The Deathless Ones, page 16
"Protect Lady Myra," Miran shouted grimly. "This is an ambush."
"They’ve set fire to it!” Kore said.
Myra saw the fire too, and she realised what was going to happen. She ordered all the women into the street, and told them to stay low.
"Where's my robe?" She demanded. "And my horse?"
"My Lady!" Fin protested.
"We cannot put the fire out. It’s going to spread fast. Tell your men to clear some of the debris on the street so that we can move at least in a single file." She turned to Kore and Fin. "Get your horses. You are coming with me."
"Are there any streams nearby?" Myra asked, mounting her horse.
"Yes," Miran said.
"Bring our waterskins," she said.
She drenched their robes with water and also the blankets that were thrown over the horses. The three of them put on the drenched robes. It was highly uncomfortable but they had no other option. She rode her horse straight at the burning debris, the horse leaping over the flames and landing safely on the other side, though it neighed piteously. Some of its hair had been singed off and she knew that there was probably a burn on its underbelly, but she had no time to look at it now. She had covered her nose and mouth as the horse jumped, but she could still feel the heat from the flames. Her robe was completely dry now and there were burn marks on her arms.
A man attacked her as soon as she turned. Her horse danced to a side, allowing her time to draw her sword. She blocked his next blow and thrust out her elbow to knock him off his horse. Kore and Fin had also made it across by then and they charged a second man. Myra leapt off her horse and faced the man who had attacked her. He had a hard face, and it was evident that he was no stranger to fighting. He was also taller than her. Myra ducked as he lunged with his sword, sliding on the ground, rolling and thrusting her sword up into his belly in one motion. He couldn’t bring his sword down to block her in time and fell to the ground, clutching his stomach. It was a trick Lyam had taught her, that allowed her to use an opponents’ height against them.
She turned to where Kore and Fin were fighting with the second man. There seemed to be no more men. Kore and Fin were staying back, out of reach of the man who was waving a dagger in one hand and a bottle in the other.
"He says he has the all-eater in that bottle!" Kore shouted. "Stay back, my Lady!"
Myra was too incensed. The second man was young, as young as Kore and Fin. He was dressed as a servant, which he might well be, for, from the way he was waving the knife, it was evident that he had never used it. Myra wasn’t cowed by the all-eater either. She strode towards him, sword in one hand, her robe in the other. Kore and Fin made to protest, but were stopped by her angry glare. The youth took a step back, but gave her a furious look as he threw the glass bottle at her. Myra threw her robe onto it, twisting out of the way and knocking his dagger away with her sword. Her blade was at his throat and he swallowed, though his defiant and angry gaze never wavered.
"Leave him!" Pelmeya said sharply, panting, as she placed a hand on her arm. "Don't kill him. Take him prisoner if you will, but don't kill him."
Myra looked at the other woman questioningly though her sword remained at the youth's throat.
"He's a magician," Pelmeya clarified. "You don't want to spill his blood."
Myra lowered her sword, shaken at the narrow escape and Kore and Fin sprang forward to bind him securely.
"A magician?" Myra asked. "In a servant’s robes?"
"A disguise," Pelmeya shrugged. "But he cannot hide his truth from another."
The fire had burned itself out, Myra noticed. It also cleared them a way through the debris, most of which was ash now. They all covered their faces while passing through. Miran gave the prisoner a look of loathing.
"I would like to make you talk now, but our Lady is tired. So, we'll continue our journey and we'll wait till we get back to Rhenon!"
As soon as they left Lykos behind, they were surrounded. A tall, dark haired man with a pleasant face and a dark beard rode forward.
"Lady Myra?"
Myra nodded. They were outnumbered this time, but they were not going to give in without a fight.
"Lord Syamin sends his compliments. He has ordered us to escort your group to Mirrel. I am Vasry, the captain of the army at Mirrel."
Miran's hand was on the hilt of his sword. Myra shook her head at him, her wish for a fight dissipating. Vasry's reputation had reached her. Miran might be good, but Vasry certainly was better. She did not want her men to die unnecessarily.
"We shall accept your escort to Mirrel," she said. "We have with us a prisoner who tried to ambush us. His companion is dead. I would like to take him with us."
"As you wish, my Lady." He nodded at one of his men who galloped off towards the town, and returned a few minutes later. He whispered something to Vasry who drew a sharp breath.
"Which among you killed that man?"
"I did," Myra said.
"I must felicitate you, my Lady," he said. "You have killed Cadgen, one of Semil's men. He was a good soldier."
He bowed to her and she returned the bow even though her mind was in turmoil. Semil's man? Was Vasry lying? But why? There was also the fact that her prisoner had looked at Vasry and his men with positive hatred. That seemed to indicate that he wasn’t one of Syamin's, and he was certainly not one of hers. So, that left Semil and Aadron. There was no reason for Vasry to say Semil's name if this Cadgen wasn’t one of his men. Why was Semil trying to kill her? Did he think that killing her would gain him Rhenon?
“He was carrying this,” Vasry said, handing over a bag to her. It contained two uniforms similar to the ones worn by Syamin's soldiers.
“He was trying to frame your Lord for my death,” she said.
Vasry nodded, his face grim. “I hope you shall give me leave to question your prisoner when we reach Mirrel, my Lady.”
“Your Lord is lucky to have such loyal soldiers,” she said drily.
Vasry smiled. “We are lucky to have him.”
Reversal of Fortunes
Even as he fell to his knees, Syamin knew that his wound wasn’t severe. Mylwin's sword had passed through his right shoulder which all but rendered his right arm useless. His sword had fallen from his hands, and Syamin had fallen to his knees in an attempt to confuse Mylwin. He knew Mylwin. He had taught him. He knew Mylwin had attacked him in a rage, and that he probably had no idea where his sword went in. He looked at Mylwin, at his face that was still furious, though he was hesitating to attack again. Had it been a training session, Syamin would have yelled at him and told him to press his advantage. Syamin's left hand closed around the dirt on the ground, and he sprang to his feet, throwing it in Mylwin's eyes. He ducked as Mylwin swung his sword wildly. He picked up his sword with his left hand and rolled into Mylwin's legs, making him lose his footing and fall, his grip on his sword loosening, making it fall to the ground. Syamin placed the point of his sword on Mylwin's throat.
“It's over, Mylwin,” he said. “Surrender. I don’t want to injure you.”
Mylwin's hand flashed to his dagger, and Syamin's sword plunged into his right shoulder, and Mylwin’s hand dropped, just as useless as Syamin’s now. Syamin drew out his sword, and stepped back. Mylwin rolled away and got to his feet slowly, his left hand clutching his injured shoulder. He took a step forward, and tripped on his own sword that was lying on the ground. Syamin couldn’t even shout a warning as Mylwin fell, his feet having kicked his sword in his attempt to find purchase. Its point came up to hit him on his side, and sank in with the momentum of Mylwin’s own fall. Syamin leapt to Mylwin’s side, dropping his sword, as he caught Mylwin and removed the sword from his side, while his injured hand felt for the wound there, heaving a sigh of relief as he realised the wound was shallow, though it was bleeding profusely. Mylwin's eyes were still screwed shut and his eyes were streaming.
“You damned fool!” Syamin shouted, sitting on his knees, readjusting his position so that his right hand was around Mylwin and his left hand on his own right shoulder. There were footsteps behind him and Syamin stretched out his left hand for a waterskin to be pressed into it. He opened it and trickled the water onto Mylwin's face. Mylwin winced but managed to open his eyes.
“I guess you didn't teach me that well, after all,” he said.
Syamin sighed. “Your footwork needs improvement, and you're coming with me,”
He turned to the man who stood behind him. “Radik, can you do something about this wound?”
Radik was, as usual, dressed all in white, with the narrow gold belt and the golden embroidery at the neck and sleeves. His small and pudgy hands touched Syamin's shoulder gently, making him wince.
“I can bind it up, and his too if you wish, but I am no healer.”
Syamin helped Mylwin to his feet. “I know, old friend.”
He took out the pouch containing the herbal paste that all warriors carried and turned to Mylwin.
“I hope you still have yours. Mine won't be enough for both of us, and that blood flow needs to be staunched and soon.”
Mylwin took out his pouch, and handed it to Radik.
“There isn't much in mine either, I'm afraid. You might have to choose which wound to apply it to.”
“Both of them might need attention,” Radik said. “But the blood flow will stop of its own accord after a while. I’ll just make sure you don’t bleed to death in the meantime.”
A faint smile graced Mylwin's lips. “Didn’t think you cared about that.”
Radik shrugged, frowning. “You’re right, but Syamin cares for you. So, I shall do what I can, though it's a healer you need.”
They both sat down on the ground as Radik bound both their shoulders, and Mylwin's side too. “That wound needs more attention that I can provide,” he said. “The blade must have glanced the ribs, but it still caused some damage inside. You were lucky it only fell on you, or it would have gone in deeper.”
“I think I fell on it,” Mylwin said turning his head so that Radik's long grey hair wouldn’t fall on to his face as he bent over his shoulder.
Radik moved back and said, “This is all I can do. I am a magician, not a healer.”
His charges rose to their feet, Mylwin a bit sluggishly. His face was pale, and sweat was beading on his forehead.
“What would you have done had I killed him?” he asked curiously. “Killed me?”
Syamin shook his head as he tried to move his shoulder. It still hurt, but he thought he might be able to ride. He looked at Mylwin. He looked flushed now, and his eyes were too bright. Syamin felt a twinge of fear.
Radik looked at Mylwin and said. “I am forbidden to take lives except in self-defence, just as my life is forbidden to be taken except in self-defence.”
“That is the rule for all magicians,” Syamin said quietly, as Mylwin nodded.
“I wondered,” he said. “I was too scared of Pelmeya to ask her.”
His eyes rolled in his head and he fell.
Syamin ran to him. “He's burning up!” he yelled.
“He needs a healer,” Radik said. “And not an ordinary healer. Falling on his blade caused a lot more damage than it looks on the surface. Syamin, he needs Aster, or he’s going to die. The healer here in Rhenon won’t be able to save him.”
Syamin said nothing for a moment and then said quietly, “Even if the healer here could help, I can’t trust this young fool not to jump onto a horse and hotfoot it to Mirrel as soon as he’s patched up.” he sighed. “Sur! This is going to be bad. Help me get him on to his horse.”
Mylwin swayed in the saddle, and Syamin got on to the horse behind him and held him with his good arm so he wouldn't fall. “I'll take him with me.”
“The journey to Mirrel could kill him. It is too far away, and you’re in no condition to ride that far either, not with an injured man. Both of you could be killed.”
“Do I have a choice?” Syamin asked. “You yourself said that he needed Aster. I have to take him to Mirrel.”
“Not when you’re injured and losing blood!” Radik protested. “Even if you don’t kill yourself, you’re certainly going to injure that arm permanently!”
“Not if you help, old friend. You wouldn’t have any of those transportation stones with you, would you?”
Radik rolled his eyes. “I gave you the last one I had, and I can’t transport you to Mirrel.”
“I know even you can't transport me to Mirrel. As close to it as you can, please.”
“I'll get you near to Lykos.” Radik said. He sounded resigned. “You'll need to ride the rest of the way. It’s still a long ways, but you might be able to make it without compounding any of your injuries. Why are you taking his horse?”
“Because you are going to follow us on my horse. Will you be able to transport yourself with us?”
“The spell can take only two.”
Syamin nodded “All right. I assume once you have sent us, you'll be too tired to do it again?”
Radik nodded. “It’s how magic works.”
Syamin nodded again. “Follow us on my horse, then,” he said. “It knows you, and my men know you. If they see you on my horse, they will know it is on my orders, but if anyone sees you on his horse, you could be taken for a thief.”
“And if they see you on his?” Radik asked acerbically.
Syamin smiled as he adjusted his sword so he could draw it with his left hand. “I'm not forbidden to take lives, my friend.”
Radik rolled his eyes, muttered “show off,” as he stepped back a few paces. Syamin nodded to him and Radik pointed with both his hands. The golden symbols on his robe began to glow.
Syamin closed his eyes and held Mylwin tight as a ringing noise filled his ears and a bright light beat against his closed lids. When the light and the noise faded, he opened his eyes. He could see the familiar silhouette of Lykos in the distance. He galloped towards the town, hoping he would be in time. His shoulder was throbbing painfully, but he ignored it.
The Lord of Mirrel
As they rode, Myra found herself wondering about her captor. Vasry treated her like an honoured guest, addressing her respectfully, allowing her men to carry arms, and attending to the comfort of the women with her. They made slow progress and Myra didn’t attempt to force the pace. She tried not to wonder what lay ahead of her in Mirrel. She had no doubt that in spite of how she was treated, she was still a prisoner. The ring of hard-faced soldiers who rode around their group attested to the fact, and though her own guards were all armed, she knew they were outnumbered at least three to one. Though Miran suggested a surprise attack under his breath several times, she had dissuaded him. The men who had captured them were always alert, and for all his suavity, Vasry's hand was never far from his sword either. She was not going to get her men killed in a futile attempt to escape. She would bide her time.
They stopped near a stream the second evening. Vasry's men had cleared the ground and set up camp with an efficiency Myra could only admire. There was a large enough shelter for the ladies and a smaller one just for her. The shelter even had beds made of leaves and grass and covered with blankets. Vasry's soldiers stood around the camp, alert and hard-faced. There were two more shelters, one for her soldiers and the other for the rest of Vasry's men. The prisoner was tied to a stake fixed to the ground, near to the fire, and he was provided with blankets and what bedding they could manage.
“They are very good,” Pelmeya said as she sat next to Myra in her shelter. Vasry didn't seem to mind Myra having conversations with her people. He didn't attempt to have anyone spy on her either. None that she could notice anyway. Myra didn’t know if she should be relieved or disturbed.
“Yes,” Myra acknowledged. “They are.”
“They are overconfident,” Miran said. “Just give the word, my Lady. We can take them by surprise.”
Myra shook her head. “It is you who are overconfident, Miran. They expect an attack any moment. They won’t relax their guard even for an instant. You and your men will be slaughtered.”
“It is our honour to die for you, my Lady!”
“And you are of no use to me dead!” She snapped. “So, let's not talk of any more foolish attempts. We'll bide our time. It might be easier to escape once we reach Mirrel. They won’t risk a battle in the city, and the people there could provide cover for us.”
Miran nodded, clearly not happy. Myra watched as Vasry went around the perimeter of the camp, chatting to his men. Did he do that every night? She would need to watch him.
There was the sound of horse's hooves and she could see the silhouette of a horse and rider approaching. She came out of her shelter, Pelmeya and Miran by her side. Miran's sword was already in his hand. She saw that all of Vasry's men who were in the shelter had surrounded her men in a wide circle.
“My Lord, Syamin!” Vasry exclaimed as he strode forward. The soldiers still stood alert, but Myra could see the smiles on many of their faces. Syamin appeared to be popular with his men. Myra wasn’t eager to meet the Lord of Mirrel, but she knew that she was going to anyway.
The horse came to a stop, and Vasry helped the man to dismount, exclaiming. “You’re hurt!”
Two soldiers were taking down another limp form from the horse. He groaned, though he lay still. Myra frowned as he stared at the men. She couldn’t see the face of the man who'd dismounted, but he looked familiar. So did the horse he had ridden.
“Your shoulder,” Vasry said again.
“It’s no matter,” A familiar voice said. Myra paled and next to her she could feel both Pelmeya and Miran start. She saw her men stare in disbelief at the man who came towards the fire.
“Lyam!” She exclaimed.
He checked at her voice, and then came forward. It was Lyam but it seemed he was really Syamin. Her mind was in a whirl, and she was angry, and hurt and how could she have been such a fool? Oh, she could understand his strategy, and even admire him for it. In one move, he had rendered her completely ineffective. Apart from her guards, her entire army was his. She felt rage as she had never felt before towards the man who was walking towards her. He was injured, she saw. His shoulder was bound, but the bandage was soaked with blood now.
