“Thank you.” Kharl took the staff and started uphill. He did not look back as the two lancers rode off.
From the feeling of lessened chaos emanating from the top of the ridge, Kharl could sense that the battle was winding down. He could only hope that he was not too late, that something could be salvaged. And from what he had observed of white wizards, he had to see if he couldn’t at least stop them, and Ilteron, even if they had already slain the less-than-wise Lord Ghrant.
Kharl moved uphill more swiftly, staying beside the bushes, but not using his light shield, not yet, and not wanting to until he had to.
Within moments, he could see figures ahead-lancers in green and black and in yellow and black riding downhill, avoiding the berry bushes. Behind them came armsmen on foot. Some were pursued by lancers in blue and gray, and others stumbled, as if they had trouble walking or seeing. Some were splattered with blood, but most were not.
The carpenter tried to sense the chaos ahead, but there were two pillars of unseen white, one not all that far away, but uphill and to his right, out among the more open grassy stretches where there were but few trees. The other-and stronger focus-was close to the top of the ridge, if not at the very top.
Kharl drew back into the bushes as mounts thundered down in his direction.
“Someone’s in the bushes! Could be an archer!”
Kharl dropped to his knees and willed the light to flow around him as the rebel lancers neared.
“Gone now…swore he was right there…”
A laugh followed. “They’re all running, like scared coneys.”
“…won’t matter…not in the end…”
“…make sure we get to the end…”
Kharl barely waited until the lancers were past before he dropped the light shield and scrambled uphill. The rush of men fleeing and those pursuing seemed to dissipate, and he began to hurry across the hill.
Less than ten rods away, he could see a band of armsmen in yellow and black, using a stone pavilion as a makeshift redoubt and shield against a white wizard and a company of rebel lancers. There were bodies in blue and gray strewn before the amber stone structure, as well as many in yellow and black; but this group of armsmen loyal to Lord Ghrant had neither broken nor run, and the attackers had pulled back.
Kharl could see that no one was even looking in his direction as he crossed the slope.
Hsssstt! A reddish white firebolt arced from the wizard and flew between two stone pillars. Flame flared, and one of the defenders staggered forward, screaming, his entire body a mass of fire.
Kharl gathered the light shield around himself, forcing himself to keep moving, not to think, but to get closer to the wizard. Even from within the darkness of his light shield, he could easily sense the white energy of the wizard as yet one more firebolt flared into the stone pavilion. Another set of screams echoed across the morning.
Kharl winced but kept walking, until he was less than a rod behind the rear of the rebels.
“…turn ’em to torches!”
“…southern weaklings…”
Kharl was still a good fifty cubits from the swirling of chaos and whiteness. He could only hope that his idea would work. It should…but one never knew.
He took a slow and deep breath, then visualized the air around the wizard, then reached out and twisted all the order-and-chaos hooks, so that the air touching the wizard’s body turned solid.
There was not even a sound, except the wizard pitched forward, frozen as though he had been turned into stone.
“What happened!”
“Must be another mage!”
“Where?”
Despite the other’s immobility, Kharl could sense the gathering bolt of chaos, and he forced himself to wait until the last moment-even as the reddish white fireball was flaring toward him-before hardening a shield of air between him and the chaos-bolt.
Still, heat and fire flamed past him, so close and so hot he could feel the ends of his hair and beard crisp and smell the burning hair.
The second fireball was weaker. That was good, because Kharl doubted he could hold the shields for too long.
He could sense the chaos folding in upon itself, and he let go of the shield before him, but not the one imprisoning the white wizard.
The entrapped wizard continued to struggle, but the last firebolt was but a tiny eruption of flame. Then, there was a reddish emptiness, and Kharl could feel the absoluteness of death, releasing the confinement that had destroyed the wizard.
The carpenter turned back uphill and moved back across the hillside, still light-shielded.
Once he was a good ten rods away from the forces battling over the pavilion and again moving uphill beside the bushes, he released the light shield, blinking as light flooded his sight. For several moments, he had trouble seeing and was glad that the grassy slope offered relatively even footing.
Behind him, he could hear the clash of metal and the grunting of armsmen as the rebels and the loyalists renewed the conflict over the pavilion. He would have to leave that battle to the armsmen, at least for the moment, because he needed to find the second chaos-wizard.
The bushes ended, suddenly. Before Kharl the grassy slope leveled out. Ahead, a low white marble wall, less than two cubits high, and less than five rods away, encircled another larger stone pavilion. Behind or within the wall was the pillar of white chaos-and a far larger gathering of armed men, many of whom were looking downhill.
“Someone’s coming!”
Kharl quickly donned his light shield.
“He’s gone!”
“…vanished…”
“…just turned and ran, that’s all…”
“…don’t know…might have wizards, too…”
“…woulda seen ’em earlier…”
Kharl began to angle to his right, to where he could sense that there were fewer armed men, and slightly away from the chaos-focus. But he kept moving uphill and toward the remaining white wizard-and, he hoped, Ilteron and perhaps even Lord Ghrant.
“There’s an order-mage coming…look for where things seem blurry!” called out a voice.
Kharl tried not to hurry, to keep his steps and pace even, as he used his senses to make his sightless way toward the stone structure that rose in the center of the paved area enclosed by the wall and crowned the southern end of the ridge.
“Go find him! The mage! He’s got to be close.”
“You find him…”
“How?”
For their confusion, Kharl was most grateful. He tried to keep his breathing even and as quiet as possible as he neared the stone wall and the men who stood behind it. He could sense an opening farther to his left, and he eased in that direction.
The white wizard who stood less than ten rods away was the stronger of the two with Ilteron. That Kharl could feel. But…did he need to attack the other wizard? What he really needed was to destroy Ilteron. His only problem was that he didn’t know which of the armed men happened to be the rebel lord, and there were close to a hundred figures on the ridgetop.
Then…if Ghrant were dead, and Kharl killed Ilteron, and not the white wizard, the rebel lords would be able to continue the war. So Kharl had to deal with the white wizard-if he could.
“I know you are here, cowardly black.” The voice boomed across the ridge, and Kharl could sense the chaos that amplified it. “Lyras, skulking in the back hills once more will get you nothing.”
Kharl said nothing, moving along the stone wall, until he sensed a gap in the armsmen, one a good three cubits wide. He stepped up on the stone wall-and felt the reason for the gap-a fountain or pool behind it.
While he disliked using his tricks even to get to the white wizard, he hardened the water and carefully made his way to the far side of the pool, where he released the order-ties. Then he stood in his darkness, trying to gather himself together.
The stone pavilion was but another fifteen cubits before him, and he could sense both the white wizard and two other figures within the stone-roofed and columned structure before him.