"The spells of the empire close their minds," the captain said, fondling the carved ivory wand. "They move in a paradise that we control and mold. But out there, a continent is on the move, and no one knows who shapes events."
"I need a small band of attendants to bring my knight with me," Laquatus said, nudging the wounded man with his foot.
The ambassador let his silence at the mercenary's wild outpourings show his contempt. If the animals of the wood posed a danger, he would handle it. If only Satas had explored more of the western caves instead of forcing him to deal with these fearful idiots. The mercenary called to an aide and gave orders for a small group of riders to accompany Laquatus and the prisoner.
"Does the Order know you are in this village?" the mer aristocrat asked, looking beyond the camp to the few houses.
There were no signs of the inhabitants save for the smoke from the chimneys. The caravans had a bad reputation. The ambassador knew that on occasion his employees took slaves for use and sale to the pits.
"Kirtar's scouts are oriented west. I doubt they know we are here," the mercenary captain said, looking toward the men selected rousted from eating and sleep.
"This brave member of the Order will be useful in earning the organization's trust," Laquatus said, licking his thin lips. "But the risk of witnesses telling how he chanced into my hospitality… No, I think it best if this village and its inhabitants die now. Unknown and nameless."
Turg leaped toward the houses. The amphibian pushed camp workers out of the way as he raced to the closest cottage.
The stone-and-timber structure was covered in moss. It hunkered down in the plain, the heavy walls stubbornly resisting the elements and those who would attack. The windows were small, and heavy shutters shielded the inside from view.
The door was seasoned wood, thick and hung with care-the builder's attempt to keep the dangers of the world outside. Turg summoned his power, drawing on the ambassador's magic. A thin stream of lightning flared, blinding those foolish enough to run after the amphibian. The jack closed his inner eyelids, cutting the glare as he looked through the thin shield of flesh. The lock and screws holding the door shut glowed as power arced over the door. An agonized scream sounded as someone in the house tried to brace the panel. Rock-hard boards sundered in quick succession, coming free in a series of concussions.
Turg, impatient to get inside, smashed into the door, his hide smoking briefly as it touched the charred wood. Laquatus stood, lost in the rush of violence, savoring each death as the amphibian rampaged through the structure. The mercenary's distaste was plain, but he called to his men.
"Clear them out!" he shouted, pointing to the remaining houses. He drew a short sword to lead squads in the unpleasant task. Animals started at the noise, and the ambassador felt the animal herdsmen increasing the strength of the spells calming and misleading the beasts. Death and deception played out in the caravan and the village, and Laquatus stood in appreciation as the jack and the mercenaries began to kill off anyone who might derail his scheme to lull the Order once again.
An explosion shattered his contentment. What fool was employing such spells in a simple bout of murder?
The merman looked to the perimeter. Bodies popped as flame burned its way free of fighters in his employ. As the mercenaries fell, Laquatus could see two riders charging. No, not riders, but instead a centaur and his mounted companion advanced on the camp. A glimpse of brass-colored skin placed the pair. Seton and the barbarian fell upon the caravan, killing without hesitation as the village was massacred.
"Destroy them," the ambassador bellowed, dragging Turg away from the easy slaughter with a mental command. The guards left off their halfhearted killing to face the attackers entering the camp.
"A rich reward to whoever brings me their heads!" the merman called. Greed and self- preservation sent warrior converging on the pair. The merman laughed, sure that murder would solve most of his problems.
CHAPTER 11
Kamahl closed his eyes as the axe exploded in a ball of flame, the pulse of magic leaving an afterimage even through his eyelids. His horse shied, nearly toppling him despite his precautions in turning the mare's head away from the spell. Seton roared and sprang, his apelike features furious as he raised his mace and swung at a caravan guard. The man shattered under the force of the blow, blood spraying and spotting the centaur red as he moved toward a new target.
The pair had tracked Kirtar and his forces west for days.
The Order rode hard, and the barbarian and the forest warrior had closed slowly, if at all. Then the tracks were obscured by a caravan. Seton had sworn loudly as wagons and herds of animals obscured the trail. Casting along the road to see if Kirtar had left the western highway consumed even more time. It appeared that the caravan followed the lieutenant, and Kamahl stopped tracking and rode hard, gambling that Kirtar would not change his path until they passed the obscuring travelers. They had hit the outer perimeter, and Seton watched the frog, Turg, break into a building and other guards from the caravan advance on the villagers. Such evil would not go unpunished.
Kamahl hurled flame. The magic congealed into dull red globes that sank into the bodies of the cowardly murderers. The caravan guards laughed at their apparent immunity to his attack. They came a few steps closer, then stopped and gasped as the barbarian's spell began to burn its way out. Kamahl felt a wave of weakness as the mercenaries charred to ash. His anger was drawing too much power into the spell, and he paused to control his rage. His horse shifted under him, and he jabbed his heels, sending the mount into the fight.
Seton rampaged through the camp, his club spraying his opponent's brains each time it landed. The caravan guards tried in vain to corner him, but the centaur's prodigious leaps carried him free. Seton then turned to take mercenaries from behind. He pushed his way through the herd of captive animals to reach their tenders. The barbarian could see his club raising high, then falling again.
Kamahl's horse froze, then began bucking under him. The beast that had stayed controlled through so much tumult went wild and spun. The barbarian could feel the horse dropping and beginning to roll. He threw himself from the saddle, drawing his sword in midair. He landed at a run, turning to see what creature attacked his mount. There was nothing tearing at the beast, though it screamed in rage and fear as it twisted in the dirt.
A leather-clad mercenary charged toward him, an ivory baton raised in the air as he regarded Kamahl and his horse. The leader waved as if in introduction and turned toward the animals closest to the barbarian. A herd of simple cattle stopped chewing their cud as one.
Kamahl knew that magic controlled the animals, for these cows were huge with heavy horns that stretched more than three feet from side to side. These were not dairy cows or animals being driven leisurely to the butcher but animals with fighting spirit. Whatever spell had kept them docile ceased, and he found their attention focused upon him. The cattle bellowed and charged, three bulls forcing their way to the front of the herd in their rush to close with him.
Kamahl spun a pillar of flame around himself, but the maddened animals disregarded it. He threw himself to the side as a long horn hooked through his shield and scored his armored belt. He gasped, his air knocked out by the impact. The barbarian did not want to play the butcher to livestock, and he ran under a wagon as the rest of the herd closed. The cows collided with the freight wagon, and he hobbled farther into the camp, gaining new strength as he shook off the bull's blow. A mercenary considered him an easy target as he struck from the rear. Kamahl's sword sheared through the falling club and cut the man's arm free. The stricken guard could not even scream as Kamahl's return stroke set his head free as well. Guards closing with the barbarian slowed, waiting for others to converge on the mountain warrior.