The man pulled out his long sword. T need help over here!' There was an answering call but it was troubled, not supportive. He was scared. Hirad could see it in his eyes and in the set of his body, and chose to be wary. Scared men were unpredictable and there was no room for manoeuvre.
'No help is coming,' said Hirad, and stepped back a pace, beckoning his opponent on with one hand. He heard other urgent shouts echoing on the wind and knew he was right.
The man sprang forward, unleashing a swift attack, his tall frame and long arms giving him good reach. Hirad stood his ground, blocking high, then to his midriff, eventually pushing away with his free hand as he deflected a second strike to his neck. The man stumbled back off-balance, one arm flailing out at an outstretched branch as he sought to steady himself, feet slipping on a dusting of leaves.
Hirad moved in, thrusting straight at the stomach, expecting and getting a half-block. He used the pace and change of direction to wheel his sword in a tight circle around his head, left to right. Almost too late, the tracker saw the blow coming and ducked, the blade skipping hard off his helmet.
Hirad swore, his assailant gasped and swayed but didn't go down, shaking his head, clearly groggy. He formed an uninspiring defence, wobbling slightly and backing away. Behind him, he could see two more shapes, one advancing on and hulking over the other, his sword low, no doubt tapping at the earth.
Hirad grinned harshly, batted aside the attempted jab and buried his blade in his opponent's neck, stepping smartly aside as blood spat from the severed artery. Gurgling, the victim fell, his life blood draining away into the forest floor.
Looking up, Hirad saw The Unknown straight-arm his enemy in the face before smashing his sword through his legs. The man dropped, screaming his last. Two down. Hirad moved. Ilkar had the other two. The ghost of concern flickered across his mind but an icy blast roared across him some twenty yards away and he knew he shouldn't have even begun to worry.
The Unknown appeared at his shoulder, sheathing his cleaned sword.
'Good work. Ilkar wanted the other two. They were a mage pair.'
'Oh, I see.' Hirad scrambled towards the source of the IceWind he'd felt surging into the dead woodland. 'Ilkar?' There was no answer for a while.
'Over here.' Hirad changed direction and came upon the elf kneeling by the twisted corpses of the tracker mages. He'd always found the sight of IceWind victims unnerving. Frozen in the attitude of life but with the pain etched in their faces of the instant of death, like paintings depicting the onset of terror.
'Didn't think you were keen on that spell,' he said.
'I'm not,' said Ilkar vaguely. 'It's somewhat indiscriminate. Still, nothing much else in the firing line on this occasion.' He hadn't looked round.
'What's upr' asked Hirad.
'See for yourself.' He moved away and indicated the exposed neck of one whose helmet lay nearby. 'This isn't right at all.'
Hirad frowned and bent to look. The light wasn't good but it was enough to show him the telltale tattoo below the ear.
'What the-?' He looked up and round. 'Unknown, what the hell is going on?'
The men hadn't been sent by Dordover. They were Black Wings.
Chapter 11
Selik finally found an outlet for his anger and frustration a day north of Arlen. The ride towards the town, where all of his reports indicated he should station himself and the bulk of the Black Wings, had been brooding and unpleasant. The changeable weather had alternately frozen and soaked him, practically blown him from his horse on more occasions than he cared to count and finally, a hailstorm had bitten lumps from his face.
Yet still most of Balaia just thought it was freak weather. They hadn't grasped what was behind it. Why would they? After all, the mages held such sway over their minds most of the time that the truth would be denounced as something akin to heresy. But he couldn't keep silent and still sleep at night. Magic was causing chaos all across his country and it was a cancer that had to be excised.
Vuldaroq had been fulsome in his explanations of the Tinjata Prophecy and how the bitch and her child were the only ones to blame but Selik knew it ran deeper than that. When magic was the problem, all mages closed ranks, making them all as guilty as each other. The time for tolerance of any College was past and what he couldn't use from them, he would discard.
He finally lost his tenuous hold on his temper on the borders of Easthome. A small farming community numbering perhaps one hundred and fifty families, Easthome lay close enough to Arlen to enjoy healthy trade from the prosperous port. Its hardworking people had farmed the land for generations, their crops feeding themselves and selling into Arlen's busy markets, their grain reaching as far as Calaius. But not this year.
With late afternoon waning towards evening, Selik and his eight cohorts rode up to the village, looking for lodging before joining the rest of the Black Wings in Arlen the following day. The calamity
that had befallen Easthome unfolded before them as they neared. Crops lay flattened, fences and hedges had been uprooted, barns and farms had lost roofs. Stables had collapsed.
Outside one farm house, Selik reined in by a man who stood staring out across his ruined fields, barely acknowledging the men who stopped beside him. Selik dismounted and the farmer turned to him, the expression on his face one of disbelief and defeat. He was a young man, not yet thirty, with a broad muscular frame, fair hair and a heavy brow.
'What happened?' asked Selik.
The farmer looked at him closely and then past him to his men who remained mounted.
'Black Wings?' he said. Selik nodded. 'Come to try and stop the wind from blowing, have you? Best you leave us to sort ourselves out. We don't want trouble.'
'And I will bring you none,' slurred Selik, attempting a smile. 'Wind did all this?'
The farmer nodded. 'Blew out of nowhere just a night ago. From a clear sky. Every one of us has lost his crop. Some have lost their animals and houses too. I've been luckier if you can call it that.' He turned back to his fields. 'I mean, we'd be all right but… We've grain in the store to see us through but no one else, and four days ago a hundred and more from Orytte came here. They've lost everything.'
'I didn't know,' said Selik, though he could guess exactly what had happened. The farmer confirmed it.
'The sea came and took the town,' he said. 'Most of them are dead, so the survivors say. We'd have sent them on to Arlen but none of them want to see water again. I guess you can understand that. So we took them in and now we can't feed them. Not for long.'
Selik glanced back at his men who were listening to the exchange, some shaking their heads. Selik breathed out, his chest suddenly painful where the cold had touched him so deeply. It merely served to stoke his determination.
'So what are you doing about it?' he asked not unkindly.
The farmer jerked a thumb towards the village centre. 'There's some meeting about it now down at the inn. There's a lot of anger
down there. People want answers before they starve this winter. Apparently Evansor's going to appeal to the Colleges for help. They've got the wealth, haven't they?'
'And Evansor is…?' Again, Selik knew the answer.
'Our mage,' confirmed the farmer.
Selik spat. 'Mages. You'll get nothing from them.' The vehemence of his words made the farmer start. 'Gods, man, they are the cause of all this. Do you really think it's natural? A hurricane from a clear sky, the sea taking Orytte? And there's so much more it would break your heart. Magic is to blame.'
The farmer frowned. 'Well we've heard stories but Evansor…'
'Evansor, yes,' said Selik, his voice chill. He ached to confront him, to declaim him for the fraud he undoubtedly was. 'Very persuasive. Very understanding, no doubt.' He leant in. 'But believing a mage is offering your life to a murderer.' He swung away and hauled himself back into his saddle. 'And why aren't you there, at the meeting?'