Captain's Fury (Page 114)

The Kalare Mountains. They rose above them in silent, stark majesty, their enormous peaks casting a shadow over half the starry sky.

Bernard murmured in the darkness, "There’s not enough flora for me to veil us along that trail. From here on out, if we’re seen, we’re out of options. You want to do this fast or slow?"

Amara’s teeth were chattering, but she managed to say, "Fast. I’m almost done."

Bernard took a deep breath, nodded once, and said, "Here we go."

Then he kicked his weary horse forward into a listless canter, and Amara followed suit. They hurried up the trail in the dark, and Amara began to feel nervous again. It took her several moments, until they were riding over a level patch of trail that must have been the first pass through the mountains, to realize why.

The Immortals’ hunting horns had ceased to blow.

Light hit them first, painful in the mountain night. The horses, too tired to truly panic, threw back their heads and danced nervously. Amara raised a hand, trying to block the painful glare-the great furylamps sometimes used in sieges, surely-and felt Cirrus suddenly falter.

The First Lord’s stretcher crashed to the ground.

She sagged in her saddle, saw someone approaching on her right side, and kicked weakly with her right leg. She hit something, but a grip like stone seized her ankle and dragged her off the horse and to the ground.

Bernard roared, and she heard his’bow hum. She turned her head enough to see an Immortal stricken cleanly through one lung with her husband’s arrow. The man never slowed his pace, seizing Bernard’s belt and hauling him to the ground. Bernard turned as he fell, and seized the Immortal, reaching for his throat with fury-borne strength.

The Immortal seized Bernard’s hands…

… and slowly, steadily forced them away.

Bloody crows.

Immortal Knights.

Bernard’s eyes widened, and he clenched his teeth in desperate effort, but to no avail. The Immortal twisted suddenly and threw Amara’s husband face-first to the ground, rapidly secured a lock on one of his arms, and dislocated his shoulder with a single savage motion.

Bernard screamed.

Amara became aware of more men, then, all fully armored, all bearing the shining steel collar of the Immortals. She looked around dully. Indeed, the light had come from enormous furylamps which must have been moved up by teams of horses long before. Armored men were everywhere. Not twenty, or thirty, or fifty, but hundreds. All of them Immortals-and led by Knights.

Footsteps crunched over the cold, stony ground. Several gauntlets banged to armored chests. A pair of boots appeared before Amara’s eyes, and she looked up.

A young man stood over her. He was a little taller than average, very thin, and dirty. There was something ugly in his eyes, lurking behind contempt and rage and a certain amount of petulance. It took Amara’s stunned and weary mind a moment to place the young officer-Kalarus Brencis Minoris, the High Lord Kalarus’s son and heir.

"I can’t believe this," the young man said. "This is the elite team of soldiers First Lord Has-Been sent down with the north wind? This is what Father’s had me slogging all over the bloody swamps for?"

Brencis shook his head with disbelief and, almost idly, struck Amara across the face with his mailed hand. Pain made her world go white. She felt her neck wrench as it twisted sharply to one side under the force of the blow.

"I could have been sleeping in a bed," Brencis snarled. "And instead I’m out here frozen to the balls and bored out of my mind, setting up the trap, worried about a whole cohort of Knights sneaking in the back door, and for what?"

Amara tasted blood on her tongue. She lifted her head dizzily.

Brencis spat. It struck her cheek.

"I’m here for this!" he snarled. He seized Amara by the hair, baring her throat, and drew his dagger in his other hand. "For two pathetic little sneaks? Two of you? Two!"

Light hit them first.

It washed over Amara’s back and shoulders in a sudden wave of warmth and color, as if someone had convinced the setting sun to reverse its course and rise once again over the mountainside behind them. The light cast knife-sharp black shadows over the entire mountain, its luminance so brilliant that the glare of the enormous furylamps became utterly insignificant.

Immortals, Knights, and infantry alike, cried out in surprise. Brencis turned white, took a step backward, and lifted a hand to shield his eyes, releasing Amara and letting out a low moan of fear.

And then came a voice.

A voice spoke in a gentle tone that resounded from the stone and the sky, a voice that rang with a depth and richness of power the mountains had not known since their fiery conception-a voice that contained a certain amount of biting amusement as it answered the heir of Kalare’s question. Gaius Sextus, First Lord of Alera, murmured, "Three."

Chapter 45

Reverberations of Gaius’s deep, mellow voice rolled through the mountains and echoed from the hills. Though he had spoken in a murmur, it emanated from the very stones, and Amara felt sure it could have been heard several miles away in every direction.

In the wake of that voice, the brilliantly lit mountainside went totally still and silent. Hundreds of Immortals remained motionless in their tracks, shielding their eyes and crouching defensively. Brencis stared past Amara, his mouth gaping and working like that of a landed fish.

The Knight holding Bernard had backed away when Brencis did, and the Count of Calderon slowly sat up, his face white with pain, his shoulder resting at an odd angle to the rest of his body. He traded a glance with Amara, but neither of them spoke, not daring to draw the attention of the enemy to themselves.

It was odd, Amara thought, sitting there on the stony mountainside, exhausted, outnumbered hundreds to one by their foes-and yet for a single, endless moment no one moved, and no one spoke.

And then Brencis let out a sound partway between a scream and a moan, and yelled, his voice cracking into a falsetto in midword, "Attack! Attack! Kill them all!"

The moment was broken.

Hundreds of collared Immortals let out a furious cry and steel rasped in a deadly chorus as they drew weapons. They surged forward, the sound of their boots a sudden thunder.

Amara found herself at Bernard’s side, unarmed and far too weary to take to the air. She felt his hand fumbling for hers, as the Immortals came for them, and she interlaced her fingers with his, squeezing tight.

They both looked away from the charging Immortals, at one another, and that was how Amara saw the First Lord, in the corner of her vision, raise a hand and murmur another bone-deep word that rose from the very mountain beneath them.

"No.".

There was a sudden noise, lower than the cries of charging Immortals, more piercing than the tread of their boots. It was a rippling staccato of a sound, somewhat like a saw going through wood.