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A subtle breeze fluttered through the grass across the Lamonde Plains as the sun rose above the hills, its orange light casting long shadows behind the horsemen. With the Narleahan Outpost shrinking behind them, the Keroko Militia set off on what was hoped to be the final day of travel; the forest on the horizon surrounded Cathymel, the sprawling city that served as home to Castle Asteria and Lord Sarathon, King of Asteria. The white towers of the palace could be seen over the trees, though they were mere specks to the naked eye. Still, the Red Bear banner swayed atop each, and as long as the banner flew, the castle belonged to Sarathon.
For Vultrel, it was his first visit to the Lamonde Plains. Eaisan had never taken him further than Narleaha, though Vultrel had always wanted to see the castle. The Plains were beautiful, dotted with grazing deer and rabbits and squirrels, and blanketed with a lush sea of green. If there was a patch of dirt or a single weed, Vultrel never saw them. Here and there Narleahan soldiers patrolled the land, often seeming more focused on the beauty surrounding them than their duties to the kingdom. More than once Eaisan had called out to them, no doubt testing their reflexes to keep them sharp. A small lake broke the land ahead, though Eaisan's direction would likely take them nowhere near it. They'd emerged from the woods early yesterday, yet the beauty of the Plains kept Vultrel's eyes wandering. Good thing he was on watch duty.
"Sunrise over the Plains," Raye murmured to no one in particular. "Each one is more beautiful than the last."
They'd managed to settle their differences two nights earlier, following Vultrel's brush with death. Raye hadn't apologized for his thoughts about Eaisan, but he admitted that he had no reason to be suspicious about Arus' abilities or the Captain's actions. The next morning they talked for hours about anything and everything, though Vultrel had to bluff his way through most of it. Still, it was good to have a friendly dialogue between himself his partner once more. "It is gorgeous, isn't it?"
"Ain't nothing like it," Raye nodded.
But while his relationship with Raye had improved, hiding from his father had gotten harder as the journey progressed. While the tents were being erected at their last stop, Eaisan had gone to each fire to speak with each of his soldiers. Nothing serious, just lighthearted chat to keep morale up. Vultrel had barely managed to grab his bow and join the watch before Eaisan got to his tent, narrowly avoiding the probing eyes of his father. He was positive that if his father caught him with that helmet on one more time, suspicion would get the best of him, and he'd be asked to remove it. But the castle was in view, now. A distant speck, but in view, nonetheless. He'd almost made it without being discovered.
"It's been a long time since I last visited Cathymel," Raye said. "Ever been there, Marc?"
"This will be my first time," Vultrel responded. For once, it wasn't a lie.
"I'll show you around while the Captain meets with His Majesty. There's a place in the East City where you can get the best pie in the city. I've tried to get their recipes for my wife, but the cook there won't give them up. Don't suppose I would if I were him, either."
"Sounds great." Fresh cooked food sounded pretty good at that moment. The vegetable stew on the first night had been the last hot meal he'd had. Every meal thereafter had consisted of cheese and dried fruit.
"I'd take you for a mug of ale, but at your age I doubt Eaisan would take kindly to it."
Vultrel suppressed a grimace. The thought of what his father would do to him if he even considered drinking ale sent shivers down his spine. "I'll pass on that, but thanks."
For a while, they rode on in silence, with nothing but the singing birds and the soft breeze to keep them company. The horses had moved slower and required more rest than Eaisan had expected, though Vultrel couldn't imagine it was easy with most carrying two armored soldiers on their backs. Still, the difference had only meant they'd arrive after dusk, which wasn't such a big difference in Eaisan's eyes.
When Raye spoke again, it was with downcast eyes. "It's a shame about Narleaha, though."
Vultrel nodded with a dejected sigh. Word at the Narleahan outpost was that there'd been an attack on the village, though the exact details were sketchy. Several of the soldiers had pleaded with Eaisan to take the militia there, but he had refused. If the attack came from wildlife—which was unlikely in that area; Narleaha's walls were twice as high as Keroko's and heavily guarded—then the Narleahan militia could handle it. But if the attack came from the Mages, then it only meant that they were indeed headed north, and Eaisan was determined to get to Cathymel before they did. "Think the Mages are on our tails?" he asked, scanning the forest along the western edge of the Plains.
"Hard to say," Raye admitted. "We are out in the open, after all, but if they were behind us I think they would've attacked by now. Still, they could be following us through the woods along the border, waiting to ambush us when we reach the trail to Cathymel."
If it were up to Vultrel, they'd have headed into the woods to the west and moved along the border of the Plains until they reached the trail. But when someone had suggested that to Eaisan, he disregarded it, saying that it would add too much time to the journey. If they blended into the forest on one side, the Mages could easily travel along the opposite border until they reached the trail. Eaisan meant to stop Truce, not hide from him. If the Mages wanted a battle in the middle of the Plains then so be it, but the Eaisan would not give them any chance to reach Cathymel if he could help it.
So they instead rode through the center of the plains in a diamond formation, with Eaisan's mare in the center. He was flanked by two archers and two swordsmen, each with weapons held ready to defend their captain. Though a well-placed magical attack could hit any number of them, it was unlikely that an enemy on foot would break through their defense. An army, however, would pose more of a threat. The Keroko militia was not large enough to defend against a large-scale assault. If Truce came at them with every one of his soldiers . . .
"Militiamen halt!" a shout rose from the center of the cluster.
The cavalry came to a silent standstill almost immediately. Ahead, Vultrel could see his father standing up in his stirrups, a silver looking glass to his eye, peering toward the eastern edge of the plains. Something had caught his attention, and from the look of chagrin on his face, the news wasn't good. The captain exchanged words with one of the swordsmen beside him, every so often pointing discreetly toward the woods. Murmurs spread amongst the soldiers, and many hands shifted to sword hilts. Vultrel leaned forward, trying to catch whatever bits of Eaisan's conversation he could hear.
". . . attack now or try to race them?"
"Either way, we'll have to fight. It may be better to keep the fight away from the city."
"Yet, if it is a trap, we'll be walking right into it."
"It must be a trap. They wouldn't send such a small force to claim the throne. There must be more out there somewhere."
That set Vultrel's eyes wandering, along with many of the others. If there was someone out there looking to assault the castle, it could only be the Vermillion Mages. And Truce was a smart tactician; he wouldn't send a small group of his men to do the job of an army, which meant that there were more Mages out there somewhere, likely watching them, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. And Arus could be with them.
". . . best if we just high-tail it to Cathymel. At least then the Royal Guard will be able to lend its assistance."
"And they'll have warning before the strike. Agreed."
Eaisan stood in his saddle once more, raising his voice so that everyone could hear. "Soldiers, listen up! We have unidentified individuals—possibly Vermillion Mages—making for Cathymel through the woods to the east. I fully intend to arrive before anyone has a chance to attack the palace, so we will push the horses as hard as they can handle for the remainder of the journey. Make certain you keep up with the rest of the group, because I cannot af
ford to waste time rounding up stragglers. If, by chance, you manage to get separated from us, head for either Cathymel or back to the Narleahan Outpost and wait for us there. Any questions?"
An unidentified soldier to the left raised a hand. "If we should be attacked, do we plan to fight or to continue pushing for the city?"
"Fight if you must, but only if you must," Eaisan responded. "Any others?" The soldiers collectively shook their heads. "Very well, then. Move out!"
The group lurched forward this time, so much so that Vultrel was forced to grab onto Raye's waist when Pepper jumped forward. The thundering hoofs echoed across the land, shattering the peaceful morning and sending animals scurrying for safety. How long the horses could keep up at this pace was hard to say, but Vultrel doubted they'd make it all the way to the city as Eaisan suggested.
The cry of "Incoming!" had barely registered in his ears when the land surged and erupted in a fiery blast beneath him, sending his body flailing through the air above the rest of the militia. The other soldiers—those not caught in the explosion—scattered beneath him as he flew, their attentions divided between their injured comrades and the safety of their captain. Vultrel came down hard on his back, the impact knocking the helmet from his head and bow from his grip. His lungs felt as though they'd caved in on themselves, forcing him to gasp for even the slightest breath. Despite that, he rolled onto all fours and looked back at the militia.
And gasped again.
A new set of horsemen were running through the group, swinging swords and firing magical balls of fire from their palms. Their clothes marked them as Vermillion Mages, clad in black pants and vests over various colored shirts, though he'd never seen the Mages ride horses before. Regardless of who they were, they were slaughtering Keroko soldiers left and right, and it made Vultrel grind his teeth. Still struggling for air—the breaths were coming slightly easier—he scampered over to his bow and a handful of the arrows that had fallen from his quiver. His first shot pierced the unarmored chest of a particularly hairy Mage, who fell from his saddle and was subsequently trampled by his own horse. Vultrel winced; he'd never killed anyone before, but if there was any time it was necessary, it was now. I'm sorry, but I have to do it. I have to. Another arrow left his bow, and another, felling two more Mages.
Enemies continued to swarm the militia, swords clashing and arrows flying across the grassy field. Magical attacks seemed to die down—it had to be difficult to wield such power at close-quarters without injuring yourself or allies—but it didn't seem to diminish the ferocity of the battle. Mages and militiamen were falling everywhere, and Vultrel's arrows didn't seem to be making very much of a difference. There was no sign of Captain Eaisan anywhere.
"Marc, look out!"
It took a moment for him to realize that Raye was shouting to him from the crowd, pointing wildly over his shoulder. Vultrel turned around just as a passing Mage swung a sword down from his saddle. He barely managed to raise his steel-backed gauntlets in time, blocking the blade with a loud clang that sent sparks flying. The Mage reared his horse to make another pass when Vultrel saw his father, blade crossed with another opponent's, standing a good twenty paces away. Eaisan's helmet had been lost in the commotion as well, and a trickle of blood ran from his lower lip. With his own helmet gone, Vultrel's true identity was revealed, which Eaisan acknowledged with less than a nod. "Fight, Vultrel!"
Vultrel dropped to the grass to avoid another slice from the rider. His father's voice shouted once more. "Draw your sword! This is what you've wanted all along, isn't it?"
His blade slid from its scabbard as the Mage's horse galloped toward him for the third time. Weapons met with an ear-piercing clash, drawing startled glances from nearby soldiers. The horse bucked and whined, obviously agitated by its rider's actions, and the bony Vermillion Mage swung his leg over the pommel and descended to the grass. "The second rise of the kyrosen begins today, boy!" he laughed through a gap-toothed grin. "No child is going to stand in the way of our coming glory!"
Vultrel could no longer see his father; Eaisan's fight had taken him beyond several other skirmishes, but he could still hear words of encouragement drifting over the violence. "Stay focused! You are ready for this, Vultrel! You've proven it time and time again in the ring! The only difference is the killing blow; on the battlefield, you must strike!"
The boy nodded and raised his weapon. If Father thinks I can do this, I can do it. No fear this time. The enemy soldier's eyes held an uneasiness that never touched his smile, but it was enough to ease Vultrel's own nerves a bit. If he, a battle-hardened sorcerer, was afraid, then it would be Vultrel who held the advantage psychologically. No fear. His feet shifted into his battle stance with the thought. I can do it. He could almost see the dueling ring around them. The Mage brushed grungy brown hair from his eyes with the back of his palm as he readied a rusty sword. Despite the weapon, his stance was relaxed, as though they were having a pleasant conversation. No fear.
Vultrel screamed as he dashed forward, swinging his weapon toward the soldier with all of his might. The Mage was caught off-guard by the assault, barely managing to twist his blade to deflect the attack. Vultrel shuffled his feet through the steps and maneuvers that Eaisan had taught him, moving his weapon as quickly as his mind could process each thought. His opponent's expression changed from surprised to annoyed to angry as they fought, seemingly frustrated with the immense skill coming from such a young boy. Their blades met in a constant rattle of steel on steel, sending an occasional spark into the air. A slightly overzealous step put Vultrel off-balance, forcing him to shift back to defensive maneuvers as the Mage attempted to capitalize on the mistake. Vultrel smoothly recovered, knocking away a series of thrusts meant for his heart.
"Don't be too anxious!" Eaisan's voice called, fainter now. "Let him make the first mistake! Just like you do in class!"
The words had barely registered when the Mage swung his rusty blade in a long swipe, leaving himself wide open. Vultrel's weapon held the sword at bay, and he drove a stiff boot into the soldier's mid-section. The Mage gasped for air and stumbled back, but he never took his eyes off of Vultrel. Blades met again and again as the two circled each other, each watching and waiting for the other to slip-up. A misplaced step, an overanxious attack, even a weak stroke could be enough to turn the tide of battle. Sweat dripped down Vultrel's forehead with each parry and thrust, giving the impression that he was wearing down.
"I wouldn't expect a child like you to be able to keep up with a warrior such as myself," the Mage proclaimed in a whiny voice. "If you run away now, I may spare your life."
I can do this. "I won't be intimidated by your kind," Vultrel responded through clenched teeth. No fear. "Your crimes have gone unanswered for too long." No mercy. "It's time to put an end to it all!"
His sword met his opponent's rusted weapon once more, and he leapt forward, sliding his blade down to the hilt of the soldier's weapon until it met flesh. The Mage yelped and dropped his weapon as he pulled his hand away, clamping his other palm down on the fresh gash. Vultrel stepped forward and held the tip of his blade to his neck. The killing blow, he thought, remembering his father's words. On the battlefield, you must strike. Abruptly, he realized he no longer heard Eaisan's voice. Unconsciously, he glanced toward the battlefield. Has he been . . . defeated?
The Mage wasted no time, rolling away from Vultrel's outstretched sword and leaping to his feet. Flickering balls of fire rose from his now upturned palms as he laughed. "Fool, you had me beaten! After all of that impressive swordplay, you made the biggest blunder a soldier can make!"
Vultrel's eyes narrowed as he focused on the bony Mage. No mercy. He lunged forward with a wide slash, slicing both wrists down to the bone, then he brought his sword around with a flourish and drove it into the soldier's chest. The Mage fell to his knees with wide eyes, letting out only a choked gurgle before falling to the grass.
"Checkmate." Vultrel sighed heavily; he'd always been anxious to rid the kingdom of as many Mages as he could, but killing another man was not something he enjoyed. Not likely that he ever would.
Around him, the battle was dying down where the bodies were piling higher, yet the violent clashes continued in other areas. Horses without riders roamed the fields, the occasional arrow soared through the air, and the groans of the dying were abundant. The fight was not going well.
Without warning, a horseman skidded to a halt behind him and grabbed his arm. He nearly reached for his sword in a panic until he saw the rider's face. "Get on, Vultrel," Eaisan commanded. His father pulled him into the saddle behind himself, and dug his heels into the horse's flanks. "To Cathymel!" he shouted. "Militiamen to Cathymel on the double! Move it, men! We cannot allow these dogs to surprise His Majesty! We have a duty to perform, and we shall succeed!"
A somewhat stifled cheer rose from the crowd as the few remaining militiamen still mounted kicked the horses into a gallop behind their captain. Vultrel estimated there couldn't be more than ten, though more remained struggling against the Mages on foot. "You're just going to leave them there?" he exclaimed, gesturing frantically. "They need our help!"
"They are doing their duty, Vultrel," Eaisan's voice was grave. "We must do ours. If they survive, they will follow. But for now, they are providing us enough cover to escape."
The boy couldn't take his eyes away from the battle. "But—"
"Vultrel," Eaisan began, glancing back at him. He stared at his son for a moment, his eyes looking almost as though he was weighing and considering. "You did well back there," he finally said, turning his attention back to the land.
The fear of being caught by his father suddenly crashed down on him. Boy, I'm in for it now. Is he going to send me home? What if I run into more of Truce's men on the way back? "Father, I . . . I'm sorry for deceiving you."
Eaisan was silent for a few moments, leaving nothing but the pounding of hooves to echo in his ears. When he spoke, he was barely audible. "Your mother would not approve."
That's it? No lecture? No tongue-lashing? Vultrel couldn't believe it. "I . . . I'm surprised you approve."
His father glared back at him. "I never said I do."
Another span of silence passed. Vultrel never wanted to disobey his father, but he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he sat at home while Eaisan went off to fight the Mages. Arus was my brother. This is my fight, too.
"To tell you the truth, you did me a favor," Eaisan said.
That made Vultrel's eyebrows raise. "I did?"
"A part of me wanted to bring you along, but I knew your mother would never allow it. And since you snuck off without permission from either of us, she can't blame me for it." He was grinning in spite of himself. "So I got what I wanted, and you'll get all the flak for it."
Vultrel shook his head in disbelief. "You knew it was me all along, didn't you? You knew very well who was under that helmet!"
"Did you really think I wouldn't recognize my son's eyes? Your voice? That sword you have strapped to your back?"
Vultrel rolled his eyes and slumped in the saddle. "I'm in big trouble, aren't I?"
Eaisan muffled a chuckle with his hand. "The word ‘big' doesn't even begin to describe it. Still, as long as you're here, I could use your help. Can I count on you, Mr. Cohen?"
Well, if he had to pay the price, he would. But for now . . . "Yes, Captain Eaisan, Sir!"