Tolsadri regarded him with a blank expression, as if Nitendi had commented on the weather or the color of a flower. "You agreed to do as he asked?"

"I had no choice!" He coughed a thick glob of blood into a towel, which he flung at an Elqosi. "He was about to have me executed for treason to the Exalted!"

Tolsadri's mouth tugged downward at the corners and there was a tightening around his eyes. "a.s.suming you survive this venture, report your findings to me upon your return."

He left the tent. The Voice had taken his morning meal in private, and had not appeared to see his Adepts embark on their mission.

"Are you ready, Honored Loremaster?" the captain asked again.

Nitendi felt the weight of a hundred eyes upon him. "Yes. Let's see what these infidels have prepared for us."

"There's a company of cavalry leaving the forward lines, Archmage," said Abaru. He was peering through a Fa.r.s.eeing directed toward the Havalqa encampment. A number of wizards along the Hammdras were using Fa.r.s.eeings to watch their enemy. Each wizard was accompanied by at least one soldier of the Sunrise Guard. Many of the wizards carried magical devices designed for warfare, some plumbed from the dusty depths beneath the Varsae Sandrova, others from the Varsae Estrikavis.

Five wizards upon the wall-walk directed their powers into the many layers of defensive magic protecting the valley. When the Havalqa had first appeared, the Archmage ordered wizards to work in shifts day and night to keep the protections at their highest levels. "I want them to have to fight for every inch they move into our valley," she said.

The Archmage and Wardens of Hethnost were gathered upon the gate tower. Gerin, Balandrick, Zaephos, and Nyene were with them.

Elaysen elected to remain in her rooms. She had become increasingly withdrawn, spending most of her time either alone in her chambers or in the Varsae Sandrova. She spoke with Kirin often, but rebuffed Gerin's attempts to talk. She did not look well to him. She'd lost weight, and the redness he often saw in her eyes made him think she was crying. But when he asked her what was wrong-when she would even agree to see him, which was not often-she said she was fine. "I'm tired from trying to rebuild my supply of medicines."

The G.o.ds take me, I wish she would tell me what was wrong, Gerin thought while he watched the hors.e.m.e.n ride across the open plain toward them. It bothered him deeply that she was apparently confiding in the Warden of Healing and not him. In a moment of weakness after being rebuffed by Elaysen yet again, he had pleaded with Kirin to tell him what was going on with her.

The Warden refused. "It is not my place to tell you such things, Gerin," he'd said. "If she won't tell you, I can't help. I'm sorry."

And that is where things remained: broken between them. How can I fix things if she won't tell me what's wrong? He knew it was far more than a lost medicine pack that was troubling her.

Beside him, Nyene was shifting her knives from hand to hand with great skill, the motion so fast and fluid it was almost hypnotic. "I long to fight these dogs," she said.

"I hope you don't get the chance, at least not here," said Kirin. "I would greatly prefer that we defeat them or drive them off before they get close enough for you to use your knives on them."

Nyene laughed. "They'll never leave. You have what they want, and the only way this will end is with us or them wiped from the face of the earth."

"Who are those men in the center?" asked Kirin, pointing to the approaching horses.

Gerin peered through the Fa.r.s.eeing the Warden was using. "They're Loremasters, from the look of them."

"Have they come to offer terms?" asked the Archmage.

"I don't know, Archmage," said Gerin. "I would think Tolsadri would be among them if that was their purpose, since he is their leader's Voice in foreign lands. But I don't see him there."

The Archmage turned to Lord Commander Medril. "Are your men ready with the trebuchets?"

"Say the word, Archmage, and I'll signal for them to attack."

"Good. I want to withhold our magic until absolutely necessary."

"Yes, Archmage."

Gerin made his own Fa.r.s.eeing and watched the Loremasters. He gripped the Staff of Naragenth in his left hand; Nimnahal was a comforting weight along his hip.

Blood will be shed, he thought. And soon.

"Stop!" shouted Loremaster Wrotherqu Klaati. He'd been riding with his eyes closed, one hand gripping his reins, the other held out before him, fingers rigid and splayed. "There's power just ahead."

"Of what nature?" asked Nitendi.

Klaati moved his hand left and right as if caressing something invisible. "I don't know. It's completely unlike the Mysteries. I'm surprised I can sense it at all."

Nitendi invoked his own powers and projected forward with the Eyes of Drunn, the Mystery Klaati was using. He sensed nothing but emptiness before him. He strained harder; sweat burst from his brow and back. After more probing, he thought he felt the slightest trace of...something in their path, but it was as nebulous as the wind, and if he had not known something was there, he never would have discovered it.

Klaati was the most sensitive of the Loremasters, which was why he'd been placed in the lead, his powers sweeping the path before them. It nevertheless irked Nitendi that his subordinate Adept was more proficient at certain aspects of the Mysteries than he. It left the door open for Klaati to challenge his authority at some point, especially in light of the humiliation he'd received at the hand of the general.

The anger that surged through him destroyed his concentration, and the Eyes of Drunn collapsed entirely. He swore and let his powers recede.

"I sense a curtain of power just ahead," said Klaati.

"I feel it, too, though faintly," said Moktan.

"Can you discern its purpose?" asked Nitendi. "Can we pa.s.s through it?"

"It's not a physical barrier," said Klaati. "Other than that, I can't say."

"Does it activate traps when pa.s.sed?" asked the captain.

"It's not your place to question us," snapped Nitendi.

"It's my place to keep you alive, Honored Loremaster," said the captain. "To do so, I will ask questions when I see fit. If you decide that our presence is no longer necessary, my men and I will return to the encampment and leave you to your work without the possibility of interruption."

Nitendi swallowed. The entire world has turned against me today. "No, Captain. Remain. Klaati, answer his question."

"I have no idea if the power is a trigger for something else. I've told you all I can."

The captain climbed down from his horse, picked up a rock and hurled it toward the fortress in a high arc. It landed and disappeared in the gra.s.s.

"Did that penetrate the barrier?" he asked. "Did I throw it far enough?"

Moktan nodded. "The rock crossed the power."

"That seems to confirm it does not trigger traps," said the captain as he swung back into his saddle.

"Then what is the d.a.m.ned thing for, sir?" asked a bowman.

A soldier rushed along the wall-walk and shouted up at the battlements atop the gate tower. "Archmage, Vesai Torndel says our defenses are being probed by the men in the field!"

Blades of ice moved through Archmage Marandra's bowels. I must show no fear! she chided herself. But the fact that war was about to descend upon Hethnost-for the first time in its history-was a thought so horrifying it threatened to send her to her knees.

One of the Havalqa hors.e.m.e.n dismounted and threw a rock toward them. Probing our defenses indeed, she thought.

"Lord Commander? Your recommendation?" she said with a calm, steady voice. Certainly much calmer than she felt.

"Can the defenses be moved forward? I don't think they'll willingly ride into them if they've realized they're there."

A grim smile touched Marandra's lips. "Yes. We'll see that it's done."

"Captain, should we send one of the horses through to see what happens?" suggested the archer.

"And if nothing happens to the horse, are you volunteering to go through next?"

"Me, sir? No, I was thinkin' more along the lines of-"

"It's moving toward us!" shouted Moktan. "Run! It's almost-"

Nitendi did not even have time to kick his heels into his mount before the heathen's power washed over them. His head rocked back as an overwhelming terror gripped him. He was going to die! He knew it as certainly as he knew his own name. A whimpering cry of horror escaped his lips, though he was scarcely aware of the sound. His heart would burst in his chest; his flesh would burst into flame; his organs would collapse; his very bones would turn to dust within him. He knew it would happen and felt himself drowning in panic.

Nitendi began to convulse. He barely noticed that the hors.e.m.e.n and his fellow Adepts were shrieking, clawing at their faces, their horses mad with terror. The captain had gouged out his eyes, which he'd flung away as if they were poisoned vipers. The black empty sockets wept thick streams of blood.

Nitendi's horse bucked beneath him, screaming in its own frenzied terror, its head whipping wildly back and forth. The Loremaster dropped the reins as his body was flung from the saddle. He arced sideways and landed hard on his left shoulder. His clavicle snapped cleanly in two, and his shoulder popped out of its socket. He opened his mouth to scream, but his thrashing horse stomped on his head with its hoof, almost tearing his jaw from his face. Hot blood filled his mouth and throat. He inhaled, choked on the blood, began to cough. He could not move, could not so much as roll over.

He lay convulsing on the gra.s.s, waiting to die.

"Let's test the accuracy of our trebuchets," said the Lord Commander. He turned to his adjutant. "Give the signal for the towers to attack the enemy."

"Yes, sir."

"What in the Harridan's name is happening to them?" muttered Ezqedir. He peered through his seeing-gla.s.s at the Loremasters and soldiers. All of them seemed to have gone insane, their horses included. Three of the animals had thrown their riders and dashed away. Nitendi himself was down and looked to be grievously injured. Captain Beurleh had blinded himself with his knife. Other soldiers had been crushed beneath their flailing horses.

So this is what their power can do, he thought. Inspire madness in men. Make them hurt or kill themselves. The question is, how far does their arm reach?

"Retrieve the Voice from his tent," said Ezqedir. "Maybe he can tell us what's happening down there."

Just then he heard the distant retorts of the hilltop trebuchets releasing their projectiles.

Gerin watched as the trebuchet at the Tower of Wind hurled its stone toward the valley. A few seconds later the trebuchet on the far side of the valley did the same. The stones tumbled through the air and smashed into the ground a few dozen yards from the writhing men and horses.

"Not bad for a first shot," said Balandrick. "What exactly did those spells do? Drive them crazy?"

"Not quite," said Gerin. Three of the Havalqa horses had thrown their riders and dashed beyond the reach of the spells. "Warden Khazuzili told me they're similar to the spells that were guarding the crypt where the materials of the Baryashin Order were stored."

"Ah, yes, Your Majesty. Back in your days of late night thievery and skulduggery."

Gerin ignored him. "I was so overwhelmed with fear I couldn't take another step toward the door. I needed to get the key amulet before I had any hope of getting in. The spells they put out there"-he waved his arm in the general direction of the field beyond the Hammdras-"are much stronger than the ones I experienced."

The trebuchets launched their second projectiles. The stone from the Tower of the Clouds struck squarely in the center of the Havalqa and rolled through them, crushing at least ten of the enemy. The other stone struck too far to the north and missed completely.

"Why not just use death spells, Your Majesty?" asked Balan. "Why bother making them crazy if you can just kill them outright?"

"Death spells take a lot more power to use, and they're directional-you can't just spread them along a defensive perimeter the way you can these terror spells. They also dissipate much more quickly, so you can't use them over long distances. A lot of reasons."

"At last those dogs are dying," said Nyene. She spat over the tower's crenellation. Beside her, Zaephos watched dispa.s.sionately. Two more projectiles smashed through the Havalqa ranks, killing most of the remaining enemy. One soldier with crushed legs was trying to crawl back to the encampment. Gerin did not think it would be long before he was dead, even if he did not get struck by another stone.

"What do you think of human warfare, G.o.d-man?" Nyene said to Zaephos.

"I believe it demonstrates the ultimate futility of your race. Your inability to recognize and embrace the differences between your cultures. Your pa.s.sion for violence, for death."

Nyene glowered at him. "Bah. What do you know?"

"Halt the trebuchets," ordered Medril. A soldier ran to relay the order to the signalmen. "There's no point in wasting any more stones on them. They're finished."

Ezqedir realized he was grinding his teeth and forced himself to stop. Tolsadri had been slow to emerge from his tent even after being told his Loremasters were in grave danger. The Voice did not join the general and his commanders-he remained near his own tent with that worm of an aide, Enbrahel, who fussed about his master like a prattling old woman. Enbrahel disgusted him. Not only his flabby, flaccid body, his utter lack of courage and any kind of physical prowess, but also his obsessive, sycophantic desire to please Tolsadri to the point of sublimating all of his own desires and ambitions, as if a distinct, unique individual did not exist, only a vessel to please and fulfill the twisted needs of the Voice of the Exalted.

He lowered his seeing-gla.s.s. The Loremasters and Kulree Company had been annihilated. The wizards had driven the men to a maddened frenzy. A power we can't see. Can it touch us here? Will we all kill each other at the bidding of the wizards?

No. He did not believe they had such abilities. If they did, they would be the unequivocal masters of this continent. No one could stand against such might. They had limits. All such powers did, save for those of Holvareh Himself. He needed to find out what those limits were.

"Have Olo'kidare brought to me," said Ezqedir.

Ezqedir was conferring with Moliu Hu'mar, the designated commander of the mursaaba eunuchs, when Olo'kidare, the new leader of the cadre of Loremasters, was escorted into his tent. His normally red-hued skin was ashen, his lips squeezed into a thin pale line. His fingers moved constantly in an unconscious dance of agitation.

Hu'mar stepped away from the general as the Loremaster approached. Ezqedir offered the Loremaster wine, which Olo'kidare accepted with a trembling hand. He swallowed the contents of the goblet in three long gulps. Ezqedir raised an eyebrow at this uncharacteristic display, but made no comment on it.

"Can you shed any light on what transpired on the field today?" asked the general. "What power was used against them? Is there a way to counteract it?"

"Ventro Gulethis was in contact with Klaati using the Mysteries, so we felt what they felt until...until their deaths. There are invisible barriers across the valley," said Olo'kidare. "When it struck Klaati and the others, Gulethis felt terror such as he has never experienced. It shattered their bond. Fear enough to drive them mad, to strip them of all reason or thought."

"What do you mean, it struck him?" asked Ezqedir. "You mean they didn't ride into it by accident?"

"No. They sensed its presence. That's why that horseman threw the rock-to see if the barrier was physical in some way. These wizards then moved their power forward enough to engulf our men."

Ezqedir folded his arms. "Is there anything else you can tell me? How is it created? Is it there all of the time? Do you know where the wizards are located who are controlling it? Are they in the fortress itself or the hilltop fortifications?"

"I cannot say, General. Its power is unlike the Mysteries in almost all respects. That Klaati was able to sense it at all is a testament to his abilities, may Ruren watch over him."

"If there's anything else you or the other Loremasters discover, you will come to me at once."

"Of course, General. I want nothing more than to punish these heathens for what they did to Nitendi and the rest. May the Harridan take them all."

29.

Tyne felt a mingled sense of exhilaration and deep, stomach-churning dread when the dragon drew back on its haunches and sprang into the air with himself and Marrek harnessed to its neck. The sense of speed was fantastic. The wind on his face forced his eyes to close to the narrowest of slits, which, at the moment, was fine with him, since it prevented him from seeing the enormous volumes of empty air that were rapidly growing between him and the ground.

Behind him Marrek laughed and whooped as if he were having the grandest of times at the midsummer fair. He must be insane, thought Tyne, his grip on the harness straps so hard his fingers had already cramped. How could he enjoy this?