“Three mages?” Brother Willim asks.
Nodding, James turns his gaze to him and says, “Three.”
“That will make things interesting,” he says.
“Where do they get them all?” James asks as he returns his gaze to the mirror to check to the south.
“They periodically test children and those who show an inclination or talent toward magic are taken to their School of the Arcane,” explains Illan. “From what we understand, not many make it through the training process.”
“I take it that it’s not exactly a voluntary choice?” he asks. The south looks fairly clear of any immediate threat so he returns his mirror to his pack.
“Actually, most desire the prestige and honor that goes with being a mage for the Empire despite the risks involved,” Ceadric adds. “I suppose a few don’t want to go and they’re probably the ones who fail to survive.”
Just then they see ahead a scout returning. As he pulls up to ride beside Illan he says, “The road is just ahead.”
“Are they aware of our approach?” Illan asks.
“Not yet Black Hawk,” replies the scout. “People are still traveling along at a normal pace.”
James gazes to the horizon ahead in the morning light and can just begin to make out those traveling upon the road.
Illan turns to Ceadric and says, “Take your riders and secure the road. Take out any caravans but leave the people alone. We’re not here to kill innocents.” He glances to James and receives an approving nod.
“Yes, sir,” Ceadric replies. Behind him ride two of the four men he’s designated as Raider Captains, both rode with Illan in his earlier campaign. One is Nerun, a grizzled old timer who still retains his strength and wits. The other is Wylick. Six foot six with just a peppering of gray in his hair, he still gives an imposing appearance. The other two captains ride further back with their men, protecting the rear of the column.
Turning back to them he says, “Nerun, take your men to secure the road to the north. Wylick, you take the south.”
“Yes, sir!” Wylick says before he hollers to his men and they race to the south. Nerun and his men gallop to the north.
James watches as the two bands of riders, over two hundred strong each, near the road. The travelers soon take notice of the approaching riders, at first thinking they are forces of the Empire. But then when they finally realize they aren’t, panic ensues as they begin racing for their lives.
Neither of the bands of men strike down the civilians without provocation. A few are taken out when they try to fight them off in a futile gesture. By the time Illan, James and the others reach the road, it’s been cleared and secured. To the north the sound of breaking wood is heard as Nerun’s men begin destroying a twenty wagon caravan.
One of Nerun’s men returns down the road with one of the wagons trailing along behind him. When he reaches Illan he comes to a stop and says, “Nerun thought we might want to save this one.”
“What is it?” Illan asks.
The driver of the wagon, another of Nerun’s men pulls back the tarp and reveals a hundred crossbows with accompanying boxes of bolts.
“Nice,” states Ceadric approvingly.
“Get them distributed among the packhorses,” Illan tells them. “We can’t afford to linger here.”
“Yes, sir,” the rider says. Then he and the wagon move to the center of the column where the packhorses are kept for safety. With the help of others they begin the transference of the crossbows and bolts.
“That’s going to come in handy,” states Jiron. Having come up behind James while they were paused on the road, he saw the wagon load of crossbows as it headed for the packhorses.
“More is always better,” agrees James.
By the time they’ve been transferred, the men who were left in camp finally join up with them. While waiting to resume their progress toward Korazan, James goes over to Brother Willim and the rest of the Hand.
“The force from Al-Zynn rides a few hours behind us,” he says as he draws close.
Two members of the Hand nod as Brother Willim replies, “That’s not going to leave you much time at Korazan.”
“I know,” states James. He glances from Brother Willim to the others and then his eyes settle back on Brother Willim. “I have an idea of how to slow them down.”
“Oh?” says Brother Willim questioningly.
“Are you game?” he asks.
“What do you have in mind?”
Illan continues with the rest of the force while James, the Hand of Asran, and Jiron with his fighters from The Ranch stay behind to set up a few surprises. James was at first annoyed by the lack of help from the Hand when he first began to lay down what he wanted. He saw what they did against the warrior priest back at Lythylla and expected them to do something similar now.
“We do not kill men,” Brother Willim states adamantly when asked if they could do something against the approaching force. “The warrior priest was an entirely different matter.” But they work out a few things they could do without compromising the sanctity of life.
Now, two hours later, they wait just within visual distance of the section of the road where the caravan lies destroyed. Jiron figured the Empire’s men would take a few moments to examine the wreckage before they continue the chase on the off chance someone was left alive.
“Here they come,” says Stig as he returns from his lookout position by the road.
The force comes into view with the three mages riding in the lead. Coming up behind the mages is a force of cavalrymen over a thousand strong. Their foot soldiers are still hours behind, following as best they can.
When the mages take notice of the destroyed caravan and the dead bodies of those who fought back, their approach slows. Moving closer to the wagons, soldiers begin dismounting as they search for survivors.
“Any time now,” whispers James under his breath. To Brother Willim he says, “When it begins, that’s your cue.”
“We’ll be ready,” he replies. He and the rest of the Hand gather together, a subtle green glow springs into being around them. James can feel the unmistakable tingling of nearby magic as the Hand makes ready.
At that time, one of the mages suddenly sits erect in his saddle as he gazes in their direction. “One senses the magic,” he tells them. “I just hope he…”
Crumph! Crumph! Crumph! Crumph!
All along the road in the vicinity of the wrecked caravan, crystals which James had secreted earlier, respond with violent explosions when they detected the mage casting a spell.
James glances over to Brother Willim and gives him a nod indicating it’s time.
The green glow surrounding the Hand intensifies tenfold as they summon the power of Asran. Cries are heard from the horses as ants, millions of ants, swarm out of the ground and up their legs. Green shoots also spring out of the ground from the seeds which the brothers had sowed earlier, causing even more confusion and panic.
Horses try to run but their legs become entangled in the rapidly growing thorn bushes. Men scream as their horses rear and throw them into the carpet of ants covering the ground. No sooner does a man hit the ground then the ants are upon him, crawling inside the armor and begin biting. Nothing lethal but these are fire ants and each bite brings pain.
The dust which had been thrown into the air by the explosions begins to dissipate. One mage lies on the ground, the one who had initiated the blasts in the first place, and it doesn’t look as if he’s getting back up. The other mage who was near him at the time of the explosion is rolling on the ground, his hands flying fast as they try to get the ants off him.
The remaining mage was bucked off his horse when the explosion happened and managed to land without injury. He now stands safely just outside the perimeter of the ant swarm. James can feel the tingling spike as he works to counter the magic wielded by the Hand.