Cold Steel (Spiritwalker 3)

And if Camjiata lost, and the mage Houses and princes won, I would probably lose Vai to the mansa in the end.

“I understand what is at stake.”

The ringing thunder of the artillery boomed around us, thrumming down into the belly of the world. Smoke gusted out of the wounded earth in murky clouds.

He studied me, and what he read in my expression I did not know. But he nodded. “Very well. Let the Coalition break, and the Roman army fall, and then you can have Drake and save your cold mage likewise. But not a moment before victory is mine.” He glanced over to where Rory was huddled in the shadow of the tree. “I’ll keep an eye on him for you. Strange. Why does he hate battle so? He did not strike me as a coward.”

“He’s no coward,” I snapped. “He just has a heart, unlike you and me, General.”

42

We marched to Red Mount. Luce was not in the company I was assigned to. The Iberian riflemen had hunkered down along the estate’s outer wall. With caps set on the wall to draw enemy fire, they shot over it into the orchard. Drifting smoke spun into coils, concealing half the world. Soon I was sucking in lungsful of heat, chaff, and powder. I kept my gaze fixed on the feather in Captain Tira’s shako, like a bird’s wing in fog. A hand touched my back as for balance and a shoulder brushed mine as I waited, crushed within the close-packed ranks of my sisters.

We made our way in a crouch to the smashed gate. The constant hammer of noise pounded through my body. The Iberians were using planks and doors as shields behind which they pushed forward into the orchard. Scorched leaves crumbled underfoot. Spent bullets, musket balls, arrows, and crossbow bolts crunched under my boots. The peppering fire of rifles melded with the rhythm of drums.

I wrapped myself in shadow and smoke. Using a tree trunk as shelter I peered into the smoky fog of the orchard. Bodies littered the ground. The bloody and battered Iberians had stalled as a rain of arrows and the pop of musket fire trapped them in the ashy trees. One man cowered, huddled up like a broken child, sobbing.

Yet not five paces from him, a different man called laughingly to the Amazons, “These Tarrant bastards are saying no man can dislodge them. Let’s see what you women can do!”

Amid the trees, a soldier was dragging himself along the ground with his arms. His uniform was so covered in ash and his face so smeared likewise that I could not tell whose side he was on. A white fox nipped at his heels, until I blinked and realized it was only smoke pooling on the ground. The soldier slumped forward, facedown. A flash of light about his form dazzled me. The smoky fox leaped, swallowed the light, and vanished. I shook myself, for I was seeing things that weren’t there.

Through patches of smoke I surveyed the layout of the inner compound. There was a two-story fortified stone house with a tower, as well as a long stable and several sheds. The compound wall and the stable wall were cut with loopholes for defense.

A pattern emerged, once I looked for it.

I slipped out of my shadows to report to the captain, who was sheltering behind a broken door propped between two trees. “Captain Tira! All of their musket fire is coming from the western corner. That means the eastern gate and the house are where the cold mages stand.”

“Of course it is,” shouted the captain. It was hard to hear her even though I could have reached out to touch her. “Do you see that reflection of light in the tower window? It’s a spyglass. They’re directing their forces from up in the tower.”

A body fell not ten strides from me. A cloud of wasps swirled over the corpse, but there were no wasps, only grit in my eyes.

A man ran up from the outer gate and crouched beside Captain Tira. I pulled the shadows around me just in time, as I realized it was Drake. He did not notice me. His lean face shone as pale as if he never got any sun, but I thought it was just that he was sweating. His blue eyes were so bright they gleamed like polished gems on the edge of burning.

“There are four cold mages,” he shouted, already hoarse as he struggled to be heard above the din. “Three in the tower and one at the carriage gate. I will burn the carriage gate using the one at the gate as my catch-fire. I’ll also set the roofs of the stables on fire. You’ll have to move fast to break through once I do, or their arrows will kill you regardless.”

“Why did your mages not set fire to the stables before this?” the captain asked.

“They’re young and inexperienced,” said Drake. “Also, there’s a mage in the tower who is the strongest mage I’ve ever touched. He’s the one we must defeat. His reach covers all but that one corner of the enclosure, where they’ve focused their muskets. Do you see?”

“Yes, I already know.” Captain Tira smiled as to herself. “Very well, Drake. At your signal, we’ll advance. You rid us of the cold mages, and we’ll kill the officers.”

She lifted a hand to give the command for forward, just as she nodded toward where she had last seen me. Thus was I given my orders: Kill the officers.

Drummers beat the roll of advance. A cadre of Amazons shielded Drake as the line pressed forward pace by pace through the trees into withering flights of arrows and the sting of musket balls. I could hear nothing but the shattering thunder of rifles around me. After an eternity we had made it halfway along the trees.

In my veil of shadows, the path I crept seemed to weave in and out of the interstices that bind the world. Threads stitch the world together. Every substance, solid or liquid or air, moves with the quivering resonance of a struck bell. I saw with altered eyes: Behind the closed carriage gates lay the bright well of a cold mage.

Rifles cracked in my ear. Beside me an Amazon collapsed, bleeding into the dirt. I flung myself down to use the fallen woman as a shield, but I had to roll away quickly when her body writhed and glowed. Drake was pouring the backlash of his magic into the wounded.

The carriage gates burst into fire so bright that its light speared into the sky. In answer a wash of ice slumped over all, and the flames died. I was close enough that my sword bloomed, so I twisted its hilt and drew the blade out of the spirit world.

Fresh fire tore into the roof of the stables as Drake poured the backlash into the mage at the gate. The magister flared like a candle, too weak to channel so much power, and his light snuffed out: He was dead. Within a fire blazing with doubled force, the carriage gate was consumed. This time, when the fire was killed by cold magic, the damage was already done, the gate demolished.

With a shout the Amazons pressed through the smoking ruins of the gate. The sound of a desperate melee rang on the air, groans and shouts and bayonets striking and the clatter and thunk of crossbows and the incessant fire of rifles. Just as I reached the gate, a hammer of cold killed every rifle in the orchard mid-fire and doused the flames on every roof. Still in shadow, I plunged through the charred planks and beams of the gate. The dead cold mage lay twisted in the wreckage, smoke pooling in his open mouth: He was not Vai.

the trees, a soldier was dragging himself along the ground with his arms. His uniform was so covered in ash and his face so smeared likewise that I could not tell whose side he was on. A white fox nipped at his heels, until I blinked and realized it was only smoke pooling on the ground. The soldier slumped forward, facedown. A flash of light about his form dazzled me. The smoky fox leaped, swallowed the light, and vanished. I shook myself, for I was seeing things that weren’t there.

Through patches of smoke I surveyed the layout of the inner compound. There was a two-story fortified stone house with a tower, as well as a long stable and several sheds. The compound wall and the stable wall were cut with loopholes for defense.