw pouring back through the pass,' Canthor said. 'Not vests of leather, or scythes and flails. Somehow, despite the strange one's craft, I suspect that Ocanar fared no better than we.'
Jemidon wearily sagged back onto the hard ground. 'But why did we then retreat into the mountains?'
'There was no open path down the trail in either direction,' Canthor said, 'and by striving for the peaks, we were more likely to link up with what remained of Ocanar, if he was doing the same. Indeed, his thoughts did run in a similar path to mine. The lookouts on the crest have seen a tattered band on the far-side downslopes. In a few moments more, he will be here.'
Jemidon grunted and looked at the dark line that marked the skyward limit of the peaks. Almost instantly, he saw Canthor's pronouncement come true. A triangle of black shadow poked above the crestfine and then, beneath it, a rectangle with gently undulating sides. With a whoosh of air that Jemidon felt from where he sat, Drandor's tent settled on the crest.
Weary fighters appeared on either side, some dragging scythes and others totally unarmed. In twos and threes, they staggered down the slope into Canthor's camp. Silently, they slumped around the small fires.
One of two shirts of mail mingled with the rest. In a clump of lieutenants, Ocanar stomped down the slope, each step a thump of anger rather than the stumble of fatigue. The leader looked about and saw that only Canthor stood, of all of Pelinad's men. Stroking his beard, he approached and squinted in the dimness.
'Pelinad?' he asked.
'They follow me now,' Canthor said.
'But you were only the sorcerer,' Ocanar said.
'It was my skill as a man-at-arms more than any craft that saved the few whom you see here.' Canthor shrugged. 'Glamours do not organize a retreat or pick the course of the march. But that is of no consequence. Because of the odds, how we fared should be no surprise. Why are you running along the crestline, too, rather than polishing shirts of mail and bragging to the villagers about your victory?'
'Ask the cold one who claims to be a master,' Jemidon heard Ocanar growl. 'We would rout them all without the loss of a single man, he said. And so, after the scouts had ridden by, we stood by the mouth of the pass, not even bothering to group into any sort of formation. It seemed amusing to watch instead the elaborate preparations, lanterns and focusing lenses, and the vast expanses of white linen on which some great glamour was to play. The royal troops were to be petrified, frozen in mid-stride. We were to be able to move among them unchallenged and slit their throats at will.'
'The rock slide started prematurely,' Canthor said. 'Three-quarters of the men-at-arms were left on our side of the pass. What upset the timing of our plan?'
'The timing was perfect,' Ocanar spat out. 'That part Melizar accomplished as we had-' Ocanar stopped and looked at Canthor through narrowed eyes. He tugged at his beard, waiting for the bailiff to say more, but Canthor remained silent. 'Yes, prematurely,' Ocanar said slowly at last. 'I meant to say the rock slide came too soon. Undoubtedly another miscalculation like the rest. It was all Melizar's fault and none of mine. Now he hides in his canvas contraption and awaits my wrath.
'But none of that matters. One hundred men-at-arms slashed their way through the white linen as if it were not there. My men in leather were unprepared. Nimrod tried to rally them, but they did not stand a chance. Of all who waited this morning, hardly a fifth are left alive.'
Jemidon followed the wave of Ocanar's arm, as the last of the men came over the crest. He saw his father trudging down the slope, one leg ringed with a dirty rag. He scrambled to his feet and ran to greet the older man with an embrace, relief mixing with guilt that he had forgotten about the perils that Jemilor must have faced.
'Melizar let me ride in his tent,' Jemilor said as they disengaged. 'Without his assistance, I doubt I could have kept up the pace. But I had followed his instructions well, just as he taught. There should be no blame for me that the sorceries did not work as planned.'
Jemilor sagged to the ground and motioned Jemidon to follow. 'Listen, my son,' he said, pointing at his leg. 'The cut is jagged and is slow to close. I am lucky to have gotten this far. An inch to the left, and tomorrow you would be questing on your own once again.'
'Do not speak of such things as this,' Jemidon chided. 'If you can walk away from the battlefield, you will live to see the next. You know the saying as well as I.'
'Melizar's apprentice.' Jemilor waved away the words. 'I want you to promise me now. He is most eager to take on all who will follow his direction without question. Do as he says and you may yet serve my memory with pride.'
'But who is he and where is he from?' Jemidon asked. 'I want his secrets, yes, but what is his ultimate intent?'
'He fights to overthrow Kenton and his barony,' Jemilor replied. 'That is enough recommendation for me. Promise me, Jemidon. Without that, I will not rest in peace.'
