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Anders had to push himself to get back to the main body of the army. He’d fallen in with a group of foot soldiers who had kept hunting the enemy, well into the night. Even miles away from the battlefield the world stayed bright, looking as if there was a sun in the sky, even if it didn’t move at all. When they found the enemy, they killed them. Anders did a lot of that himself. Ending the matter quickly, as Farad Ibn Istel shook and moaned inside at the inhumanity of the actions.
They were the work of a true monster. Or could be, if Anders had felt hungry at all.
A few of the others tried to loot the dead, but they held to taking only coin and jewelry. They had to carry it all back, after all, and walking with six sets of full armor wasn’t going to work. For his part, Anders didn’t take anything from the dead, even if it was offered to him, many times.
They weren’t making camp at the battlefield, but rather in the clearing they’d been expected to stay over in. It had a small river near it, and was far enough from the enemy that none of them were going to double around and kill him in his sleep.
His whole body ached, after hours of fighting and running, chasing desperate soldiers, who only wanted to go home to their families. To the girl they’d married and what little ones they had on the way. Maybe to their parents, if they were young enough.
Instead, they were food for crows. Nothing came out to eat the dead yet, but he didn’t doubt that it would, as soon as daylight honestly fell.
When true dawn broke, Ganges’ spell faded. It was such a miraculous thing that his mind almost couldn’t make sense of it. The man had, apparently, given a specific source of light, that worked properly, to over twenty thousand people.
Anders knew he would have failed to do that with even a single person. Not that he didn’t get the idea. Ganges was so practiced at magic that things such as that, a complex spell that would be nearly impossible, was the kind of thing that he did standing at the back of an army.
Apparently without even breathing hard. At least that was the feeling, when he saw the man, after everything was suddenly dropped, the sun blinking once, and then showing again on the horizon. His old friend, looking as Farad recalled him as a young man, when he’d first left the hermitage, seemed to not even be tired. Even after a full night awake, doing incredible magics.
For his part, Anders could barely walk, by the time he was back at the temporary base. What he found there was, of course, very different than he’d bothered to think about.
Daren and Salina had set to healing people, along with Depak Sona. There were signs of hundreds having been aided, with remains of drying blood and people limping around still, milling in circles in some places. The number of dead on their side was small, however. He counted, going over it twice. Thirty-seven lie on the ground, unmoving.
Ten more were being aided still. The rest of their people were, for the most portion, simply tired from the battle. Not having anything else to do, he went to find General Coelder, being joined by Hoatha, who put a gentle hand on his shoulder, as if to sooth his soul.
A thing that wasn’t needed at all.
Much to Farad’s shame. To Anders’ as well. It was over the wrong thing, of course, as it always was, with the boy. He was upset, but not over the incredible numbers he’d slaughtered. No, he was ashamed that he didn’t feel like everyone else there did. Many of them, at least. It showed on his face as weariness, instead of tears of grief or rage. He was fine, more or less, with the fact that they’d won. Not elated by it, either. It was just another event to him.
The old man, his short hair white in the morning light, stood at a large rock, which was being used for the moment as a table. His gaze stretched out, over the men in the field, a soft smile on his lips as he looked into and then past, the tree line. Seeming shaken from thought, he focused on Anders, suddenly.
“Ah, Master Brolly. That went... Rather differently than I’d expected. Do you need anything?”
He nodded, even if he truly didn’t have anything he desired, except to drink some water and sit for a while. Possibly sleep.
“I can send a message to the King?”
The man lit up then, as if having been given a prize for all his hard work.
“Right! I’d forgotten you could do that. I’ll have something ready to go, in a few moments. Let me... I need to pen the message, so there’s no confusion.”
The man’s aide de camp arranged for pens and paper, as Anders simply settled by the large stone, his back to it, dozing for a moment, until a voice called to him. It was Ganges, which confused him, on waking. For a moment he was back in his cave, a place where he’d lived for over eighty years. What informed him of that not being true was that there was far too much light, meaning he was outdoors.
“Anders? It’s time for you to send a message?” The man had, wisely, not shaken him by the shoulder. Doing that would have had him fighting on waking, he didn’t doubt. A thing that, he realized, might well not have any effect on the ancient mage at all.
So he grinned, instead of acting too tired to move, even if he still felt that way.
“Very well. Let me...” Standing, attempting to, left him feeling ancient, but his young body did it, with an act of will. There was no pain, only a great weight. A thing slowing him more than he would have thought possible.
The message to the King was, of course, to go through Master Tolan, who wasn’t awake for the day, yet. Instead of waiting, Anders sent an annoying message first.
“Awaken, Master Tolan. Incoming report.” He spoke the words out loud, so that the General would understand why his spell had seemed so short. “It will repeat ten times. Then we need to wait a few moments, so that he can get to some paper and produce a light.” A thing the older man had learned to provide for himself, with no more than a short bit of muttering.
That portion of things had been interesting, since the man had thrown himself into learning the new skills being practiced with a will, once they were made available to him. It took him twice the effort that it did some, yet the man never complained and had kept up and even surpassed all but the best students, doing much of it on his own, from books and scraps of paper.
The need for extra effort was already fading, since that had mainly been about being set in his ways. As he released that, his ability to memorize new things sped back up again. As if he were much younger than his years.
Then, Anders was fairly certain that Old Tolan had already worked out how to reverse the flow of time for himself, and was, if at a measured pace, growing more youthful.
There was no definitive return message, the man understanding that Anders was waiting for him. He needed to use the chamber pot, but as soon as that was finished, Anders had the prepared message set into action.
“Fen.”
After a moment, the General spoke, sharing what was going out with his men.
“We’ve reported our victory to the King and await orders. For now, rest the men. We have extra food rations to spare?”
One of the men, a Major, nodded. He seemed tired as well, but his job had been leading, not directly fighting, through the night. It showed in how he was able to carry himself. He was upright, and not sitting, for instance.
“We have some treats even, sent by Count Verit. Wagons full of things, as a gift to the men. We could pass those out, and then use the wagons to share out the spoils? How are we splitting that?”
The older man shrugged.
“Any man with a confirmed kill gets the armor and weapons, any coins or other riches on the body. Any unknown or uncertain kill gets split, with the command section getting fifty percent, and the regulars a share of the remainder. Any idea how that’s going to fall out?”
A bloodshot eyed Captain, the hotheaded one, grunted.
“Ninety percent of that is going to the war mages, then. That wasn’t half as cowardly as I’d figured. Sorry there, Brolly.” He was a bit begrudging, but didn’t seem afraid or anything. Just as if he realized he’d been in the wrong, the day before.
Anders waved at him.
“Can we... Get a tally, and part that out, my bit, to the men?” He was, after all, wealthy enough, already.
The General smiled, hugely.
“I’ll wager we can! Then, in the morning, we will be on the march. Which direction we travel being up to the King. Any thoughts there, gentlemen?”
Groaning, he made himself speak, first.
“We... Should press on. Into Yanse. We need to finish this, before mid-summer, if possible. How far away is the first place we need to take? The keep of...”
There was a pause, as the old man looked at his map.
“Helmshold? We can be there in half a day’s time. Is there a way of using magics to breech the walls there faster than normal, do you believe?” He glanced at Hoatha, who simply smiled.
“There are. Even using no more than what was shown on the field, yesterday, we can take such a structure in, call it five hours? Less, perhaps, if the students are willing to work later, after having some rest?”
“What’s needed?”
That got an artless, almost lazy, shrug.
“A tunnel, through walls of wood and stone. You could simply tear the side open, of course, but by going more carefully, from an unexpected direction, you might save the dwelling, as well as personal effort.”
The words got a nod, even if he didn’t truly understand how to get that done. Making a tunnel required moving tons of material, at the very least. Rather than complain, or even ask for help with the puzzle, he simply tried to think through it.
“I’ll need to see the location. I can find it, using wizardry. Then I’ll need a way to shift things as little as possible. Explosions really would be the easiest way of doing that...”
The General nodded, but then waved in his direction.
“To your own discretion on that. My understanding is that this keep is mainly made of wood, if that makes a difference?”
It probably did.
“I’m going to lay down, for a moment, if I can? It’s too hard to think. I know, lazy of me, but...”
No one made his weakness into a thing to mock, simply waving him away. Several of the men there did that, too. Hoatha took part of his weight, having Anders lean against him, as if fearing he might fall down. That, being led somewhere, was the last thing he recalled, until sometime later, when his bladder and thirst forced him to wake again. It wasn’t dark out yet, but the day had clearly vanished, as he’d slumbered.
He was inside a dwelling, on a soft bed, that was rather comfortable. Still, he could see, since it was full daylight coming through the open window, off to the side. Instead of walking to the stream for water, he found his pack, which included a metal drinking cup, and filled it several times, draining it over and over, then moving outside to take care of his other business. Then he cleaned up, muttering a few familiar spells, which made the paste which had developed fly from his teeth and mouth, as well as the scum and dried sweat of fighting remove itself from his body.
Then, heading back inside the small dwelling, which had the rest of his people in it, he sat, cross legged, in what had to be considered the front room. There he sent his mind out into the world, recalling first the map on the stone, to find Helmshold keep. Preparing to create grand new magics, to find a way in.
Which wouldn’t be needed at all, he realized.
Not for this one. The keep had a major weakness, in that it didn’t have a well at all. It had, instead, a covered pond, that was fed by a slow stream which had a weak wooden wall above it. That was tied in place with ropes. Thick things, covered in tar, so they wouldn’t weather too quickly. Most of the wall was stronger, being of thick timbers. He still could have removed those, of course. Simply cutting them down, using a severing spell. A thing that he’d done before.
Arranging the words properly would be all that was needed for that, of course. After half an hour of searching, he opened his eyes, a plan already forming, as to how to get inside. Then, since no one else had woken, he went out looking for food. He had a bit with him, but there had been a mention of treats being shared. Dried fruits and candied nuts, mainly. No one looked at him as being too greedy when he pulled enough for all the mages. It was just in a pile, sitting on the ground. There was enough left, and it was clear that everyone knew to simply go up and take their share.
The lack of screaming at him over it probably meant that those watching figured his personal share was vast, of course. It wasn’t, he was just grabbing enough for seven people. That was dropped off in the front room, with his portion being eaten, since he hadn’t really had anything for over a day and had burned a lot of magic in that same time. A thing that had to be replaced, if he was going to keep going. There wasn’t anything to hunt or scavenge in the area, either, an army having been camped nearby, for weeks. There was, however, real food having been brought in, the wagon caravan having been pressed to enter Yanse, while he slept.
Meaning they’d started before the battle had, the day before. It showed a lot more trust in their relatively small force than he would have held, were it up to him. Still, it meant his personal wagons had come as well. Complete with drivers, and of course, a full load of food for them all. His people, at least.
To that end he made a large outdoor cooking station, out of earth and stone, raising it carefully, then moved to the woods to take what fuel he could find there. Seeing that, the army cooks simply set up, doing the same thing he was, and getting right to work, making a late meal for them all. It was mainly going to be hard bread and tangy cheese, but it was something other than the insects that were all that were left in the field they were in.
Anders made things from his own stores, which, while not fine fare, was better than what the Army was getting that night, by far. He even made extra, figuring that the General and some of his staff would realize that the mages were eating better than they were and wisely come sit by them for the meal, away from the main body of men, to reduce jealousy.
Not that they were going to complain, having gotten sweets already. Anders thawed some meat, a bit of what remained from their travels, and prepared that with a bit of dark sugar and some wine vinegar, as well as making soft flat bread, and using magic and more effort than he should have had to, managed to grab some early green apples, which he fried up in his large pot, to soften and sweeten them a bit. They were heavily spiced, and while still good, were sour, by nature.
Everyone came out to eat, well before dark, and as he’d figured, the command staff brought their plates over to where he set up, looking as if they were ready to beg for food.
A thing he didn’t make them do at all.
“I made some extra. Meat is going to be at a premium, for a while in these parts. The early apples are from about three miles off. I’ll work on getting other greens in, as we travel. Are we to move in the morning?”
Coelder grimaced.
“If we can have light, we could move in a few hours, and take the keep by surprise. I don’t know if that’s possible at all.” The man looked at his plate, and took a bite of the meat, first thing. “This is very good. Thank you, Master Brolly.”
“You’re welcome. Now, a light? For everyone... That should be possible. Oh, say, did we kill that necromancer I caught? That was before the no prisoners order went through. I have some extra food made up, if he lives?”
The Major, Langley Morder, called out then.
“Have the prisoners brought to the command section!”
He was surprised when, ten minutes later, not just one, but four men and women were brought forward. All had been beaten, at least a bit, but none seemed to have been ill used, thankfully. There was the young man, dressed in rich clothing, though it was torn in places. Next to him stood a woman who was older, without being truly ancient, dressed in a robe of heavy material. A plain brown, but with a fine pattern woven into it. A man, with gray hair and a well-trimmed beard, a thing that covered his chin, and upper lip, but not the sides, stood nervously, but in front of the woman behind them.
She was young, seeming no older than Anders was.
The older man, rather bravely, spoke first. It was clear he was frightened, but he did it anyway.
“I must ask that you not harm the ladies. They have magic, but only small things that did you and yours no harm in the battle. That my life is forfeit is understood, but...”
The words were in Yansian. Anders simply stood, holding his plate, and carefully bowed.
“We have extra food here. May I have your names, gentles?”
He would have assured their safety, but it wasn’t his place to do so. Everyone else looked at him then, only a few of them understanding what he’d said. Jeld got enough to stand and then find some extra bowls, from the Army cooks, as well as some wooden spoons. He just dished food up, as everyone else watched, the older man taking a deep breath.
“I’m Illian Darca. This man here is Davis Hughs. Then we have Calotta Meriths and Devi Sams. We’re all magical support staff. We were. The army is broken. We are at your mercy. You of Istlan don’t think highly of magic, so... Again, I beg that the women be spared.”
He seemed almost regal, in his plea. The other man nodded, to show his agreement, as the women both bowed their heads. Fearing the fate that must befall them. Anders translated the words, then added a bit, looking over at Prince Erold.
“This man is Illian Darca. Baruda? We owe him a great debt. I, personally, owe him much.” He didn’t mention what that was, but Erold had at least heard the story before. So had Depak and Hoatha. Daren as well. It was the Prince of Istlan who stood then, and bowed to the man, going low.
Then he spoke, in Yansian. It was a bit broken, but more or less understandable.
“Illian Darca. You are known to those of Istlan.” He called out then, in his own tongue. “Release this man’s bonds. All of them, in fact. They are not to be harmed, if they offer no resistance.”
A few of the Army personal seemed uneasy about that, but one of the men, a cook, moved in with a sharp knife, and, as the men and women prepared for death, untied their hands, prying the rope away, carefully. It was a nice length of rope, so he knew enough not to cut it.
They’d been tied together, but now simply stood, not understanding what was happening.
Jeld got them their bowls of food, smiling at them, not seeming fearful at all.
Anders bowed and smiled. It had to seem tired, but he hoped it didn’t seem insane.
“I’m Anders Brolly. This man here is Prince Erold Caldas. Third son of King Mathias. General Coelder is in charge of the army here.” He went on, explaining who everyone was, adding in the military staff he knew there. The rest was left off, instead of overwhelming the men and women. They were allowed to sit. On the ground, with the rest of them.
The old man, Darca, managed a nervous look, settled carefully and then shook his head.
“Forgive me, but I do not truly understand. We aren’t being put to death?”
“Correct. Some months ago, when asked for aid, you prevented a group of Istlan women and children from being used in a most foul fashion. That kindness is not forgotten. I, personally, owe you for that.”
The man tilted his head then.
“You do? I’m not certain...” The words were polite, if baffled.
Anders, sitting near the group of foreign magic users, explained.
“I was visiting in the south. The southern continent, in fact. In Devos, on the road, heading toward Barquea, when the southern army buckled here. I could only sit and watch it happen, using wizardry skills. I tried, desperately, to find some way to help, but I was too far away. Thousands of miles. So... I recalled that I’d made some cloaks, and had them passed out. Using that as a point of familiar focus, I sent a message to those wearing them. Begging you for aid... Thank you, by the way.”
He bowed again, sitting still, but meaning it.
The old fellow sighed.
“Illian aid... That... Well, there were rather some questions about that, weren’t there? Clearly some powerful magic had been used to do that, and then, well, I work in seemings, only. I managed to make a big enough production of things that the army decided to let those people go. No one understood how they’d known to call out to me, but all agreed that, once they’d done so, I was obligated to act.” He bowed back, his head staying low for a long moment.
Not asking for the rest of things.
Anders explained, anyway.
“When we were at sea, we had occasion to be attacked by some pirate ships. On one of those was a Knight of Yanse, working with his uncle. A good fellow named Sir Kline. He mentioned a battle we had both been at, a while back, where the mighty Illian Darca, who we of Istlan call Baruda, due to your fantastical skill at illusion, had been there. Giving me a name. That’s all it was. Happenstance turning to good fortune for many, that day. Out of disaster. At least for our side.”
The man took a bite of the apples, and blinked.
“This is well done. Prisoners aren’t normally fed well, if at all. Thank you. What is the plan, after this, if I may ask? For us, I mean? Selfish of me, but it’s rather front and center to my thoughts, I must admit.”
Anders didn’t know. They weren’t going to be put to death. Not even if he had to grab them and run. He shifted to Istlan then, and spoke to the General, since he was in command there.
“What is the plan for them? We could count their ransom as coming from me, perhaps?”
The man shook his head, but not in an angry fashion. Then he glanced at the others there.
“That probably won’t be needed. As you said, we owe a debt here. We’ll need surety from them that they will not act against us again, for a time. Say two years? If they agree to that, then we can, likely, allow them to go home. They aren’t soldiers and have the offer of paid ransom. We can, if need be, take that from the spoils you brought in? Those are already being spread to the men as a bonus, so... Let me check with the King on that? I’ll need your aid...”
They finished eating first, but as soon as they were both done, Anders cleaning the plates with a simple spell, which had the captive suddenly paying closer attention to him, for some reason. After they moved away, the General carefully writing out what he wanted from the King. It took an hour to send the message and get a reply, but that went directly to the other man, not to Anders.
The General simply nodded in response, seeming strange and as if hearing voices.
“Release them, on their word not to do harm to us for that time. Very good. See to that for us, Master Brolly? My ability to speak their language isn’t great, I fear.”
When Anders found them, food finished, bowls taken and already cleansed, by Jeld and Daren, he clapped.
“We have word as to your disposition. All of you are to be released, if you agree not to act against us using your skills, or force of arms, for a time of two years? The war is going to be over before then. Truly, if you can get word to your King and ask him to declare it over, before we take his capital, that would be a kindness. I don’t want to have to slaughter my way across an entire land, seeking him. Regardless, if you all agree, on those terms? Give your word and all that?”
Each of them looked at him, in turn.
The young man, the necromancer, brushed at his lank brown hair.
“I agree. To save my life, I will not fight you, with magic or weapons, or other means, for a time of two years.”
The women echoed him, still seeming scared and Illian Darca sighed.
“I will do the same. Not that it matters. I was bested already, by your illusionist. That wolf... A bit gaudy, but well done and the work of a true master of the art. Making it speak like that, in the language of Yanse... Well, my paltry efforts paled in front of it. May I have the name of the person who did that?”
Hoatha laughed a bit, then spoke in flawless Yansian. There was no hint of a detectable accent.
“That was Anders Brolly, of course. The man you have been speaking to.”
Anders waved the words away, and spoke.
“That wasn’t a paltry effort at all. I have learned much about what is needed for good illusion, from seeing your work, in fact. I hope one day to match what you can do. It is a dream, perhaps, but that is the standard to which I hold my illusions.”
The other man rolled his eyes, but did seem pleased, for a moment.
“You are most accomplished. You have many here who are. That is unusual for Istlan, is it not? We of Yanse normally have your people beaten by many times in magic, on the battlefield. This... Well, I have seen something like it before, in prior campaigns, but this was... Overwhelming.”
It was going to have to continue being so, but that wasn’t mentioned.
Interestingly, Hoatha and Depak saw to aiding the mages in leaving, finding them some captured horses and sending them north, away from where the battles were going to be happening, in the coming days. Into the night, as it was. Then, with the others producing lights, riding along the line of men, they marched out into the night, themselves.
They arrived at the keep in the early hours, with Anders making three large holes in the heavy timbers of the walls, opening them all at once. It took a lot of effort, as well as getting very close to the structure, but Daren froze the stream and pond that had the wooden guard wall over it. That allowed the men to simply walk inside and take the place, killing some guards, but not even many of those.
In the morning they marched on, after securing prisoners, this time, and stripping the wealth from the keep. The plan was to keep moving, their forces moving faster than the enemy could comprehend. That meant pushing themselves, resting when they could, which was far from comfortable.
Princess Salina whined, nearly the whole time, but she kept going, and in a way helped the others stay strong. After all, with the soft and coddled woman doing her part, none of them could do any less.
Even she got better over the course of the next days. That or she was so truly exhausted that she didn’t have the energy left to bother him with requests to rest or take comforts that no one else was being allowed.
After three weeks, and a line of six different keeps and holds, the last one being a real, if small castle, they arrived at the home of the King. Anders had figured the man would have fled, but instead they were met with an army that was twice the size of their own.
They started to die, almost instantly, Anders laying waste to them using his new explosive arrows. The whistlers. Then the line opened, and a rather familiar looking creature walked forward, on four legs. Those were hugely muscled, the being a light mint green in color.
Prince Erold turned to him, dressed in full plate armor, with a lance in his hand. He hadn’t bothered doing that for the other battles, but this one was special, it seemed.
“Is that an illusion, do you think?”
He shook his head, since he understood the idea. The being wasn’t there, to his wizard’s skill either. Still, it was hiding that way, not a mere seeming at all.
Meaning they were in incredible danger, suddenly.
“No, Prince Erold. That’s no illusion. That, is a Lerna. Even one of those can lay waste to an army, and if I have it right, magic will do very little to it at all.”
Tensely, the blond Prince nodded.
“I see. So, we fight with spear and sword?”
Smiling, Anders shook his head.
“Not at all. No, this time, we fight with words.”