Chapter 8
The vanguard of the Protector army scouted half a day ahead of the rest, at the limits of contact with their brothers. Twenty men, masked and silent, accompanied by four mages directing their movement but no longer with the ultimate punishment for disobedience available to them.
The Protectors represented a declining but still awesome Xetes-kian calling. The last man had been taken more than six years before and subsequently freed in a ceremony that could not be repeated until it was further researched. He was The Unknown Warrior and they would never forget him.
A frighteningly short time ago, a Protector transgressing the harsh rules of the calling would have suffered soul torment by demons for as long as his Given mage wanted. That was no longer sanctioned although the demons hadn't been told that. Souls to torment was their part of the bargain for maintaining the Demon-Chains that linked each Protector to his soul held outside his body in the Soul Tank, deep in the catacombs of Xetesk.
In truth, the punishment wasn't needed now anyway. Aeb, at the head of the vanguard, could barely remember the years before he was taken. He would have been in his late teens, he thought. What he knew now was that the Soul Tank, where his soul linked with those of his hundreds of companions, meant brotherhood beyond all human meaning. It meant strength, comfort and understanding on the most basic level. It was what made them the power they were.
He understood that one day, he might be asked to choose freedom. He wasn't sure what he would say.
But some rules remained. A Protector could make no decisions except in a battle situation unless his Given was lost. And Protectors were never told to where they marched. They followed and fought
or threatened as directed. Aeb accepted it had to be this way. And though the souls often swam in unhappiness in their Xeteskian containment, their abiding joy was their closeness and the power it gave them. There were no dissenters. It had ever been so and the concept was alien. It would undermine the whole and that was unacceptable. Abhorrent.
Aeb was aware that research would break the brotherhood and it saddened him. But for now, people feared the Protectors and that was right. People like the Dordovan cavalry they had encountered.
They had been travelling south and east from Xetesk for four days, stopping late in the night and setting off at dawn each day, their pace fast, their rests dictated by the tiredness of mages and horses. An hour from the borders of the mage lands, in an area once rich for farming but now battered by incessant rain, they had paused for refreshment.
All day, low cloud had released a shifting rain mist that eddied in the wind and made visibility poor. The damp penetrated armour and mask, the land was quiet as if every other living thing had sought shelter, and the mist played with the eyes, making shapes where there were none. For some time before the Dordovans had ridden up, they had heard hoof falls echoing dully, the rain and wind making their direction of approach difficult to determine. Eventually, the Dordovans had appeared, their lead warriors pulling up sharply as the Xeteskians loomed at them out of the mist.
Aeb permitted himself the tiniest satisfaction at their manner. He could see the mask of Elx, dark and shining, and knew that they must have startled the horsemen. Aeb signalled the body of the army, using his nineteen brothers to augment him over the range. The mages stepped into the centre of the trail as a rider trotted up from the middle of the Dordovan column. He was another mage, but fat, the skin of his face unhealthy under the hood of his cloak. His horse had the girth to match.
Their lead mage, Sytkan, spoke.
'Vuldaroq. What an unpleasant, if predictable sight.'
The fat mage smiled. 'Likewise, Sytkan. We've heard reports of you and your abominations on the move for days. I suppose it's pointless to enquire after your destination.'
'A waste of your breath, but more a waste of mine.' Sytkan looked
about him. He was a young mage, a junior master but being schooled for greatness. He was tall, quick and heavy-boned, his grey eyes glaring out from under his tight-fitting skull cap. 'You know something, I do believe these lands to be under the care of Xetesk.'
'Care? An interesting term. And I believe we have full rights of passage as laid down in the Triverne Agreement on Mage Land Propriety.'
'An old and dusty legislature,' said Sytkan. 'And rendered void in times of open conflict between Colleges, as I recall.'
'Is that what you call this?' asked Vuldaroq. 'Since your insults are directed at the Lord of the Mount, yes.'
Tension flared. Aeb watched the ripple through the Dordovan cavalry. He could count more than a hundred but guessed that twice that many stood hidden by the chill swirling mist.
Stand down ready. No weapons. Check left, aggressive intent, centre is fear, right neutral, Aeb pulsed to his brothers. None of them so much as moved a muscle.
In the centre of the trail, the four Xeteskian mages stood calm but Aeb could feel one preparing a HardShield to defend against projectile attack. Beside her, another prepared spell defence. He assumed the Dordovans were doing the same.
'It would be unwise to threaten us, Sytkan,' said Vuldaroq. T have three hundred cavalry here. I'd hate to see them run you down.'
'And you will not,' replied Sytkan, voice firm but cool. 'A clear act of aggression in Xeteskian lands would be a great mistake with the bulk of the Protector army not far behind you.'
Vuldaroq chuckled and dismounted, his horse twitching its gut and back as the considerable weight was removed. The mage walked forward.
'There. Far more civilised. Now, I think this little spat should end here. Let's agree to differ on our agendas and move on.' He was a few paces from Sytkan and Aeb could see the fear in his eyes though he covered it with overconfident bluster.
'Absolutely,' agreed Sytkan. 'But for you that means journeying by the quickest route from Xeteskian lands. You understand you cannot be allowed to ride ahead of us. So, north, I think that means. Aeb, do you concur?'
'The lands north are easier for horses, Master. It is a quicker route than south.'
'Exactly. I am sorry, Vuldaroq, but I have instructions from Dystran himself. Due to the unfortunate reaction of Dordover and Lystern, our lands are temporarily closed to your traffic. I require you to respect that.'
'You expect me to accede to the word of a Lord of the Mount who is nothing more than a puppet to his Circle Seven and die advice of a masked thug?' Vuldaroq spun on his heel and stalked back to his horse.
'Retract your remarks concerning my Lord of the Mount,' demanded Syfkan.
'I never retract the truth.'
'Aeb, deploy,' muttered Sytkan, signalling his mages to cast their shields.
Space across the path. Move to ready.
Like ghosts in the mist, the Protectors reacted, their movements precise and efficient. In moments they had blocked the path in a slightly concave line. As they came to ready, axes and swords snapped from back mounts in a clatter of steel which echoed across the windswept space, its chill sound accentuated by the silence that followed. Aeb looked and saw fear. It was expected.
Sytkan spoke into the void. 'This is not a bluff. Your insults are crude, Vuldaroq, but our threat is not. Ride north. Leave our lands and take some advice. Go back to Dordover. You'll find nothing but death in Arlen.'
Vuldaroq sniffed. T will ride where I please.'
'North.'
'And if I refuse?'
'Then we will attack you. Aeb has freedom to act. He needs no further command.'