Gathering Of The God-Touched (Book 4) Page 4

  “The mages are speaking among themselves,” she said.

  “What are they saying?”

  “They say we are lovers, and that you have spurned me. They say that is why I am so angry.”

  “I’m sorry,” Garrick said.

  “I’m the one who should be sorry. It was wrong to put you in that position. When we communed to contact the orders, our link was strong and clear, and I knew then what you felt for me. But still I asked you to take my life. That was unkind of me.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t take it,” he said.

  “It’s all right.”

  She moved close and turned his head toward her with one hand. Slowly, she leaned forward.

  He felt her lips against his, gentle, and unencumbered by anything but the moment. His hunger surged forward, and he found himself clenching a fist in his struggle to keep it down. They broke the contact, and Garrick looked at her. Firelight reflected off her features. She had always been attractive, but tonight she was truly the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

  “You’ve seen what happens to those who love me.”

  “You’re learning control. I have faith in you.”

  “I wish I was as certain.”

  She smiled and stood. “I should go. We both need our rest.”

  He nodded. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she replied, and disappeared into the night.

  He sat silently, thinking about her words.

  Was she right? Was he gaining control?

  Perhaps it didn’t matter. Control or none, he was still a man who needed to kill in order to live. Perhaps the only question that mattered was how long he would be able to postpone the inevitable.

  Control or not, Garrick would never be a normal man again.

  Chapter 11

  Sunathri held his hand until they reached the chamber where he expected to find the other god-touched mages. The room was empty. He let his dark powers search out the mages, but found nothing.

  His hunger raged, and Garrick turned to her.

  Suni’s eyes widened and she backed away.

  “I thought you loved me,” she whimpered as Garrick drew near.

  “I do.”

  He grasped her arms and kissed her savagely, breathing her in, her scent sweet, her lips delicate, their contact savory as he absorbed her energy through every pore of his body until Sunathri fell lifeless to the floor.

  He gasped and stared at her lying against the hard stone.

  What had he done?

  The crunch of a footstep came from behind.

  Garrick whirled.

  Two mages strode forward, fire blazing in their hands.

  Garrick woke with a start. He was in his tent. It was still the middle of the night, dark, and quiet. The pure blackness of his hunger swirled within him, feeding off his dream like a buzzard on carrion.

  A light footstep came from outside, twin to the one that first brought him awake. The fabric of his tent rustled. Someone working the ties.

  A shadow lined the tent wall. A sharp burst of adrenaline spiked his veins and his hunger became rough against the back of his throat. He rose unsteadily from the cot and peered into the darkness.

  Could Sunathri be returning?

  Darien?

  The figure finished untying the flaps.

  A soft whisper came through the night, then the faint, but unmistakable odor of blood-laced Koradictine magic.

  Garrick’s throat tightened.

  The assassin entered his tent, and Garrick reached for his link to the plane of magic. The flow of magestuff was tepid, and he had no inner force left to bring it with any greater speed. He whispered a word of sorcery and concentrated as hard as he possibly could.

  The Koradictine’s arm rose and Garrick saw the dull flash of a dagger.

  He grunted, and cast a simple spell of power that caught the mage across the shoulder just as he stabbed. The blade scored Garrick’s ribs with acidic pain, but did not make a serious wound.

  Garrick’s hunger struck like a snake.

  The Koradictine gave a stifled scream as Garrick devoured his life force in one glorious breath. The mage’s eyes reflected purple magelight as he faded. More footsteps fell heavy outside, running away.

  Garrick rose from his cot, already feeling the strength of new life force. His blood pounded as he stepped to the tent’s opening.

  It was another Koradictine running away through the brush.

  The Dorfort guard was rousing, but Garrick didn’t wait for them. He chased the mage into the woods, contorting his hand and marshaling his new life force to blast energy into the brush. The mage crashed through the thicket, racing for his life and casting magic wildly behind him.

  Garrick’s pace brought him even, and he grabbed the Koradictine by the shoulder so that they tumbled over the grassy ground. Garrick rolled over him, digging his fingertips into the man’s flesh and feasting on his energy in a surge of power that made him shudder. When it was done, Garrick stood, panting, and looked down at the dark husk that was all that remained of the mage.

  Footsteps came from behind him.

  “Lord Garrick?” a guard called.

  “Stay back,” he barked.

  The guard stayed where he was, but another joined.

  He felt Sunathri come forward, then Darien. He wanted to reach to them. The hunger inside had been loosed, and it tasted their life force. He wanted to feast, but he held himself back

  Perhaps Sunathri was right about him learning to control Braxidane’s magic.

  “Garrick?” Darien called.

  “Are you all right?” Sunathri added as she came closer.

  Darien stopped her, though, and they all waited there to see what Garrick would do.

  Full control came slowly, but once he had a sense of stability about himself he collected himself and came out of the darkness.

  “What happened?” Sunathri said.

  “Koradictine scouts broke into camp,” Garrick explained.

  “I’m sorry,” Darien said. “I’ll speak to our sentries.” But the glance he shared with Sunathri gave him away.

  “This was no accident, was it?” Garrick said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Garrick’s vision was sharp now despite the darkness. He saw how Darien’s eyes grew hooded, and he felt the truth to his accusation. “You left this weakness open in hopes the orders would exploit it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You fed me these spies like you would feed hamsters to a snake.”

  “I can’t believe you would accuse me of putting you at risk that way,” Darien said.

  Garrick stared at his friend, feeling the nighttime expand around him. He understood what was happening. Neither Darien or Sunathri could be found to have given such orders, or the armies around them would revolt. And, yet, the truth of their action was a clear to him as the two heaps of dead Koradictine mages he had created.

  He breathed in the air of the woods.

  Regardless of how he felt about his friends, he could not deny that he felt stronger than he had for weeks. He was ready to climb the mountain.

  “It’s been a long trip,” he finally said. “Be light on your sentries if you find they were doing their best.”

  Then Garrick returned to his tent to prepare.

  Chapter 12

  Garrick sat on the cold face of a hard rock and watched the horizon turn a lighter shade.

  He would not win today.

  He had known it for some time, but couldn’t voice it. It had been a grand plan, coming here to face the orders’ god-touched mages, but now that they were here and the confrontation was coming, he realized certain truths. And one of those truths was that he would not win today.

  How could he?

  The orders’ god-touched sorcerers were experienced, with wizardry greater than his. Ellesadil and Commander J’ravi had said that constantly, and despite Garrick’s assurances that he wo
uld deal with that, they were both right. So he would lose. He would face these god-touched mages, and he would lose.

  An owl beat its wings against the last of the night as it bore down upon unsuspecting prey. The air was damp against his skin, and the nocturnal calls of insects made the final strains of their evening music, music he had come to appreciate more with time. Around him, Dorfort’s army and the last remnants of the Torean Freeborn prepared themselves for battle.

  Garrick looked up at God’s Tower.

  The peak drew its name from one of the most ancient legends told at inns and taverns—the story of Abridar and Katha, two gods who held a great battle there. What would it have been like to see that? He wondered if Abridar and Katha were planewalkers. Did they still live? How long does a planewalker live, after all? He thought about Braxidane. How many people had he used before Garrick? How many would come after?

  He should have done something more to prepare.

  Alistair would have—he would have worked to learn more about this place rather than waste time playing games with life force as Garrick had done. Then, again, Alistair did not suffer the same tax that Garrick did, so who could say what Alistair would have done?

  It was too late now, anyway.

  What was done was done. The Koradictine army lay in wait to the northeast, and the Lectodinian army was camped to the west. Today they would act in concert to pinch the Freeborn between them.

  The Torean camp stirred with nervous energy as dawn approached.

  Some of them would die today, and they prepared themselves in professional manners because it helped them avoid thinking about this fact. Warriors sharpened their weapons and tested their shields. Mages took their stations.

  Occasionally, though, they would glance toward Garrick’s tent with expressions of anxiety and hope—the men and women of the Torean army looked to Darien and Sunathri to make decisions on the ground, but they looked to Garrick to win the day.

  It struck him that the need to be led was natural—the need to feel communion with something bigger than yourself, to believe in something so strongly you could let go of what you couldn’t handle and focus on only those things you could. He hadn’t truly understood this until now. Those glances said that if each of them did their jobs, Garrick would defeat the god-touched mages and the day would be won. But if leadership required men who wanted to be led, it also needed a leader with vision and competence—things Garrick did not possess.

  Garrick understood he was the only piece on the board that could stand between the orders and their domination of the plane, but he knew nothing of how to lead men beyond the fact that power corrupts.

  Power bends the people who use it.

  It was the main learning of his life.

  This army stood testimony to the fact that Garrick himself had become a man who used others. They were here for one reason, after all. Take everything else away, and Garrick knew they were here because he had decided to confront the orders.

  What price would these warriors and mages pay for his hubris?

  How bad would it be?

  All he could say for certain was that today he would meet two god-touched mages.

  And, today, he could not win.

  Chapter 13

  Darien emerged from his tent and swaggered toward Garrick. The plume at the top of his polished helm blazed in the morning sun. His armor plates gleamed silver.

  “You’ve come a ways from Caledena,” Garrick said.

  “You’re one to speak.”

  They each grinned.

  “We may both be dead before this day is over,” Garrick said.

  “Perhaps,” Darien replied. “But I doubt it.”

  “You are a true optimist, my friend.”

  “Guilty. But I have my reasons. Suni’s mages are rested and our forces are in place. The field scouts suggest that our hidden mages remain undiscovered. My warriors are prepared. And you, Garrick, are rested. We couldn’t ask for more.”

  “It is still not enough,” Garrick replied. He looked at his friend and gave him his confession. “I have no real plan for my part.”

  Darien gave him a sly grin.

  “I’ve seen you work. I have no fears.”

  Garrick raised a doubting eyebrow. “Then perhaps you should be the one to climb the mountain.”

  “If all else fails,” Darien said, “put everything on griffin five.”

  Garrick laughed, and then pursed his lips. “Your father would be proud of you today,” he said in a low voice.

  “One step at a time, Garrick. One step at a time. Speaking of which, it’s time I go check on preparations. Fight well, my friend. I’ll see you this evening.”

  “Aye. Fight well, Darien.”

  He watched as Darien walked among Dorfort’s warriors. His friend spoke quietly with each. He listened to stories about their weapons, and eased their fears.

  Suni, too, spent time among the Freeborn.

  Garrick found himself oddly jealous of them both, but he knew he couldn’t find it within himself to do what they did. Theirs was a true form of leadership, something he did not have.

  Soldiers looked at him with questions in their eyes.

  He went to a kettle and spooned soup into a bowl. He didn’t need to eat, but the act seemed important. The heat of the bowl on his hand made him feel normal. The feel of the spoon felt natural.

  Suddenly, footsteps crashed from the brush behind him.

  Garrick whirled to see a man emerge from a copse of trees. Recognition dawned as he was reaching for his link to the plane of magic. It was the ranger who had saved him in the alleys of Dorfort. The man stood a head taller than Garrick. The muscles on his arms flexed as he hefted a battle-ax. His beard was still bristly, and his bald pate reflected the sun.

  “What are you doing here?” Garrick said.

  “Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” the man said.

  Garrick shook his head with wonder. “I am glad you came. Fight well.”

  “You also,” the ranger replied.

  And at that moment, a buzz crossed the field. Horns blew, and warriors grabbed their weapons.

  “Positions!” Darien called, riding forward.

  Suni raced to Garrick. She gripped his upper arm and rose to her toes to let her lips brush his cheek. “Fight well, Garrick,” she said. “Go with good fortune.”

  Then she rushed to her mages.

  Garrick’s hand rose to his cheek as he watched her leave. The sensation of her lips tingled for a long moment. Then he snapped out of it and looped his belt around his waist, settled both a dagger and a short sword into their places, and mounted his horse.

  He glanced up the mountain, then spurred the horse, and raced into the pass that climbed toward the chamber at the peak of God’s Tower.

  He was well into the foothills before he realized that, once again, he had forgotten to ask the ranger’s name.

  Chapter 14

  The horse kicked up a billowing cloud of dust as Garrick thundered through the lowlands and entered a sheer pass that twisted farther upward. Wind whistled, and his shirt whipped against his chest. The terrain grew rockier until he came to a place no beast could carry him, so he left the horse free to roam. The animal was trained well, and should remain close by. Not that he expected to need it.

  Garrick climbed the steep path by hand and foot, picking his way upward as quickly as he could until he arrived at a dark crevasse that opened into the heart of the mountain. A glance downward gave him a perfect view of the massive armies of the orders gathered to the east and west, their Koradictine and Lectodinian mages wearing colorful robes of red and blue.

  Distracted, he stepped into the crevasse, and a stinging jolt showered him with red sparks.

  He scuttled backward and felt magic covering the entrance.

  He approached again, touching his link and letting magestuff flow through his gates. He splayed his hand, whispered magic, and channeled energy. This was a warding spell, so he poured mag
estuff into the barrier and spoke a word of power Alistair had once taught him worked on locks. The barrier shattered, and he slipped through the opening with renewed confidence.

  The passage inside was cold, and rose so steeply he sometimes needed to use both hands and feet to climb on.

  He cast magelight upon the edge of his dagger, gripping it with nervous energy.

  The passage necked down, forcing him to squeeze through rock that was cold and hard. Soon he came to a chamber the size of Alistair’s laboratory. There was power here. He felt it as an unpleasant tingle inside his belly.

  A caustic wall of odor hit him like a mix of vinegar and rotten seaweed.

  An amorphous mass of green and brown slime coalesced before him, a strange, formless thing with appendages that might have been eyes. Bile caught in his throat as the creature sluiced a tentacle toward him.

  Garrick slashed with his dagger.

  He missed, but it bought him time to draw his sword and hack at it. The slime fell back with a hiss, but his blade became warped and useless. He tossed it aside, giving the creature time to reach another slimy arm toward him. He ducked and funneled magestuff into his spell work.

  Fire sprang from his palm, and a roaring sizzle filled the chamber with noxious mist.

  Garrick’s head swam, and the chamber spun. He fell to one knee and found the air cleaner near the floor. So he drew a quick breath, pulled his bandana over his mouth, and rolled away as the creature swung a mottled arm the size of a tree trunk.

  From this angle, Garrick saw he had burned a gaping hole into the creature, but the wound didn’t stop it. It swung another gooey pod, forcing him to cast a barrier that deflected the blow before unleashing another stream of fire. A roar like water hitting oil filled Garrick’s ears. Swamp fog brought tears to his eyes.

  He covered his face and ran through the mist, preparing himself to crash into the girth of the creature’s bulk.

  But instead his leap found nothing but air.

  He tumbled headlong through the chamber, rolling by luck into another small crease that fell into another tunnel, slanting upward. The creature didn’t follow. Had Garrick killed it? Now was not the time to find out.