Wild Card segment 9

Sparhawk watched Vanion escort Anthony inside, his opinions on the whole situation being mixed.

He could feel the general direction and distance to the man, the moreso when he closed his eyes and focused on the strange connection. He found himself wondering how quickly the man could traverse long distances. Anthony had already intimated that the ability to sense direction went both ways. It was an uncomfortable breach of Sparhawk's sense of privacy, even if it was to someone who was completely beholden to him.

"Sir Sparhawk. Good to see you again." Sparhawk looked back at the voice.

Sir Olven was a bulky Pandion Knight with a number of angry red scars on his face, and wore full armor enameled a matte black. "You and the others ride in the middle of us. With the fog, those soldiers probably won't see you. We'll drop the drawbridge and go out fast. We don't want to be in sight for more than a minute or two."

"I don't think I've ever heard you say so many words at once," Sparhawk commented.

Olven grunted. "I'll cut back for a week to make up for it."

Sparhawk adjusted the traveller's cloak over his shoulders, the links of his mail shirt whispering lightly against the boiled leather strips reinforcing his chainmail. Full armor would be far too obvious as they travelled, but he couldn't help but wish he could wear it anyway. In case of need, Kurik had stowed it in packs on the spare horses he'd would be leading. Sparhawk nodded to the others, mounted and waiting, and Olven made a signal to the men at the windlass that raised and lowered the drawbridge. They slipped the ratchets, allowing the windlass to run free, and the drawbridge dropped to the sounds of rattling chain to finish with a resounding boom. Olven was galloping across it almost before it hit the far side of the fosse.

The fog helped a great deal. Olven cut sharply to the left the moment he'd crossed the bridge, leading the column across the open field towards the road to Demos. Behind them, Sparhawk could hear startled shouts as the church soldiers ran out of their tents to stare after the column in bleery chagrin.

"Slick," Kalten said cheerily. "Across the drawbridge to disappear into the fog in under a minute."

"Olven's good at this," Sparhawk said absently. "And it'll be at least an hour before the soldiers can actually mount any kind of pursuit."

"An hour's head start? They'll never catch us," Kalten laughed. "This is a very good start to things, don't you think?"

"Enjoy it while you can. Things will go wrong later on when we're less rested."

"Pessimist," Kalten accused.

"Realist," Sparhawk rebuked. "Life is full of disappointments; when you get used to them they start being less disappointing."

They slowed to a canter when they reached the Demos road. Olven was a veteran, and he always tried to conserve his horses. Speed might be necessary later, and Sir Olven took very few chances.

The full moon hung low over the fog, apparently having finally pushed past higher cloud cover, and it made the thick mist deceptively luminous. The glow confused the eye and concealed far more than it revealed. There was a chill in the fog, and Sparhawk pulled his cloak tighter against himself as he rode.

The Demos road swung north toward the city of Lenda before turning southeasterly again toward Demos, where the Pandion motherhouse was located. Although he could not see it, Sparhawk knew the countryside along the road was gently rolling, and that there were large patches of trees out there. He was counting on those trees for concealment once he and his friends left the column.

They rode on. The fog had dampened the dirt surface of the rode, not enough for mud, but enough to kick up small clumps and clods. It was damp enough to muffle the sounds of their horses' hooves, though, and that was what Sparhawk cared about most. Every now and then the black shadows of trees loomed suddenly out of the fog at the sides of the road as they passed by; Talen shied nervously each time it happened.

"What's the problem?" Kurik asked him.

"I hate this," the boy replied. "I absolutely hate it. Anything could be hiding beside the road - wolves, bears, or worse."

"You're in the middle of a party of armed men, Talen."

"I'm also the smallest one here, except maybe Flute," Talen said, eyeing the sides of the road with wariness. "I hear wolves and things like that drag down the smallest when they attack, because it's the easiest to carry off at a run. I really don't want to be eaten, Father."

"That keeps cropping up," Tynian noted curiously to Sparhawk. "You never did explain why the boy keeps calling your squire by that."

"Kurik was indiscrete when he was younger."

"Doesn't anyone in Elenia sleep in their own bed?"

"It's a cultural peculiarity. It's not really as widespread as it seems."

Tynian rose slightly in his stirrups, looking ahead to where Bevier and Kalten rode side by side deep in conversation. "Confidentially, Sparhawk? You're an Elenian, so you don't seem to have any problem with this sort of thing, and in Deira we're fairly broad minded about such things. I don't know that I'd let Bevier in on this, though. Cyrinic Knights are a pious lot, like all Arcians, and they disapprove of such irregularities intensely. He's a good man in a fight, but a touch narrow-minded, and if he gets offended it might cause problems later."

Sparhawk grunted noncommittally, his mind wandering back to the bald, potbellied man back at the chapterhouse. "I'll ask Talen to keep it to himself."

"Will he listen?"

"Maybe. Worth the attempt." Sparhawk sucked at his teeth thoughtfully. "Should have asked him for another fig before we left."

"Fig?" Tynian stared at Sparhawk blankly.

"Sorry. While we were in that hideaway, Anthony created a pair of figs from nothing, to help us stay awake and energized for our escape." Sparhawk paused. "It was an excellent fig, actually. Just the right amount of sweetness and dryness to it."

"You have a lot of experience with figs?"

"Ten years in Rendoor," Sparhawk replied by way of explanation. "One of the few things about that country that's actually enjoyable. Too much sun, mutton, and sand will drive a man insane but a good fig can make a bad day at least a little tolerable."

Occasionally the column passed a farmhouse standing behind the foggy road with hazy golden lamplight streaming from its windows, a sure sign that even though the sky had not yet started to lighten, day had already begun for the country folk. Of course, the full moon looming near to the horizon was evidence enough of that, Sparhawk mused.

"How long are we staying with the column?" Tynian asked. "Going to Lake Randera by way of Demos is a very long way around."

"We can slip away later this morning," Sparhawk answered, "once we're sure nobody's following us. That's what Vanion suggested."

"Who's watching the rear?"

"Berit's riding about half a mile back."

Tynian nodded. "Think any of the primate's spies saw us leave the chapterhouse?"

"They didn't have much time for it," Sparhawk replied. "We'd already passed them before they came out of their tents."

Tynian grunted. "Which road are we taking when we split off?"

"I plan to avoid roads, for the most part. Roads tend to be watched. I'm sure Annias has figured out we're up to something by now, assuming his soldiers care enough about their job to send a runner to Cimmura."

They rode on through the tail end of the foggy night. Spawhawk was pensive. The hastily concocted plan probably didn't have much chance of success. Even if Tynian could speak to the ghosts of the Thalesian dead, there was no guarantee that any of the spirits would know King Sarek's final resting place. The entire journey could well be futile and only serve to use up what little time Ehlana - and Sephrenia, and Vanion, and the rest of his brothers who'd offered their lives to maintain the ritual - had left. And that was the main reason he'd ultimately decided to leave Anthony behind to practice his healing magics, Sephrenia's insistence on the core group remaining at ten notwitshading: the man was simply in no condition to be running around the countryside for weeks on end, much less in an environment where rude strangers with sharp steel would take joy in how easy he'd be to murder. He didn't have much personal investment in Anthony's survival for its own sake, but to lose a backup plan to reviving Ehlana was simply unacceptable. The question was, though, when would they break the spell? How long before they gave up the search and attempted to use the strange man if the Bhelliom couldn't be found? And how long before their enemies figured out their goal and began trying to delay them?

He rode forward a bit to speak with Sephrenia. "Something just occurred to me," he said to her as he pulled alongside her horse.

"Oh?"

"How well known is the spell you used to encase Ehlana?"

"It's quite obscure and almost never used because it's so dangerous," she replied. "A few Styrics might know OF it, but I doubt most of those would actually know it, nor would any of them use it even if they did. Why?"

"I think I'm right on the edge of an idea. If no one but you is wililng and able to use the spell, then it's unlikely anyone else would know about the time limitation."

"True enough."

"So nobody could tell Annias about it."

"Obviously."

"So Annias doesn't know we have only so much time left. For all he knows, the crystal could keep Ehlana alive indefinitely."

"I'm not certain that gives us any particular advantage, Sparhawk."

"I'm not either," he admitted, "but it's something to keep in mind. We might actually be able to use it someday."

The eastern sky was growing lighter as they rode, and the fog was beginning to swirl and thin. It was about half an hour before the sun would crest the horizon when Berit came galloping up from the rear. He was wearing his mail shirt and pale blue cloak, and his war axe was slung in his saddle. He was going to need instruction in swordsmanship, soon, Sparhawk decided, before he became entirely too attached to that axe.

"Sir Sparhawk!" he said, reining in, "there's a column of church soldiers coming up behind us." His hard run horse was steaming in the chill fog.

"How many?"

"Fifty or so, and they're galloping hard. There was a break in the fog and I saw them coming."

"How far back?"

"About a mile. They're in the valley we just came through."

Sparhawk considered it. "I think it's time for a change in plans." He looked around and saw a dark blur back in the swirling fog to the left. "Tynian."

The Alcione knight drew closer from the space he'd given Berit and Sparhawk. "Yes?"

"I think that's a grove of trees over there. Why don't you take the others and ride across this field and get into that grove before the soldiers catch up? I'll be right along." He shook Faran's reins; the surly horse's head turned slightly to regard Sparhawk with an unfriendly look from the corner of his eye. "I want to talk with Sir Olven," he told the big roan.

Faran flicked his ears irritably before picking up speed, moving along the column at a gallop, slowing without needing to be directed as they approached Olven. "We'll be leaving you here," Sparhawk said to the scar-faced knight as he came up alongside him. "There's at least a half hundred church soldiers coming up from the rear. I want us out of sight before they reach the column."

"Good idea," Olven approved. As always, he wasn't one to waste words.

"Why don't you give them a bit of a run?" Sparhawk suggested. "They won't be able to tell we're not still in the column until they catch up to you, assuming they know we were in it to begin with."

Olven gave Sparhawk a crooked grin that was only partially due to the scar crossing his lips. "Even so far as Demos?"

"That would be helpful. Cut across country before you reach Lenda and pick up the road south of town. I'm sure Annias has spies in Lenda too."

Olven nodded with a grunt. "Good luck, Sparhawk."

"Thanks," Sparhawk said, clasping the scar-faced knight's arm. "We'll need it." He backed Faran off the road, and Olven raised his arm, calling out a run, the column picking up speed as the signal passed along backwards, then faster still as somewhere ahead Olven signaled a gallop. The column thundered past.

Sparhawk leaned forward and patted Faran's neck. "Let's see how fast you can get to that grove of trees back there," he said to the foul-tempered warhorse.

Faran snorted derisively, then wheeled, accelerating to a gallop nigh instantly.

Kalten was waiting at the edge of the trees as they got there, his gray cloak blending well into the shadows and fog. "The others are deeper in," he reported. "Why's Olven galloping like that?"

"I asked him to," Sparhawk replied, swinging down from his saddle. "The soldiers won't know we've left the column if Olven stays far enough ahead of them."

"You're smarter than you look, Sparhawk," Kalten said, also dismounting. "I'll get the horses out of sight; the steam coming off them might be visible as the fog starts to lift. And tell this ugly brute of yours not to bite me."

"You heard him, Faran," Sparhawk told his warhorse.

Faran laid his ears back.

As Kalten led their horses back among the trees, Sparhawk sank down onto his stomach behind a scruffy bush. The grove of trees lay no more than fifty yards from the road; as the fog began to dissipate with the rising sun, he could clearly see that the whole stretch of road they'd just left was empty. Then, a single soldier in a red tunic galloped along, coming from the South. Something about the man raised the hairs on the back of Sparhawk's neck; he sat too stiffly in the saddle, and his expression seemed strangely wooden, like some kind of almost lifelike doll.

"A scout?" Kalten whispered, crawling up beside Sparhawk.

"More than likely," Sparhawk whispered back.

"Why are we whispering?" Kalten asked. "He can't possibly hear us over the noise of his horse's hooves."

"You started it."

"Force of habit, I guess. I always whisper when I'm skulking."

The scout reined in his mount at the top of the hill, then wheeled and rode back along the road at a dead run. His face was still blank, emotionless.

"He's going to ride that horse to death at that rate," Kalten said.

"It's his horse."

"True enough; I guess he's the one who gets to walk when the animal keels over on him."

"Walking is good for church soldiers. It teaches them humility."

About five minutes later, the main body of the church soldiers galloped by, their red tunics dark in the dawn light. Accompanying the leader of the column was a tall, almost emaciated looking figure in a hooded black robe. It might have been a trick of the misty morning light, but Sparhawk would have sworn a faint, greenish glow seemed to emanate from beneath the figure's hood, and his back seemed grossly deformed.

"They're definitely trying to keep an eye on that column," Kalten said.

"I hope they enjoy Demos," Sparhawk replied. "Olven's going to stay ahead of them for a good while." He shook his head. "I need to talk to Sephrenia. Let's meet up with the others; we can sit tight for an hour or so until we're sure the soldiers are well past us before we move on."

"Good idea. I could use some breakfast anyway."

They led their horses back through the damp woods to a small basin, with a break in the trees surrounding a trickling spring that emerged from a fern covered bank.

"Have they gone by already?" Tynian asked.

"At a gallop." Kalten gave the Alcione knight a grin. "They didn't even look around. Anybody have anything to eat? I'm starving."

"I've got a slab of cold bacon," Kurik offered.

"Cold?"

"Fire makes smoke, Kalten. Do you really want these woods full of soldiers?"

Kalten sighed.

Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. "There's somebody, or something, riding with those soldiers. It gave me an uneasy feeling, and I think it was the thing we saw last night lurking around Cimmura's wall."

"I assume you got a better look at it this morning than you did last night?" Sephrenia asked. Sparhawk nodded. "Describe it for me."

"Tall, very thin. It's back seems deformed, and it's wearing a black hooded robe, so I couldn't see its face aside from what looked like a greenish light. Similar to last night."

Sephrenia looked focused. "Was there anything unusual about the soldiers who were with it, by any chance?"

Sparhawk nodded again. "They seemed almost half asleep. Expressionless. Like living dolls, if that makes any sense?"

Her face grew bleak. "We'd better leave immediately. You've decribed a Seeker. They're used in Zemoch to hunt down runaway slaves. The lump on its back is caused by its wings."

"Wings?" Kalten protested. "Sephrenia, no animal has wings. Except maybe a bat."

"It's not a mammal, Kalten. It more closely resembles an insect, although neither term is precisely correct when talking about the creatures Azash summons. It has very little in the way of a brain, but that doesn't matter because the Spirit of Azash infuses it and does its thinking for it. Its ears are very sharp, and it has a keener sense of smell than a bloodhound. The moment it gets close enough to pick up the active scent of Olven's column, it'll know we're not there and come back around, if it's not already doing so. The soldiers will come back at that point."

"Are you saying the church soldiers will take orders from an insect?" Bevier asked incredulously.

"They have no choice. They have no will of their own anymore. The Seeker controls them utterly."

"How long does that last?" he asked.

"For as long as they live - which usually isn't very long. As soon as it has no further need for them, it will consume them. Sparhawk, we MUST leave. We're in mortal danger here."

Sparhawk grunted irritably. "I wonder if it's flammable."

Sephrenia shook her head, filling her waterskin as quickly as she could before getting back on her mare where Flute sat dozing. "It's possessed by Azash, Sparhawk. Setting it on fire would do nothing to it."

"Normal fire, maybe. Can't help but wonder if Anthony might be able to wiggle his fingers and conjure up something a little more potent."

"He has more important things to do right now, Sparhawk - as do we. Such as getting away from here quickly."

They rode out of the grove of trees at a canter and crossed a wide green meadow where brown and white spotted cattle grazed in knee deep grass. Sir Ulath pulled in beside Sparhawk. "It's really none of my business," the shaggy browed Genidian Knight said, "but if we'd known the soldiers were doomed already, we DID have at least twenty Pandions with us before. We could have just turned around and run them all down - them, and their bug."

"If normal fire can't kill it, it would probably take a lot of killing with steel to make it stick," Sparhawk pointed out. "Plus, even discounting the Seeker, fifty bodies scattered along a road attracts some very unwelcome attention, and fifty fresh graves would be almost as obvious."

Ulath grunted. "Makes sense. Living in an over populated kingdom has its own special problems, I suppose. In Thalesia, the Trolls and Ogres usually clean that sort of thing up before anybody wanders by."

Sparhawk shuddered. "Will they really eat carrion?"

"Trolls and Ogres? Oh, yes, as long as it's not too ripe. A nice, fat church soldier will feed a family of Trolls for a week or so. Part of the reason there aren't very many church soldiers or their graveyards in Thalesia. My point, though, is I don't like leaving live enemies behind me. Those church soldiers might come back to haunt us, and if that thing they've got with them is as dangerous as Sephrenia says, we should get it out of the way before it can do to more people what it did to the soldiers it already has."

Sparhawk shrugged helplessly. "Maybe so, but our chance already passed. Olven's out of reach. All we can do now is make a run for it and hope the soldiers' horses play out before ours do."

Privately, though, Sparhawk wanted to corner Sephrenia and question her more about that Seeker. He was sure there were details she wasn't sharing with them, details they probably needed to know.