up Olga.
“Ah, you are heavy, child! Won’t you let Serge carry you?”
“No,” muttered Olga, clinging tighter.
“We must find somewhere for you and Olga to hide,” said Serge.
“Perhaps with Chieftain Jark,” said Jindabyne, who remembered Alain’s father fondly.
“Perhaps,” said Serge. “Lev is a powerful mage. There is no chance of your own people... Up in the Gen Mountains? That country called Ermora?”
Jindabyne shivered. “I don’t think so. All I remember of Ermora is that horrible woman, Kintora, telling me I had failed them all. I never knew why... Anyway, Ambassador Ezratah told me that Ermora has been closed to all outsiders for years. Even to the Tari who left.”
“Yes,” sighed Serge. “I thought that was the way of it.” He looked beseechingly at Jindabyne. “I did think to leave you with Lord Petrus. At the moment this looks set to become a fight between the Mirayan Lords and Seagani Chiefs and we must avoid that. It might be diplomatic for me to show special trust in Petrus. He is the only Mirayan Lord I can still count on to support me.”
Jindabyne’s heart sank. Petrus was a good enough man, but a Mirayan of the old school who kept his wife and two daughters strictly secluded. But Serge was right to think he needed the support of more Mirayans. Strange that Lord Petrus had not been at the funeral. She opened her mouth to ask Serge this, but Alain came running toward them and the thought passed out of her head.
They rode on and on down endless dusty roads. Most of Jindabyne’s attention was taken up with keeping Olga soothed. In the late afternoon she fell asleep in Jindabyne’s arms. Olga’s sleeping face reminded Jindabyne of Wolf and a bleakness fell over her. Olga was all she had left of Wolf now. Lev Madraga had taken him away. And for what? Mere power.
All through the day they met parties of Seagani farmers and Mirayan merchants on the road and enlisted them to their cause. Several times Serge sent men out to rouse neighbouring settlements to arms against Lev. They spent the night in the hall of a Seagani clan leader, a client of Alain’s father who had been a good friend to Duke Wolf. The menfolk sat up all night discussing the situation. Jindabyne was exhausted by the long day’s unaccustomed travel after a sleepless night, but there were still duties for her to perform. Seagani regarded the Tari as holy, and after she had bathed and eaten, she found that the private quarters were full of people who wished her to bless their children or to seek her healing touch. It was a long time before she could fall into bed.
They set out early the next morning and rode solidly onward with few breaks. Since Serge had been sending out messengers to potential allies, their party was now only twenty men and five hardy Seagani women. By mid-morning they reached the Eastern border of Wolf’s lands. Beyond that border was the thick dark forest of the Mori kingdom - domain of the Hooded Queen. The Mori were a fierce people, traditional enemies of the plains dwelling Seagani, and relations between their sinister Hooded Queen and the Duchy of Lamartaine were uneasy. Even if Lev had lied about the Mori killing Wolf, there was still the danger of a Mori attack should their party go too close to the forest. Though the road was well out of arrow shot, a quiet watchfulness fell over the group and everyone’s heads turned to constantly scan the nearby trees.
Shortly before noon, they crested a rise and saw a group of forty or so horsemen trotting up the road toward them. Jindabyne heard the woman beside her let out a soft hooray of relief, when they saw that the party was flying the Petrus flag.
A tall tanned man whose fair hair had become white with age was in the lead. Jindabyne recognised Petrus, the Mirayan Lord of this area. Serge urged his horse forward to meet Petrus, who clasped Serge’s arm warmly, even though his face was troubled. The two men dismounted and Lord Petrus drew Serge away into a nearby field so that they could speak privately. But the conversation did not go well. Suddenly Serge recoiled from Lord Petrus in shock, and at that same moment Jindabyne felt a frisson of magic nearby.
Clutching Olga, she swung round in the saddle and with her mage’s vision, saw the glow of magical power around the group of Mirayan men behind her. Something flashed in the hand of one of them. A magic crystal! Sweet life! An illegally disguised phalanx of mages.
A heavy blanket of magic came down on Jindabyne, making her limbs feel like lead and her breathing come in gasps.
She tried to resist, but she was no match for the combined power of ten mages working in phalanx.
“No!” she moaned, out of a mouth that could barely open. Olga screamed and Jindabyne felt her small hands pulling at her.
Then, with a high pitched shriek, a hawk plummeted out of the sky, straight into the face of the man with the crystal. He screamed as his face was blotted out by feathers, talons and ripping beak. The glistening stone fell out of his flailing hands. The magical pressure broke.
A couple of the mages went to their leader’s aid, but others drew their hands back to throw magic at Jindabyne. All around, men were shouting, drawing swords.
“Run!” someone screamed.
Gripping Olga, and clenching her fist to marshal her defences, Jindabyne urged her horse into motion. The horse, shying and dancing at the clash of weapons, broke into a gallop heading towards the Mori forest.
“Hold tight,” shouted Jindabyne to Olga. A glowing attack of magic shuddered against her defences, then a second, then a third, each blow a near miss. The horse, ears back with fright, surged headlong through a field of sun dried grass so tall that it whipped against Jindabyne’s legs. She dug her heels into his flanks, driving him onwards toward the cover of the dark forest.
She gritted her teeth as two more magical blows smashed into them. Then they were in the forest crashing through undergrowth, trees looming up all around, and she knew she was safe, since her attackers could no longer see her to focus their magical attacks.
At last she unclenched her fist and relaxed her defences and as if sensing safety, the horse relaxed with her and slowed to a trot before he stopped and stood blowing hard. Jindabyne coaxed him up against the trunk of a tree and, with a wide sweeping gesture of her hands, camouflaged them with magic so that they blended into the tree trunks and the undergrowth.
Olga was whimpering, tears running down her cheeks but she sobbed quietly, clearly understanding that they were in danger. Jindabyne gritted her teeth in anger. That damned Lev putting Olga through all this!
“Hush, it’s all right,” she whispered. “I’ve covered us with my magic. No one can see us now.”
Nearby, steel rang against steel. Someone shouted and another yelped in pain. A horse crashed through the undergrowth past them. Serge was riding it and after him, so close their horses seemed to merge, came another rider, sword raised. Serge turned in the saddle to defend himself as the following horseman swung a mighty blow. Steel clashed, the blades sliding over each other as Serge tried to hold off the blow and the man pushed down into it.
“Serge!” squeaked Olga in Jindabyne’s ear, forcing Jindabyne out of her magical detachment. Sweet life, she was watching them as if they were a kind of performance! Giving herself a mental shake, she reached out with her magic and threw the man’s sword out of his hand, unbalancing him so that he fell off his horse. Serge swung his horse round to hit him, but the man was up before he could reach him, running away back towards the edge of the forest, keeping close to the tree trunks. For a moment Serge seemed about to follow, but the clash of swords and thud of nearby hooves made him stop. He stood up in his saddle, waved his sword and shouted, “Madragas! To me! To me!”
A moment later six more horses came crashing through the undergrowth, closely followed by several more. Confusion reigned as men and horses clashed together, grunting and yelling. Jindabyne saw Serge urging his horse forward to help his heavily outnumbered followers.
They’re getting the worst of this, thought Jindabyne. Still hidden, she threw a spell at a couple of the Petrus men, knocking them off their horses. With a huff of satisfaction, she threw another one and toppled three more men into the undergrowth.