Mage Slayer: Book Four of the Empress Saga

CHAPTER FOUR

A small measure of strength came to Ban from a distance. A gift from his Huntress. It flooded into him and drove away his fatigue. Kimpo must have known somehow that he'd still be awake at this hour. She knew him about as well as anyone. Between Kimpo and Moon, he didn't have much room for mystique. Those two had him figured out, fully and completely. Ban returned Kimpo a part of his ether as thanks.

Refreshed to take the edge off his weariness, he leaned over the broad table in his command tent, poring over tactical maps of the region by etherlight. The red glow of his sigils bathed the tent interior in crimson. A warm color to match the heat in the air. He'd lived his life in the frozen south, where summer only provided a brief thaw, so he wasn't yet acclimated to warmer climates. It was the First of Steed, the start of the last month of spring, and Ban wagered he'd swelter inside his armor long before the Month of Sun arrived.

A sheen of sweat clung to his torso. In the northern heat, he found himself wearing less as the days grew longer. It was just about the only way an Altieri man could survive up here. The rest of the legion was faring little better. Most of them were also Altieri. Some were Dellish, Drildanian, and even a few Irdish. There were nine noble houses now sworn to serve House Yora and Shan Alee, Karst included, and few of them were from parts of the Continent used to warm weather.

And we're marching into the rainforests and moors of Melcia in summer, Ban thought wryly. Waves, but Kastus would chew my ear off over it if he were still alive.

Ban's old master in both magical and martial practices had a number of rules when it came to warfare. First and foremost of them all, think before you march. It seemed a simple rule on the surface, but as Ban grew older, he'd begun to realize what Kastus meant with that axiom. There were always more things to think about than one rune knight could mull over in one sitting. If his understanding of a situation could be summarized in one or two sentences, he didn't understand it well enough to speak about it with authority.

It made Kastus' second rule somewhat paradoxical. Speak as you act, with brevity and clarity. Ban supposed if you couldn't impart at least a layman's knowledge in short order, you didn't understand the situation all that well, either.

Ban rubbed at his eyes and frowned. Even after burning the man to ashes with hellfire, Ban still tried to adhere to his former master's teachings. Whatever else Kastus was-- traitor, murderer, war criminal-- he'd known better than to fight the world with just five thousand soldiers. No, Kastus and Ban's late brother had aimed to try it with twenty-five thousand.

Five times the manpower, but just as impossible.

You couldn't have won, Ban thought to his mentor in the Beyond. Every way Ban looked at the maps as he tried to catch a glimpse of the larger game made that clear. You had to know you couldn't win. Rodrik's Rebellion was doomed from the start. Even I can see that.

Ban's eyes fell on the stack of papers beside his maps. They were a transcription of the deciphered contents of Duke Falthis Algara's journal.

The civil war was a ploy. Vintus and Falthis wanted our squabbling to destabilize the Five Kingdoms and pave the way for the demons. Didn't you see it was hopeless? You must have.

There were few things Ban thought could surprise him anymore, but something inside him resisted the idea of Knight-General Kastus Valdar being a thrall.

He taught me Shoveth, Ban thought. A fell rune, that of decay which could alter a spell of fire to conjure black flames which gave no light. Ban used to favor the hellfire sigils he could craft with Shoveth for their power, but even then, he'd been wary of the destruction they were capable of. A small measure of ether waned in Ban's chest, heralding the use of his elder magic of insight.