Dave Smeds - The Sorcery Within

"My lord," the small brown man said firmly, "do not interrupt us."

Jheheph nearly struck the man for his temerity, before he saw that his threats would only worsen the sorcerers' performance. Jheheph left them alone, turning his anger once more toward the Zyraii riders.

He saw one of the barbarians fall off his animal. Elsewhere, two of his guards were hit by demonblades. His side was suffering casualties, but Jheheph was confident that the odds were in his favor. The Zyraii could not harm the wagons without coming within range of the well-protected archers. Now the Sister was beginning to rise, and it would soon be almost as light as daytime.

He did not see the lone Zyraii bearing down on him until almost the last moment. The white-robed warrior burst through the outer line of wagons, whipping his wounded oeikani to a frenzy of speed. Jheheph felt his heart quail, but in another instant his personal guards had collected between him and the Zyraii, pulling out swords and nocking arrows. The rider changed direction. Only then did Jheheph see the torch in the man's hand.

"Stop that man!" he shouted.

Many tried, but the wagons and other guards were often in the way, and the Zyraii was a phenomenal rider. Though both man and oeikani had been struck more than once, their agility had spared them fatal blows. Horror-stricken, Jheheph saw the torch flung into the very wagon he most wanted to save.

"My carpets!" he screamed as a fortune in fine weaving caught fire.

He was so aghast that he barely noted the rider's escape. The man was not so lucky on the way out. Once clear of the caravan, he presented an open target. They failed to stop him, but his back fairly bristled with wood and feathers by the time he won clear.

Something in the way the rider weaved away from the arrows, as well as his size, jogged Jheheph's memory.

Two young Po-no-pha found Shigmur beside his dead oeikani and brought him back to camp. He was unconscious, but still alive.

Lonal and the twins arrived simultaneously. The war-leader leaned over Shigmur. The war-second's clothing was drenched in blood, his skin white. He still had seven arrows in him; it was hard to say how many others might have struck him.

Lonal looked up angrily. "This might have been avoided had you chosen to help."

Alemar squatted down and touched Shigmur's back. His fingers came away bloody. "Get me water," he told Elenya calmly. She ran to comply.

"I won't accept responsibility for his death," Alemar said, "but I will for his life."

"He hasn't much of that left," Lonal said.

"I can save him."

Shigmur opened his eyes. He was lying on a blanket under a tarp. It was daylight. Lonal was leaning over him with concern. Yetem was standing behind him. Not far away, Tebec was soundly asleep, looking strangely pale. Many other Po-no-pha were near.

"How are you?" the war-leader asked.

Shigmur wasn't sure. He had fallen unconscious with the certain knowledge that he would not awaken until the next life. He couldn't tell if this were a dream or if he had simply been reincarnated with extraordinary quickness. He could still feel the places where the arrows had struck. They felt like bruises. He sat up.

"How long has it been?"

"It is early afternoon after the battle," Lonal said.

That did nothing to relieve Shigmur's confusion. "Has there been a Hab-no-ken here?" he asked.

"In a sense," Lonal said, gesturing toward Tebec.

Yetem stepped forward. "Hold out your hands," she said.

He did so. She dropped seven arrowheads into his palms. "I thought you might want those to keep as souvenirs."

"Thank you," he said, wiping the bloodstain off one of them. "I will do that…though I am tempted to send them back where they came from."

"You'll have your chance," Lonal said. "Go back to sleep."

Elenya walked with Lonal a short way from Shigmur's resting place, out of the hearing of the others nearby.

"I, too, would like to thank you," Lonal said. "And I will be sure to tell your brother."

"You're welcome," she said. "I'm curious, though. If you knew there might be a battle, why didn't you bring healers with you?"

"Hab-no-ken do not come at a war-leader's order." He glanced back at the shelter. "Tebec doesn't look good."

"They'll both be on their feet by morning. My brother will feel weak for a few days, Shigmur for about a month."

"Can they travel?"

"On a litter, yes. Why?"

"Then they can join us at the ambush point. I think Shigmur would want to be there when we confront the caravan."

Ret a Jheheph was in a foul mood. The sorcerers stayed out of his sight, his slaves' bodies smarted from his lash, and the concubine who had presumed to complain about her burned coach had been forced to walk the entire previous day, until the soles of her feet, unused to even the slightest effort, had begun to bleed.

They had seen no more Zyraii. A few of the slaves, seeing the bodies of the slain riders, dared to hope that the barbarians had decided to cut their losses and had permanently retreated, but Jheheph knew this was a fantasy. The desert men were too stubborn for that. Jheheph would have his chance for revenge.

It was near dawn. Motherworld was high, as was the Sister, and the east was pale. The caravan had been travelling for two hours, penetrating the thickest part of the hills through a narrow defile. The guards kept their glances on the boulders and ridges to either side of the road. The pace was brisk; everyone wanted to reach the plain as soon as possible.

Suddenly the lead wagon and team disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Jheheph rode forward, and soon he could make out the trouble. A pit had been dug across the road and concealed. The wagon and oeikani had fallen within. It was too deep for the team to pull out by themselves, forcing the caravan to halt.

Jheheph looked to the slopes even before the shouts rang out. Hundreds of white-robed Zyraii revealed themselves. They were armed with bows. Some of the arrows were already burning. The caravan guards rushed for cover.

The Zyraii did not shoot. The mercenaries, after a sporadic initial volley, realized that the barbarians were deliberately giving away the advantage of surprise, and they stopped short. If this were an ambush, it was a strange one.

Jheheph could not fathom it, either. Either the Zyraii were going to fight, or they weren't. Both sides waited several tense moments, then a single man stood up from a hiding place and walked down to the roadway immediately in front of the trench.

"Don't shoot," Jheheph ordered his men. His curiosity was aroused.

The man in the road stared straight at Jheheph. "I've come to give you another chance," he said.

Jheheph's jaw dropped. He recognized the voice. It was the same Zyraii who had first confronted them two days before, who – so Jheheph had believed – had also set fire to his precious carpets. But surely it was a trick; that man must have died of his wounds.

As if reading the caravan master's mind, the Po-no-pha untied his upper robes and removed them. When he turned his back, several of the watchers in the caravan gasped. Jheheph stared at the scars and began to shake.

The man turned back. "I ask again – pay the tribute. If not, we will fight again. As you can see, the sons of T'lil are not easy to kill." He put his garment back on and stood there, waiting.

Jheheph licked his lips nervously. He called the small brown wizard to him. "What is this sorcery?" he demanded.

The sorcerer shrugged. "How should I know? I make wards. That's all."

Jheheph stared at the Zyraii, and at the others up the slopes, and at the spot in the line where his carpet wagon should have been. He could fight. He could have his slaves fill in the pit, he could send his mercenaries up into the rocks. They still out-numbered the barbarians. They could win. If he hadn't felt confident of that fact, he would not have challenged the T'lil in their own territory.