that gave Pug the idea for this construction of magic.
The shell that would engulf him and anyone close, Magnus in this case, and protect them from any magical damage Pug could anticipate. As a master of his craft unequalled on this world, save perhaps for his son, that covered any form of energy, fire, or other discharge that would instantly kill the unprotected. The trick, as Nakor would have called it, was to have it deployed the instant before the attack was unleashed, and that was where Pug concentrated. The instant a malevolent magic was detected, the shield would deploy, and in that instant was the different between salvation and obliteration. The difficulty was he could only deploy such a defence in a single position, such as on top of this roof in this garden.
Pug fashioned his spell and put the magical ‘trip-wire’ as he thought of it in place, then let out a long sigh. As long as he stood there and didn’t move, he and Magnus stood a fair chance of surviving any trap that could be anticipated.
It was the ones he couldn’t anticipate that had him worried.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nakor swore.
‘We can run faster than these horses,’ he complained to Miranda.
‘Yes, but after a few hours we’d need to eat them. And there are enough Kingdom patrols between here and Sarth I don’t wish to have to explain myself to.’
‘Well, Martin gave us a pass,’ responded Nakor.
Arkan and Calis said nothing, content to let Nakor and Miranda do all the talking. Arkan was fascinated by the human landscape as they rode past farms and villages down the coast road from Ylith to Sarth. His only remark had been to comment on the richness of this coast compared to the Northlands.
Nakor was riding a bay gelding that seemed to slow down every time he stopped applying heel to barrel, determined to browse anything he could crop irrespective of Nakor’s wishes. Miranda had a speckled roan mare that seemed on the verge of breaking down due to an old spavin on her left hind leg. The elves had found a pair of bay geldings, one with a white blaze, both old enough they could not outride the other pair of mounts. So the best they could manage was a posting trot most of the time, with an occasional canter tossed in to break the monotony.
Nakor continued with his complaining. ‘I just wish we could have found better horses.’
Miranda smirked. ‘The good horses went south with the army, and the five-gaiters went with their rich owners anywhere the Keshians weren’t. Be glad we’re not riding mules.’
Life along the shore of the Bitter Sea was picking up slowly. Martin had tried to find them a boat to sail directly to Sorcerer’s Isle, but it had been impossible. The only boat available was the dinghy used to spot the water demons and even with a demon’s strength they couldn’t row that many miles.
So they found two horses not worth much and paid too dearly for them, and headed south. Neither Miranda nor Nakor worried about provisions, as they could hunt and forage. Neither was averse to eating raw meat and their taste was diverse. If it could be eaten, they’d eat it. And both elves were expert hunters so if provisions couldn’t be purchased, game could be killed.
As for other travellers, few were encountered. A few dispatch riders heading from Sarth to Ylith. Miranda had Martin’s report to take to the garrison at Sarth, as she would reach that city before anyone else. There just weren’t horses to spare and besides, Martin had to keep his entire force intact to face the Keshians in the middle of the city. The gods only knew how long that armistice would endure.
They had been on the road three days since the truce had been declared, and were determined to reach Sarth as quickly as possible. There they would find whatever craft they could to sail to Sorcerer’s Isle. Miranda was constantly battling her frustration at all those things she had once known how to do, as Miranda, rather than Child.
And that was another thing: she and Belog were thinking of themselves more and more as Miranda and Nakor, not as their true demon identities. The emotional wear of wanting to see Pug and Magnus, the mourning over the loss of Caleb and Marie, all of it was as real to her as if she had always been Miranda, and it was taking its toll. The original Miranda, despite years of life experience, had always been impatient and impetuous, perhaps a product of her childhood where she had to scramble to survive. Her mother had been a powerful magic-user, last known as the Emerald Queen, but called Jorma when she was married to Nakor in her youth. The real Nakor and Miranda had never really decided if that in some strange way made them kin, but it had never been an issue, for they were good friends. Her father was Macros the Black, but she had only met him a half-dozen times growing up. If there was ever a man less suited to be a parent, Miranda hadn’t encountered him, but in the end he had died heroically, and Pug had survived because of that, and for that she had always been grateful to her father.
She had never truly loved a man until she met Pug, or at least not in the way she had come to understand while with him. Before him there had been lovers, the last being Calis, which was why it was odd for Child to confront the elf prince and feel Miranda’s emotions at seeing his face. He had been a partner in many ways, in the first resistance to the demons and Pantathians when the Emerald Queen’s army had overrun Novindus. Before that she had been a vagabond, taking and leaving men as she found them. Some she grew fond of, but never enough to give up travel and discovery. A few she thought of from time to time, drifting for a moment on memories centuries old, but one thing she shared with people like Nakor, Amirantha and Pug was that most of the people she had loved.
And apparently, she thought dryly, even dying didn’t mean you escaped that fate, it seemed.
The sun was setting as they came upon a village and for the first time encountered problems. Six men, mercenaries from the look of them, deserters most like, were standing near the communal well when Miranda and Nakor rode into view.
Their leader was a disreputable-looking fellow with yellowing teeth, a wall eye, and a large floppy hat underneath which stringy light brown hair flowed to his shoulder. He wore what once had been a fine officer’s riding jacket with an array of brass buttons, most of which were now missing. His grey riding trousers and black knee high boots had seen better days. But his weapons appeared well cared for and the six men with him all looked capable enough.
‘Well, what have we here?’ he asked as Miranda pulled up.
‘Travellers,’ she answered, ‘bound for Sarth. Seeking a night’s respite.’
‘Well, that’s a problem,’ said the man as his companions spread out. ‘We’re Sarth militia, you see, and we’ve been sent here to keep the road clear of Keshian spies.’
‘Deserters, you mean,’ said Nakor, jumping down from the horse. He walked up to stand before the leader and said, ‘You’re bandits plaguing these good people. Now, why don’t you leave?’
The man laughed and turned to his companions. ‘Do you believe this little fellow?’
Two of the bandits had crossbows, which were instantly brought to bear on the two elves before they could unlimber their bows. The leader made a ‘tsk, tsk,’ sound. He turned back suddenly with his sword coming out of his scabbard, but before he could draw it fully free, Nakor reached out and shattered his wrist with a single squeeze. The man’s howl was turned into a gurgling gasp as Nakor reached up and tore out his throat.
Onlooking villagers retreated into their homes, several pulling the heavy cloth doors closed, while others peered out of the windows. The two men with crossbows let fly, but Arkan and Calis were already out of their saddles, half-falling, half-leaping as the bolts sped through empty air.
‘That tears it,’ said Miranda leaping from her horse. With two steps she stood next to a bandit attempting to string his bow. She ripped it from his hands and broke it over his head, his eyes rolling up into his skull as he fell to the ground.
Within a minute the other bandits were dead and Miranda called, ‘You can come out now! They won’t bother you.’
The doors remained closed for a full minute, until a man came out, his face a mask of fear. He held a large
