Dave Smeds - The Sorcery Within

"Ahloorm," Lonal said.

"How long until we get there?" Tebec asked.

"Five days."

They continued to gaze at the river, transfixed, until their family had left them well behind and they had to hurry to catch up. Lonal remained at the crest, where he could reconnoiter. Soon Shigmur came to report.

"We have been up and down the hills well past the border, and the odor of the Buyul is exceptionally faint. I don't understand it."

"Neither do I," Lonal answered, checking the low sun in the west. "As soon as camp is made, I will go to Toltac. It is time to undertake the Trance of the Searcher."

Toltac's words were a measured drone. Lonal was no longer consciously aware of their content. He breathed deeply, and then more deeply still, the oxygen stimulating therashemi in his lungs. He relaxed each muscle group, one by one, unsure whether this was at the Bo-no-ken's command or his own idea, and not caring which. His body felt heavy; it was too much effort to move it. He went numb.

And he was out.

Below him, he saw his own body, with Toltac hovering dutifully over it, still uttering his monologue. The haze of smoke from the brazier made the tent hazy and ill-defined. He lifted farther up and found he was outside. The camp lay below him, on a shelf of land a mile east of the pass, dotted with cooking fires and filled with the bustle of early evening activity. Though it was night, he could see the people, tents, and hills as if the sun were still up.

He began to float. Suddenly, the camp was no longer below. In rapid succession, his ethereal eyes sought out and found the places of his concern. He scanned the ridgetops that overlooked the road, checked the woodless dells and nullahs where groups of men might hide. Time meant nothing; it seemed to him as if he arrived at each new spot the instant he left the previous one. He recrossed the ground his scouts had patrolled the past two days and cast deeply into Buyul land. He followed the route the caravan would take out of the hills all the way to its end. And finally, he felt the tug in the small of his back. He had to return. In what seemed to be the next moment, he opened his eyes.

Toltac leaned over him, looking concerned.

"How long?" Lonal asked.

"Four hours," the high priest stated. "Most of the camp is asleep. You should get some rest. Any luck?"

"None," Lonal said in answer to Ulnam the next morning.

"Where are they? Why are they invisible?"

"I don't know."

"Perhaps they are waiting simply to make us nervous."

Lonal took out his demonblade and applied the whetstone. "The longer they wait, the less advantage they have. We will reach the fork before noon."

"What I wouldn't give to be riding through this pass with nothing but my best Po-no-pha." Ulnam sighed, glancing at the ranks of women, children, animals, and goods. "We could clear the hills in one forced gallop."

"Under those circumstances, the Buyul wouldn't be interested in attacking."

"That's the trouble with enemies."

The war-leader of the T'lan joined them. He had nothing more to report. Where are they?Lonal thought. He mistrusted the evidence of the trance, though it merely corroborated the physical reconnaissance of his scouts. He knew the unpredictability of travel in the astral form. He might have been viewing some strange parallel world, or perhaps it was the actual Pass of Hattyre he had seen, but in some other time. Perhaps the Buyul had clouded his vision, in the unlikely event that they had found a sorcerer so powerful. He wished they had the services of the Zee-no-ken. Though Toltac was well-schooled, the Zee-no-ken were the only true magicians of Zyraii. But the Zee-no-ken rarely devoted themselves to such mundane matters as military spying.

The Buyulhad to be out there.

For the most part, they made good speed. Much of the way was downhill, and at each high place they were spurred to new hope by the tantalizing sight of the Ahloorm. Soon they reached the fork. The road split, passing to either side of an eroded mountain. Massive piles of rocks and three shallow box canyons provided plenty of places for ambush. The caravan took the left fork, continuing east. Each step along that route took them farther from Buyul territory.

Lonal hovered near a T'krt family as they transferred gear from a pack animal that had caught its leg between two rocks and broken it. One of the owners was already honing his butcher knife. Though infrequent, each such small delay rasped on Lonal's nerves. Each time, the war-leader expected to hear the cry of Buyul raiders. This time, as before, he worried for nothing. The animal was cut into large sections, most of the meat bartered to other families, and the caravan crawled onward. They made camp that night well down the fork. Lonal slept poorly for the third night.

They poured out onto the valley floor in the afternoon of the next day, having forsaken the midday rest in order to gain speed. They could no longer see the river on the horizon – their elevation was too low – but they were now well within traditional T'lil holdings. To either side, promontories thrust out into the flatland; once beyond these, they could see an enemy coming for miles. Lonal waited at the rear of the column, alert for any pursuit from the pass behind, but the last of his people had reached the plain and the anxiety was lifting off his shoulders. They were safe.

Then, directly ahead, where no scouts had thought to patrol, a horde of white-robed men rose from behind shrubs or out of the trenches they had dug, brought their oeikani out of concealment, mounted, and charged the front of the caravan at full gallop.

"Torovet!"Lonal cried. He cursed. Almost all of his Po-no-pha, like himself, were toward the rear or along the sides, guarding from attack from the promontories. The front was exposed. They hadn't expected attack from their own land. T'lil demonblades whisked into palms and the warriors sped to meet the assault.

They were too late. The Buyul line splayed out into singles, each rider plunging between the retreating ranks of women, children, and elderly, toward the locations where livestock were gathered. Flails struck, shouts rang out, and soon sheep, goats, and oeikani panicked and began to bolt. Just as quickly, the Buyul disengaged and, though driving the animals farther from the caravan whenever the opportunity arose, drew weapons and prepared to meet the warriors.

The invaders separated as widely as possible, likewise the defenders. The raid fractured into dozens of individual contests. Demonblades flew. Some went wild. Some were blocked by shields. Blood splattered the field, part of a Buyul ear falling with it. Then a T'lil went down. As the demonblades were exhausted, scimitars replaced them.

Lonal hurried forward in vain. He was too far to the rear to make a difference. He reined up. He could spend his time more effectively being a war-leader, and organizing his people's disrupted defense.

But now, the Buyul were in full retreat. If forced, they traded slashes, but in the main, they sought to escape. The raid evolved: now the objective of the Buyul was to drive livestock further afield, and that of the T'lil to prevent it.

Lonal got the women and old men into tight formation, keeping the animals that remained securely in tow to thwart a possible second wave. Those of his Po-no-pha who, like himself, had been caught at the far rear, he ordered back to position, suspecting that a contingent of raiders might appear there yet. Then he scanned the conflict once more.

He saw it immediately. Six choice purebred oeikani, unsaddled and fleet as the wind, had been driven by their fear far from the caravan. Riders of both tribes pursued them, the Buyul in the lead. However, well ahead of either group of riders, actually gaining on the oeikani, were two lithe figureson foot.