The Channeling (Rise of the Witch Guard Book 3) Read online

  “No, I don’t know! You carry your own things all the time,” Duncan said hotly, “why are you foisting off all the work on me. This is abuse of power!”

  “No, it’s punishment,” Falon declared, sticking a finger in the air. “From now on all spies will be forced to carry the luggage as penance for their crimes. Besides, what are you whining for? You got free scones out of the deal.”

  “Ahhh!!!” Duncan cried out as if stabbed.

  “Here, I’ll help load you up. Remember,” she warned, “there are breakables in there. I don’t want to find my new glass goblets broken when I get home because some ham-handed dirt clod dropped them along the way.”

  “’Dirt clod,’ he says,” Duncan scowled at her, but with a smile she gave him the pole and then lifted up the first package. “Yoked like an oxen pulling a wagon through the field,” Duncan said bitterly as he accepted the package.

  “Buck up,” Falon slapped him on the shoulder, “just think: it could always be worse.”

  “How could it possibly be worse?” Duncan asked morosely as more and more things were put on his shoulders or tied to the pole.

  “Well, while you’re gone I could always make another run. There were a few things that caught my eye the first time around,” she said contemplatively.

  “Uh…forget I asked. Besides, I still have to set up my tent back in camp,” Duncan said, starting to retreat at the lumbering walk that was the most he could manage under his current burden.

  “Don’t go just yet,” Falon cried, chasing after him with two more sacks.

  “Argh!” he cried staggering slightly as she hung their straps around his neck. “I can’t. I-can’t brea-the,” he gasped.

  “Better hurry back to camp then…spy!” she snickered, backing off and waving him on his way.

  “I’ll get you for this,” Duncan grunted, staggering this way and that before eventually finding his balance.

  “You’ll try,” Falon said before turning away and going the opposite direction. A happy smile spread across her face. Revenge sure is sweet, she thought.

  ****************************************************

  “Hmph!” snorted Tulla. “What are you doing here, missy?” she demanded crossly as soon as Falon knocked and entered her tent.

  Falon blinked quickly looking around the room. “Uh I’m here because you told me to seek you out the next time we came into camp,” she said cautiously, “you know, for training.”

  “Double hmph,” Tulla scowled.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Falon asked, starting to worry.

  “You’re free to leave,” Tulla growled at her, “I only train those that desire the knowledge I possess—not uppity little hussies who’d rather be anywhere else like you! You can go and not come back, for all I care,” she said waving her arms in the air forcing Falon to take a step back to keep from getting hit.

  “Hussy?” Falon objected before she could think better of it.

  “If she doesn’t want to learn then she can get out of here! Get gone, Wench!” Tulla said, looking and sounding crazier and crazier by the minute.

  “Uh…actually, I had a few questions about throwing power balls and something happened to my neck tattoos that—” Falon said cautiously.

  “Argh! It’s a simple matter of turning the power back on itself, wrapping it as it were, so it can hold itself together until it hits thy target,” Tulla rounded on her furiously. “Thou art so stupid, let thy mother train thee from now on. I haven’t the time for mannerless Thorns!”

  “Okay,” Falon said backing away, “when do you want me to come back?”

  “Never! You’re released. If I never see thee again it will be too soon. Thou art free, free to fly away like a bird,” Tulla said, picking up her arms and flapping them like wings and making chirping sounds. “Fly away little bird,” she snapped, and while the old woman made bird noises she shooed Falon out the door.

  Dumbfounded, Falon stood outside Tulla’s tent for a long moment before a smile spread across her face like the sun coming up over the horizon. She was free? She was really free?

  It was unbelievable, but even if it was just a temporary reprieve Falon was ready to seize onto it with both hands. Breaking into a flat run, she sprinted back to camp until she was short of breath. Then, after regaining her air, she continued skipping down dirt path and whistling a happy tune as she went.

  It was too early to tell for sure, especially from how crazy Tulla had been acting, but if it really was…

  She grinned. The gods must be really looking out for her to drop a pot of gold like this in her lap!

  ****************************************************

  “You called me, Madame?” asked the young woman entering Tulla’s tent.

  “The cukoo’s egg has been firmly kicked from the nest,” Tulla said coldly with no sign of the crazy demeanor she’d displayed earlier. “Unless the little chick breaks free midair and learns to fly all on her own, she can shatter on the rocks below for all I care. I am done with her. All my attention turns to you now, my young apprentice.”

  “I am honored by your notice, Madame,” the younger witch dropped into a deep curtsy.

  “All my hopes rest with you. It is a heavy burden to carry the fate of an entire people on your shoulders, but I know you have the strength to achieve it,” Tulla warned.

  “Only so long as I have the benefit of your teaching,” the other woman said humbly.

  “This path will not be easy, doubly so since you are my final apprentice,” Tulla said heavily. “Either you die from the attempt or you will be the first Witch Queen in half a century, my dear. It all rests on you now; I am just an old woman.” The young apprentice witch clenched her fist and smiled viciously. “Even if I have to crawl over a thousand corpses, I’ll free our people and rain justice down upon our oppressors!” she said fiercely, her eyes lighting with a terrible fire when she spoke of ‘raining justice.’ “They’ll finally get what they deserve when I am a queen, I swear it.”

  “So mote it be,” Tulla said solemnly. “Blood will shower upon this land like rain, and the withered roots or our ancient bloodlines will once again become vibrant, shooting up new sprouts that will rise up casting its benevolent shadow upon all the land,” Tulla added and then bared her teeth, “benevolent to her rightful people—not upon those who would cause her harm.”

  ****************************************************

  As the two women in a tent far away made their solemn pact, in a small region outside what was now called Staglands but which had once be a part of one vast contiguous whole, a small tree rocked and swayed as if blown by the wind. But there was no wind that day. After the swaying stopped, the tree twitched—in a manner similar to a person rolling over in their sleep before deciding to settle back into a dream-filled slumber—and resumed its seemingly inert state with no one in the land was the wiser.

  No one realized that something ancient, so wonderful and terrible in its power, had once again cast its eye upon the living moving world.

  No one—even those who should have known better, and whose job it was to know such things—paid it the least bit of attention.

  But, fortunately for them, the ancient thing had gone back to sleep…or had it? Perhaps it was just dozing now, as it had done many times in the past before returning to a deep slumber surrounded, as it was, by its children—by her children.

  Only time would tell.

  Chapter 31: Armies in the Field as the Prince advances on the Frog Lands

  The sound of horses filled the air, and the thunder of hooves and the clatter of armor approached rapidly from the front.

  Looking up Falon saw a group of a dozen armored men with a dashing figure in plate armor in the front.

  “They look like they’re friendly, boys—but spears to the front and sides just in case. Step lively, men,” barked Darius.

  Behind her, Falon could hear the hooves of Sir Orisin’s charger as he cantered up to her po
sition.

  He reached her before the party of cavalry changed direction upon identifying her, or perhaps just after recognizing the banner for the Swans.

  “Sir Falon, a fine day to be in the field,” Sir Orisin said, pulling back on the reins of his mount. “Whoa,” he instructed his mount as it sidestepped and danced prior to settling down under the Knight’s steady hand, “sorry for the charger; she’s still a bit skittish. Has a good mouth and withers, and I thought that by avoiding a stallion she’d be more steady of temperament but, as you can see, the horse still needs a bit more training.”

  “Are you sure you want to risk taking an unsteady mount into combat, Sir Orisin?” Falon asked with real concern for the man in his grandfather’s armor, riding a horse that didn’t look entirely ready for combat.

  “Do not fret; she will settle down once she hears the beat of the drums,” Sir Orisin laughed heartily. “At least…she acted fine when the horse master had his stable-boys beat the drum and clash the cymbals while a few drudges struck a few practice swords together and shouted. I think she will be fine but, as they say, needs mush when the devil drives and this was the best horse my purse could afford. Still and all, I am none too worried. This is an infantry unit, after all, and due to the terms of my parole I serve and protect you until my debt is paid; the odds of my being in the middle of a cavalry charge—or even seeing mounted combat—are, frankly, rather low.”

  “Even so,” Falon said, but right about then the other party arrived.

  “Sir Falon! Who is this with you? Greetings to both! Isn’t this just the finest day one could ask for in a cavalry charge?” Lord Caspar asked, throwing up his visor and laughing.

  Falon forced a smile. She felt like a fraud every time a real knight or noble called her ‘Sir.’

  “The grass is green, the air is fresh, with just the smallest hint of morning dew and before noon the sun will burn away the clouds. Right now it is neither too hot nor to cold to be in armor. It is a great day to be alive!” exclaimed the Lord Caspar, waxing poetic.

  “I’m sure it is,” Falon temporized, never having been a part of a cavalry charge before—or even trained for such while growing up—so she considered herself far from the best person to comment.

  Sir Orisin proved his worth, however, by nodding agreeably. “A fine day to break a few spears on thy enemies what?” he said, his beard bristling as he said heartily.

  “Spears? ‘Lances’ instead, let’s say,” Caspar shook his head and at that moment, despite his previous demeanor and expressions, he almost seemed like a real warrior out for blood and glorious combat. Then, with a smile, he pulled out a small bottle of perfume and gave himself a few squirts on the head and around the neck. “Terrible smell in this old thing,” he commented to no one in particular as he referenced what looked like newly forged suit of plate mail.

  Sir Orisin coughed, but Falon managed to produce a pleasant expression from somewhere—even as her sensitive nostrils picked up the intriguing scent he’d just applied.

  It doesn’t smell half bad, she thought contemplatively.

  “Was there some special reason for your visit, or are you just eager to come to grips with the enemy and spreading the news?” Falon asked, genuinely wondering after his purpose in coming here.

  A frown flitted across Sir Casper’s face, and then he seemed to give up whatever it was that irked him as he gestured in the direction the army was marching.

  “Word is the Great Frog is finally stirring himself from his fortress and intends to meet us with his army before we go any deeper into his lands,” said Casper.

  “Thank you for the news!” Falon exclaimed with false exuberance, to hide the sinking feeling in her stomach. “But I thought we were still some distance from his baronial keep? Is he that confident that he wants to meet us now?” she couldn’t help but ask with concern.

  “The Prince has used the strategy of approaching the largest town in the Baron’s territory with our forces assembled in battle order to lure the Baron Froggor out of his fastness,” Casper explained with satisfaction, along with just enough reserve in his voice that one would think that he was a supporter of the Prince.

  “I’m sure we all pray for the right honorable Prince Marshal’s success in the field,” Sir Orisin commented.

  Casper’s brow raised and he swept the Raven knight with a look before a small smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think I recall exactly where you hail from, Sir Knight,” he said courteously.

  “Uh…do you have any orders for the Battalion, Lord Casper?” Falon interrupted hastily. “We’re ready to carry them out.”

  Casper pursed his lips and, for a moment, Falon thought her distraction regarding the land Sir Orisin hailed from had failed. But he thankfully looked over at her.

  “The Prince will be in the Van with General Declan while the Heir to Quinn will command the Right,” at this last, the young lordling scowled thunderously, “imagine it: the heir of mere Barony set up above the son of an Earl?”

  Falon shook her head because that seemed to be what was expected and then asked, “So we’ll be in the right wing?” she asked, since that seemed to be what had been implied.

  Casper glared at her. “Who do you think I am that I would willingly place my sword at the command of a stick up his arse like Quinn?” he demanded, slashing a hand through the air. “No, if we must be under someone of lower birth then we shall be in the Left under Sir Roger. The McGrath might be a mere Lord but at least he is seated in his own right—unlike Quinn who still clutches onto his father’s coattails for advancement. He also,” the outraged lordling took a deep breath, “has a reputation on the battlefield. The Left will not be led by a complete novice—unlike the Right with its still-new-to-his-spurs infernal up-jumped Quinn.”

  “The Left again,” Falon sighed before trying to cheer herself. “At least we’ll have an experienced leader,” she said hopefully before asking, “what exactly is the McGrath’s reputation, Lord Casper?”

  “It’s said they used to call him the Straight Sword, but now he’s known as Bloodbath—to both his enemies and friends alike! A veritable tyrant on the battlefield; even if he is outnumbered, any enemy he faces are destined to suffer grievous casualties,” Casper said in a rising voice before looking at her wryly. “This seemed the opportune chance to show that even with the gutter sweepings of the army placed in my Battalion, we can stand with the best of them—especially considering the situation in the Right. Don’t let me down now, Sir Falon.”

  A man known as Bloodbath McGrath was their new wing leader? A nickname changed not just by his enemies but his friends as well? Falon rubbed her suddenly tension-filled forehead to ease out the wrinkles. Dear gods above and below, what had they just gotten themselves into?

  “Let’s hope the man can contain his slaughter amongst the enemy or, better yet, pray for peace. Maybe the Prince and Baron can come to some sort of accommodation?” Falon said worriedly.

  “Hardly the sort of talk I’d have expected from the valiant Boar Knife—the man who at the tender age of sixteen singlehandedly held his company together and reformed the Fighting Swans after the departure of its previous leader. I was told you were quite nearly fearless on the battlefield, had a strength belying your small size, and didn’t hesitate to challenge spirit possessed barbarians. Was I misinformed, Lieutenant?” Lord Casper asked harshly.

  Falon colored. “I can fight,” she said unhappily.

  “Good lad,” Casper looked down at her condescendingly.

  Sir Orisin cleared his throat but, in the end, didn’t say anything.

  “Regardless, being now a part of the Left Wing, it behooves us to deploy on the left side when we arrive at town. I’ll leave the details up to you while I return to reconnoiter the current situation via the Prince Marshal’s staff. Ta-ta!” he said, pulling his horse’s head around with the reins. “Reserve a place for myself and my fifty armsmen in the center of the Battalion. It is time we showed the
Prince just how well we can acquit ourselves on the field! Besides, don’t look so glum; I’m told the Prince has secured himself a new cadre of wizards to help bolster our combat power. Yah!” Putting his boots to the ribs of his horse, he lit off faster than a shooting northern light and disappeared from sight.

  “Even now he still isn’t planning to march with us and familiarize himself with the men?” Falon felt surprised and couldn’t help herself from asking aloud.

  Sir Orisin grunted. “That one tries to talk a smooth game but, as you can see, is much more experienced with court intrigue than he is familiar with the battlefield. Expect him to sit back for a bit before mucking things up with a glorious charge at some point,” Sir Orisin sighed. “He was probably trained as cavalry, and that type knows best how to charge gloriously and break the enemy. Unfortunately, we’re infantry not a cavalry formation so…while I could be wrong I doubt it.”

  Falon felt her headache coming back. If only she weren’t a girl, or maybe if she’d just been older she would have just stood like an idiot when the lordling had informed them that they were going to be in the left wing yet again. No, she realized after thinking about it for a pair of moments, protesting the Prince’s orders after the fact was a fool’s gambit.

  What she should have done was reach out to Casper before now, back when they were still on the trail…except that they’d been isolated from the main army. Well then, each time they’d camped with the main army, Falon should have found him and helped guide the new Captain away from the left wing. The Left always got hammered and stuffed with the gaggle of smaller units, and the worst of the out-of-favor lords and fighting bands.

  “We’ll just have to do our best and hope that this time the Prince knows what he’s doing,” Falon said stoutly, determinedly not remembering the time she’d had to help rescue the Prince and his bodyguards after they got separated from the main force and ‘lost’ in the woods. “I’m sure after our last battle he’s planned properly. News of these new wizards sounds hopeful too,” she added, trying to put the best face on things.