Battle Magic

17

THE TEMPLE OF THE TIGERS

THE CONFLUENCE OF THE TOM SHO AND SNOW SERPENT RIVERS

It was clear that Soudamini would go half mad before all of the western troops had packed up and ridden north.

“We’ve been through this before,” Parahan told her, an arm around her shoulders. He and Briar had taken her up onto the roof before the westerners could hear her mutterings. “These people don’t fight for a living. Well, perhaps the temple folk do. As the war goes on, they’ll understand the importance of starting the march at dawn, not starting to pack at dawn.”

Souda gnawed a thumbnail and swore to herself in Banpuri.

“Our people are all ready to ride,” Briar said in consolation. He stared toward the distant river, hoping for the slightest hint that Rosethorn was coming. He wasn’t unhappy that the westerners were holding them up.

“They may as well have slept late for all the good it will do us!” Souda replied, her husky voice a soft growl. “Who drew the short straw so we left last, anyway?”

“You,” Parahan said.

“You may as well tell our people to unsaddle their mounts and run some weapons practice,” Souda told her twin.

“Already did,” he replied.

Then Briar felt it, the lightest touch of green. He inhaled and forgot to breathe out, waiting. There it was again. Suddenly his chest hitched and he began to hack, unable to catch his breath. Parahan shoved a flask of tea into his hands. Briar gulped half of it down. When he could breathe properly again, he stretched his power as far as it would go. That touch was a little stronger. It connected to his magic; he knew it like his own.

“I think you’ll be happy we’re last,” he said casually.

Parahan’s face lit. “Rosethorn?”

Briar nodded.

It was almost noon when Captain Lango’s people rode through the gate on their way north. Briar went to the twins, whose companies were next. “I’ll meet her and catch up with you,” he said. “I think she’ll reach the river crossing by midafternoon.”

Parahan beckoned to Jimut, who came forward with saddled horses. “I have a fresh mount for her,” Jimut said. “And you do not go without a guard.”

Briar was too nervously eager to even consider an argument. After everyone said their farewells to the chief priestess and the temple commander, Parahan’s and Souda’s companies rode out the north gate. Briar and Jimut went south together with the squad of ten warriors that Parahan had insisted upon. Before they left the temple behind, Briar stopped and said good-bye to the orange stone tiger, ignoring the odd looks of the soldiers.

They walked their horses down to the river to wait and ate the meal they had cajoled out of the temple cooks. Two of the soldiers stood guard, watching north and east, while the others rested and talked. Briar paced the riverbank. He had no idea of how he was going to tell Rosethorn about Evvy. The idea of doing it made his stomach twist.

Clouds were spreading across the sky when Briar saw a flash of green — real green — atop the road that led into the Drimbakang Lho. He yipped, then clenched his hands so tightly his nails bit into the tattoos on his palms. The blooms and stems of his tattoos, swiftly turning into roses of every color, protested his grip. He apologized, silently. The enemy was supposedly gone from the area, but he and his companions had agreed to be cautious. Making noise at the sight of Rosethorn was not anyone’s idea of cautious behavior. Instead he leaped up and down, waving frantically. He stopped only when she raised an arm to indicate she had seen him, and urged her mount to a trot.

They met on his side of the bridge, where she swung off her horse and hugged him very hard. She smelled to him of pine, wood smoke, and the chamomile she used for headache tea. He saw no sign of that nasty leather pack she had carried away with her. She looked like his good old Rosethorn, fixed on the here and now. Her brown eyes were sharp as she looked him over.

“What is it?” she asked. “Your eyes are puffy. You look like you’ve been dragged backward through a bush. Tell me.”

“Evvy,” he said, and his throat closed up.

Jimut took charge of her horse. Rosethorn guided him to the riverbank, where they sat. Once he could speak again, Briar told her about the letter and Evvy’s stone alphabet. Then he held her. For too short a time they mourned.

“We should go,” Briar said hoarsely at last. “We have to catch up with the supply train by dark, just to be safe.”

Rosethorn went to the river and soaked two handkerchiefs in the cold water. She wiped her face with one and gave the other to Briar. A light rain had begun to fall. “At times like this it’s hard to be a good dedicate and to trust in the gods that all things happen for a reason,” she said, her voice hoarse. “She had such a hard life. I feel that the gods owed her something better for longer than she had it.” She looked at her handkerchief and twisted it dry. “Since I never get an answer from the gods, I shall have to work my frustration out on Weishu and his armies.”

Briar nodded. She had put his rage into words. They would make Weishu pay.

Rosethorn put her arm around him as they walked over to the others. They were already mounted up. Jimut passed her the reins of the fresh mount they had brought for her. The one she had ridden this far was with their spare horses. Rosethorn stopped briefly to give him a handful of oats, then swung into the saddle on the fresh horse.

Briar looked at the drizzling clouds, wishing he and Rosethorn had the wide straw hats they usually wore in the rain. Where had the hats gone? East, probably, with the Traders. He hauled himself into the saddle of his own mount.

“Are you up to a trot?” the sergeant in charge of the squad asked Rosethorn. “So we can cover some ground?”

“I’ll keep up,” Rosethorn said. “Don’t worry about me.”

Briar rode beside her, one careful eye on his teacher. He could tell she was upset, but he knew her. To the others she must look as if she were deep in thought. That’s good, he told himself. She hates people feeling bad for her.

For his own part, he had Evvy’s stone alphabet in the sling on his chest, tucked among the seed balls he used for weapons. Now and then he would slip a rock or crystal from its pocket and hold it, reminding himself of what he owed the emperor and his soldiers.

They set a rhythm of trot, walk, trot, rest. They would water the horses, drink tea, check to make sure their weapons were ready for use, and then mount up again. That steady pace brought them to the supply wagons by late afternoon. At day’s end they found Parahan, Soudamini, Captain Lango, and their soldiers. They were raising their tents at the far end of the ground where the western tribes and temple warriors had set up camp. Their friends greeted Rosethorn, expressed their sympathy for her loss, and invited her and Briar to join them for supper.

Free of her temple’s burden, Rosethorn was happy to share a tent with Briar. Jimut saw to the arrangements, placing it to one side of Souda’s far larger tent. While they waited for the call to eat, Jimut also brought out Rosethorn’s packs, which had traveled with their supplies. She and Briar sat quietly, going over what they had.

Finally Briar had to ask. “What was it like?”

Rosethorn sighed. “I can’t say.”

“Wasn’t it just a temple?”

“It was and it wasn’t. I can’t put it any better than that.”

“You could try.”

“Briar, it’s not permitted. I had to swear an oath.”

He knew she meant it. “I hate that, you know. Just once you could break an oath.”

“Then how would you ever trust me, boy, or I you?”

“I’m not your boy.”

In a shocking burst of affection, she leaned over the seed balls between them and hugged him. “You will always be my boy. And you would never listen to me again if I broke an oath.”

“You know Parahan and them will ask.” He hugged her back, and let go at the same time that she did.

“They will have something like the same answer.” Rosethorn sighed. For a moment they were quiet together before she said, “I will be so glad to go home.”

“I know what you mean,” he said fervently. “This country is just too odd, Rosethorn. The paintings come to life and make fun of you —”

“There are mysteries I was never taught in my temple,” she added.

“Statues move around.”

“I hear voices that shouldn’t be there. Emelan is wonderfully ordinary,” Rosethorn said. “We’ll go home, and this place will seem like a distant dream. It has to.”

In the morning word spread through the army like wildfire: The scouts had found plenty of hoof prints on the road ahead and on the ground to the east. The enemy had been here before them. With the news that the enemy had come so close, the westerners were eager to be up and moving at dawn. Their fires were out and their tents packed at the same time as Souda’s and Parahan’s troops.

That day saw the Realms troops and Lango’s company in the middle of the line of march, since they’d had the rear the day before. Briar yawned without letup. He had joined Rosethorn for her midnight worship, knowing she would conduct prayers for Evvy in the darkness. He did not begrudge Evvy’s spirit some of his sleep, not when he and Rosethorn could now burn the proper incense and say the prayers that felt like balm to his heart.

The day was uneventful but tense. They rode by a walled village: Its gates were closed and its people positioned on the wall, armed with crossbows. A small party of villagers rode out to confer with Captain Lango. The commanders of the various portions of their group stopped beside the road to talk while the rest of them rode on. Then they rejoined their people. Immediately scouting patrols were increased, riding in all directions around their small army.

Briar eased up through the soldiers until he rode next to Souda when she returned. “How close to them are we?” he asked.

She frowned at him. “Perhaps you are new to armies. Perhaps you don’t know that it’s not common for commanders to share information with soldiers unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“But you have to share information with your mages, don’t you?” he asked, giving Souda his most innocent look. “It might be something we can work with.”

“You’re plant mages,” Souda replied. “What can — oh, Raiya, give me patience. The riders who came too close this morning are a rear guard. There’s a small army two days ahead of us and moving a hawk’s anus faster than we are, because they don’t have a monkey-spit supply train to worry about! It’s those swine who attacked the Temple of the Tigers, from what the people in the town told Lango. You’d think they’d turn around and give us a nice straight-up fight!” She glared at the open lands on her right, then frowned. “Now who do you suppose that is? Don’t tell me I’m going to get my wish!”

Briar squinted. A new rider watched them from a distance, far enough that Briar couldn’t see what the observer wore or if he carried weapons. He sent his power into the grass roots, reaching for the watcher, but the man wheeled and rode away before Briar’s magic got to him. He glanced at Rosethorn, who shook her head. She hadn’t touched the watcher, either.

Souda whistled sharply. This time she sent two of her soldiers after the stranger. They soon returned. They had lost him.

One of the tribesmen spotted the next watcher; Parahan’s scouts reported a third. By nightfall a total of six watchers had been seen. None had been caught.

“Theirs or ours, do you think?” Briar heard Parahan ask Captain Lango.

The Gyongxin man was grim. “Yanjingyi armor, Yanjingyi spies.”

All the commanders put the soldiers to digging a broad ditch around their camp that night. Rosethorn sprinkled a few seeds at the bottom of the ditch, just in case. They would take the place of abatises if the enemy attacked. A word from Rosethorn or Briar and the seeds would send thorny branches shooting up to surprise anyone who tried to cross the ditch. The only side of their camp not so defended was on a wide pond.

The creation of a tighter camp seemed to make the soldiers feel more like one army. When Briar volunteered for guard duty, he found himself trading nods of greeting with tribesmen, temple warriors, and Realms soldiers who had the same duty. One tribesman even offered Briar a chew of betel nut, though Briar politely turned him down. He thought orange teeth might ruin his appeal for girls at home in Emelan.

Staring at the stars, he realized that the constellation called the Herdsman was starting to rise over the horizon. He picked out the ancient hero’s head and earring, his shoulders, his belt, and the one visible arm with its sling, ready to drive a rock straight between the eyes of the Lion of Shaihun. It was one of Evvy’s favorite stories. On their road east, she had insisted on pointing out the Herdsman every night she could see it.

Briar’s eyes filled as he looked at it. He wiped them on his sleeve.

I’m not going to get all weepy every time I see a shepherd with a sling, he told himself. That’s not fair to Evvy. And this country has herders with slings everywhere I look.

Then he frowned. It was hard to shoot a seed ball from a crossbow. The archer drew the string until the head of the bolt almost touched the stock, leaving scant room to tie the ball. A seed ball was too light to go far on its own, but a sling could throw a seed ball if the ball were weighted somehow.

Briar looked at the earth under his feet. There were stones in it. He picked one up and tossed it in his hand.

Rosethorn took his place when the guard changed, sending him off to bed. Once he pulled his blankets up around him, Briar slept without dreams.

He woke in the morning to a normal camp. No one had tested the sentries. While Jimut grumbled about it as he brought tea for Briar and Rosethorn, Briar was just as happy. He prized his sleep.

He helped Rosethorn to do up the laces on her cuirass and greaves; she returned the favor. Both of them settled their carry-bags full of seed balls over their chests.

Briar nearly collided with Jimut when he walked out of the tent. His aide was bringing the dumplings called momos for their breakfast. “Do you know anyone who is good with a sling?” Briar asked him. “Someone who can put a rock close to a reasonable target.”

Jimut shrugged. “I can,” he replied, offering momos to Rosethorn as he emerged from the tent. “I helped my father and uncles with the herds before I decided to be a soldier. When I hunt for the company I save arrows with my sling.”

“Would you start carrying one with you?” Briar asked. “I’d like to be able to work at more of a distance.”

Jimut frowned, and then bowed. “Of course.”

“I think I would like a slinger, too,” Rosethorn said. She ruffled Briar’s short hair, which was starting to grow out. “Clever Briar.”

Briar pulled a tuft of hair out to see how long it was. “I need this cut.” He was strict about keeping it an inch long. That way it never curled and it dried fast.

“Just don’t let the emperor’s barbers do it,” Parahan said cheerfully. “They could make a mistake and take your whole head.” He turned his beak of a nose into the wind from the east. “I smell battle coming. It’s about time.”

“Savage,” Rosethorn told him.

“We are civilized about wars in Kombanpur,” Parahan replied. “We study long and hard for them so we do not dishonor our enemies by giving them a bad fight.” His dark face went a shade darker. “And we do not kill their little girls.”

“I wish every warrior was as tidy about it as you,” Rosethorn said.

“I wish some little girls I know were here to help fight,” Briar said. “They’d give these muck-snufflers a lesson they’d never forget.” He saw some likely looking stones and bent stiffly to pick them up. It was hard to do in armor.

“We use what we have,” Rosethorn told him. “It will be enough.”

After breakfast the small army set forth once again. Souda had placed their three companies in the middle of the march. “If we’re attacked, I want regular soldiers in the middle,” she explained to Rosethorn and Briar as they rode along. “We worked out that the temple soldiers will bring the supply animals up with us and guard them in the event of a fight. The tribes will ride into the enemy flanks. If we hold here at the middle, we might just make a battle plan of it.”

Rosethorn nodded. “If we have to fight, it’s a good plan,” she replied.

“But I have seen you fight,” Parahan commented with surprise. “You did not hang back.”

“I am like most who take up a religious life in our wicked world,” Rosethorn said. As she and Briar rode, they used their magic to open the seed balls and drop thumb-sized stones into them. Another touch of magic wove the cotton together once more. “I will not surrender to evil, or allow anyone in my charge to be harmed by evil, and violence that kills the helpless and destroys the beauties of the world is evil. But I am also a healer. It can be depressing to have to repair what you took apart that morning.”

“There are religious orders that live in isolation and refuse to commit any violence,” Souda remarked.

“I hope they are mages who can defend or hide themselves, then,” Rosethorn replied. “I and mine, we live in the real world.”

Everyone ate midday in the saddle. Not long after that a cloud of dust rolled toward them across the flatlands from the east. The tribal shamans began a heavy, droning chant like that Briar had heard in the temples and in the canyon behind Garmashing. It was a song with a buzz under it, much like the sound of the great horns. As the shamans chanted they pounded small drums or banged little gongs. Goose bumps prickled all over Briar: They were raising Gyongxin magic.

He passed a cloth seed ball to Jimut, who already had his sling in hand. Rosethorn’s slinger balanced his cloth ball in his hand, noticing the weight. He raised his brows, then settled it into his sling.

Whatever the other mages had put in motion, it seemed to be working. The dust cloud was breaking up and drifting skyward. As it thinned, it revealed several companies of imperial horsemen.

“Archers!” cried Parahan, Souda, and Lango at the same time.

“Wait,” Briar murmured to Jimut. He heard a change in the chanting of the shamans. Lango’s mage had also begun something of his own.

Briar shifted his attention to the grasses that grew ahead of the enemy horses’ hooves. Under the earth’s surface, he followed his power into their roots.

He didn’t hear the commanders giving the archers the order to shoot. In the part of him that stayed with his body he noticed that Jimut and Rosethorn’s slinger released their balls of weighted seed at the same time. Seed and arrows soared high, then fell among the enemy soldiers even as the Yanjingyi archers shot. The Gyongxin tribes and temple warriors on the right and left attacked, charging under most of the Yanjingyi volley of arrows. Those were aimed for the commanders and mages on the road.

Parahan, Souda, and Lango barked the order for the archers to prepare to shoot again. Briar urged his body to hand a second thorn ball to his slinger, as Rosethorn was doing, and returned to his work on the grasses ahead.

He heard shrieking war cries: The tribal and temple warriors were colliding with Yanjingyi horsemen on the right and the left. The center of the Yanjingyi line began to charge, bellowing in return.

Lango and the twins yelled the order to shoot; the archers obeyed, aiming at the heart of the charging line. Riders and horses went down. Jimut and Rosethorn’s slinger released their seed balls to strike the enemy soldiers who still galloped on.

They were falling even before the balls hit the ground and exploded. Growing ferociously, the grasses enveloped the horses’ hooves. The animals went down, throwing their riders. In the heart of the army, warriors screamed as thorny vines shot through and around them. Horses reared, trying to shake the grip of the tough grasses. They dropped under the hooves of those horses galloping up behind them.

Some of the thorns and grass went gray. Some burst into flame, burning the soldiers in their grasp. Briar fumbled as he passed another ball to Jimut, his fingers going numb. A strange green veil was falling over his eyes; his throat had gone too tight to breathe. He clawed at it, gasping.

Suddenly air rushed into his throat. He inhaled several times, filling his poor lungs, then looked for the cause of his sudden cure. Jimut was holding an oblong disk in front of his face. “Are you all right?” the man asked.

“Better, thanks. What is that?” Briar wanted to know.

Jimut turned the disk around for a moment, then turned it back so the polished side faced the enemy. It was a metal mirror. It had reflected the enemy’s spell back to them.

Briar checked Rosethorn. A temple mage with her face tattooed all over with interesting patterns had ridden her horse next to Rosethorn. She wrote signs on the air between her and Briar’s teacher. As she worked, Rosethorn sat with her hands palm up in her lap, peacefully gazing at the battle before them. Vines were growing rapidly, twining around enemy warriors and yanking them from the saddle to be trampled in the fighting. Whatever the temple mage was doing, she held the Yanjingyi mages off Rosethorn, it was plain.

Briar let Rosethorn work with the vines. There was a cluster of stillness in the spot where the Yanjingyi soldiers had waited before their charge. He would wager that was where the mages and perhaps the commanders watched the fighting. He closed his eyes and poured his magical self through the grass roots between him and that stillness. The grasses lent him their strength as he ran from root to root.

The Yanjingyi mages’ power shone like a beacon even underground, guiding him to them. Below them in the earth, Briar drew on the vast network of plants that stretched out around him and carefully reached up with his power. There were the above-ground grasses that grew around the horses’ hooves. Out of habit they tried to eat a mouthful or two, but these were the finest products of the army’s stables. The plants of the Gyongxin plain were a little too tough for their liking. Sensing Briar’s presence in the grass, they huffed and stamped, only to be slapped by the soldiers who held their reins. Neither the generals nor the mages wanted to be disturbed by restless animals.

Briar stretched himself above the grasses, searching for the beads wrapped around the mages’ throats and wrists. He could not tell if the general was also a mage, as General Hengkai had been. He could only sense the wooden beads. In his magical vision they hung in midair, shaping three necks and three pairs of arms. He gripped his power for just a moment, then flooded the beads with it.

The willow beads shattered, breaking the strands around the mages’ necks and arms. The oak beads sent roots shooting into the ground. The grasses told him that the horses had gone frantic at the sudden appearance of fast-growing trees. They reared and flailed at everything around them. The mages were thrown to the ground. At Briar’s command the grasses seized the mages, weaving around their throats. Strangling would teach them to kill little girls!

His rage fed strength to the grasses. They grew and tightened like rope.

That’s it! Briar told the grasses. Don’t give way for an instant!

Rosethorn was calling him. He refused to go. He wasn’t going to leave just when he was paying the Yanjingyi beasts back.

Then he got that bad feeling, the sense of fingers wrapped around his body’s real ear. The fingers twisted. Only one thing would make that pain stop. Slowly, so he wouldn’t frighten his grasses and oak trees, he retreated across the field and back into the body that hurt with Evvy’s loss.

He opened his eyes. Rosethorn released his ear after an extra hard flick with finger and thumb. “What if we’d had to escape?” Rosethorn demanded. “Do you know how many mages get trapped away from themselves?”

“You never said anything before,” he muttered, rubbing the sore ear. He wondered if the grasses had succeeded in killing those mages.

“It wasn’t a danger with you before.” Rosethorn sighed. “Revenge is as bad for the one practicing it as it is for those it’s practiced upon, Briar.”

He didn’t agree. She probably has to say such things because she’s a dedicate, he thought, gulping tea from the flask at his belt. But I ain’t no dedicate, and I’m going to get me a piece of the empire.

He looked to see what other damage he could do.

The enemy was fleeing, or rather, those who were in good condition had fled already. Those who remained swayed in the saddle or sported arrows in their own bodies or those of their mounts. Some were on foot, fighting back to back as they tried to hold off the Gyongxin warriors.

All across the ground between the road and the remainder of the Yanjingyi troops lay the fallen of both sides: horses, the wounded, and the dead. The Gyongxin healers were driving their wagons around the troops in the road and out onto the field.

Briar shook his head. “I won’t do it. They killed Evvy.”

“All of them?” Rosethorn asked.

“They killed other people here, too.”

“How many of them were given a choice about it?” she asked him. “You know the emperor. How many of them have families in Yanjing who would be punished if they refused to serve in the army? Besides —”

“I don’t want to hear besides.” He sounded like a kid even to himself.

“The more of them that have decent treatment here, the more of them will know that Weishu’s is not the only way. The more of them will realize that these people are not monsters.” Rosethorn dismounted and unbuckled her saddlebags. “You don’t have to come,” she said. “I’ll understand.” To the woman who had guarded her from the Yanjingyi mages’ spells she said, “Mila and the Green Man bless you, Servant Riverdancer.” The shaman pressed her hands palm to palm in front of her face and bowed. Rosethorn turned to her slinger and thanked him as well. He offered to take care of the horse. Rosethorn nodded, then proceeded out onto the battlefield.

Briar sighed. He could look after the Gyongxin wounded. That wouldn’t make him feel as if he betrayed Evvy’s ghost.

“Do you know what wagon has my mage kit?” Briar asked Jimut.

“The part with your medicines?” the older man inquired. He patted the bags behind the saddle of his own horse. “Right here.” He handed them down to Briar, who took them and went in search of the small army’s healers.

The soldiers raised big infirmary tents where the healers could work, then fetched empty barrels and filled them with water. Those who did not bring the wounded into the tents gave the injured horses a merciful death. They then dragged the animals’ bodies to the side of the battlefield opposite that where they laid out the human dead. Cooks set up outdoor kitchens for soup and tea for everyone as the rest of the camp was built around the healers’ tents.

Briar, Rosethorn, Riverdancer, and the rest of the healers labored well past midnight in the chaos that filled the tents. The screams of the wounded were enough to make Briar want to scream himself. To make sure that he didn’t, he bit the inside of his cheek until it bled, then found a piece of rolled bandage to chew on. There weren’t enough medicines to ensure that everyone could have their pain eased. The healers were forced to keep such potions for the unfortunates who had to have a leg or an arm cut off, or a weapon pulled from their bodies. Mage after mage was sent from the tents, worn to exhaustion, while more wounded were brought in or came to consciousness.

Jimut and a number of other people Briar recognized from the road worked in the tents together with the mages and healers, helping to hold patients for stitching or surgery, wrapping bandages, carrying water, and sitting with the dying. Briar even saw their commanders throughout the night. They came to talk to their people and even to fetch water or soup when everyone else was busy.

At last Riverdancer ordered both him and Rosethorn to bed, reminding them through a translator that they had used their power in combat as well as in healing. They needed rest. Their medicines could continue to work without their presence, she informed them tartly, and there was less risk of a medicine collapsing onto a patient.

In his bedroll, Briar was staring at the roof of the tent, listening to Rosethorn’s sleep-breath, when he realized that he hadn’t seen any wounded Yanjingyi soldiers. The other healers must have steered him away from them.

Just as well, he thought. That way I don’t have to make any hard choices.

He felt around until he found Evvy’s stone alphabet by his packs. With his hand resting on it, he slept.