Robert Asprin - Wartorn - Resurrection

When his face cleared, he said tonelessly, "Sorry. I missed most of that. You'll have to repeat it for me someday. Shall we go now?"

Xink didn't understand; she did. She had seen Master Honnis work the spell on his deathbed. She stared at Merse.

"I just told Petgrad we're on our way," he said.

"You're a wizard," Praulth breathed.

"As much as we have in the way of wizards here in the south. There's a house in Petgrad, a particular noble blood-line. A large family. The premiers have kept us, down through the years. Supported us. Made sure we kept in practice. Just in case there was need for our kind one day."

"You're from a noble house?" Xink intruded.

To Merse, he was now invisible and mute. "We can work the Far Speak," the Petgradite said. "Not much else. But we're the ones who have been scouting this war from the start."

"Your... family has been—" Once more she didn't finish. Honnis had received reports from the field of the Felk advancement, faster than any news could travel by messenger.

"See," Merse said, "Cultat's not the only one who's got family at risk. I've got cousins, brothers, sisters ... sons, and daughters."

His tone had softened finally. There was feeling in his weathered face. Praulth nodded solemnly. Then she spoke a goodbye to Honnis—aloud, the words tight and emotional in her throat, disregarding what her mentor might think of such a display—and they went to collect the horses.

"Do you know how the premier's plans are progressing?" she asked moments later, as she faced the challenge of climbing into a saddle for the first time in years. "Is he anywhere near assembling his alliance?"

Merse vaulted onto his mount, as if clambering onto a comfortable chair. "He finally secured the people's mandate and approval of the Noble Ministry to fully activate Petgrad's army."

Praulth was surprised. "I would have thought Petgrad's military would already be mobilized. What about the rest?"

"The first missions to the neighboring cities have come back successful. Seems people aren't as stupid or stubborn as some expected."

Behind her Xink was having as much difficulty getting himself aboard his horse as she was mounting hers. "What did you expect?"

Merse gave his reins a lazy flick; it looked like a shrug. "I tried not to expect anything. Petgrad has accumulated a good number of—well, enemies isn't the word. But other cities envy us. Our prosperity. Our stability. I didn't know how quick anyone would be to fall into an alliance with us."

"I suppose," Praulth said, "we're all facing the same enemy now."

Merse grunted. "Figured that out, have you? Thank gods Cultat knows how to pick his military experts."

An angry flush went through her, but she found herself without a ready retort. Well, she was still

learning such things. She wanted to know if the premier had gathered enough troops to reenact the Battle of Torran Flats, as she had suggested, but she didn't want another barb from Merse just yet.

Whatever the current state of the war, she was going to be a part of it. Premier Cultat needed her. She was crucial. She was going off to face Dardas, and that thought was so utterly astounding, it made her giddy.

At last she was fixed into the saddle. She and Xink had packed some supplies, but belongings were useless. Besides, what could she bring away from the University—this place of learning and self-fulfilling academic advancement—that could help in what she was going to do?

Xink had settled matters with the head of the student body council. To her surprise, the man had said that their quarters in the Blue Annex would wait for their return. Unusual, considering the widespread need for student housing on campus. Perhaps Xink's status as Attaché had leveraged it.

Praulth let a soft laugh drift past her lips. The horse moved under her, following Merse's.

If status had anything to do with it, surely it was hers. Perhaps word of her accomplishments had spread among the faculty.

They left the campus, then picked their way quickly through the township of Febretree. When they reached the road north, Merse set the pace. It was a fast one, and Praulth didn't know if she was up to handling an animal at such speed for any length of time. But she held on. Xink did the same, at her side.

She looked at him, suddenly wanting to speak. His dark hair whipped very becomingly behind him. His face was as handsome as ever—high cheekbones, soft lips. Praulth felt herself surge, reflexively. The excitement was emotional and physical. She didn't begrudge the sensations.

Xink had deceived her. Yes. As Honnis had deceived her. But Xink had also volunteered to accompany her on this journey. He was leaving behind an even higher academic ranking than she was. He had a future with Mistress Cestrello and the sociology council. Yet, he had not hesitated. Praulth was going to Petgrad, so he was, too.

She smiled, watching him sidelong, as they bounced and bounded atop their steeds. She smiled until he noticed and tentatively returned it. Then she looked ahead, watching the road unfold toward a destiny that awaited her in a city she had never seen.

HER FINGERS DRUMMED the pommel of her combat sword, which she had refused to swap for an inferior Felk-issued one. She also didn't think much of their uniforms. She'd retained her bracers and the leather armor that protected her upper body. Such minor variations in gear were common to soldiers in any military, however, and shouldn't draw undue notice.

They had infiltrated the vast Felk encampment by means of magic that Radstac hadn't known existed a lune ago.

Deo wore his borrowed Felk garb with perfect naturalness, the crossbow he'd commandeered from one of the scouts slung casually at his side. He was a dead shot with one, he claimed. Whatever else, he was no braggart.

Radstac knew who he intended to kill with the weapon. Finding that individual in this sea of personnel and equipment might well undo those intentions.

They were walking away from the place where the second mage had opened the corresponding portal, Linking her and Deo's bizarre journey from that small scout camp. Radstac had stayed focused

during that jaunt, narrowing her honed, mansid- stimulated senses so that she concerned herself only with the forward step she took and the one which was to follow. Ignore the white chaos all around. Go forward. Step-by-step. Pay no heed to those unsettling sounds in the depthless distance. Reach the far end. It was a simple matter.

Those brief moments had, nonetheless, constituted one of the most disturbing experiences of her life. But her stride and face now gave no signs.

She was listening, waiting for the alarm to be raised behind them. She suspected that Deo, by her side, was doing the same. Those two wizards in the scouting party had arranged for this transport. The one that communicated over distances—the female of the two—had coordinated the opening of the portals with her counterpart here at this camp. Then the wizard who worked the actual portal magic—the male—conjured a ... breach, which Radstac and Deo had entered. To emerge here, which evidently was quite some distance from where they'd started. Yet they had walked no more than ten steps. Amazing.

Radstac didn't know, however, if that Far Speak wizard had passed a warning along as well. She might have, even with the sword edge that the bandit chief Anzal had helpfully held to her throat while she performed the communicating magic. Who knew what these Felk magicians were capable of? They were quite unlike the cloistered healers that existed on the Southern Continent.

That bandit gang had at last received their payment for services rendered. Or at least the promissory note that could be redeemed in Petgrad. Deo had put his signature to the document. The bandits were doubtlessly pleased that they hadn't had to personally deliver Deo to the Felk after all. This shortcut had facilitated things.