After only an hour of studying Jyrok, Samuel was forced to conclude that it would be a tough nut to crack. Its position next to the only large road and its proximity to the coastal cliffs was ideal. It had stood for over four hundred years, after all, and repelled many would-be invaders who had come by sea. Shame it hadn’t worked this time, he thought. Now it was in the hands of the enemy. He could easily make out the scores of men camped on the hills around the fortress. At least eight hundred, he estimated.
The design of the fortress was simple as far as defensive structures went. Built out of the dark grey stone of the area, the walls measured approximately six meters in height, spread between four tall towers. There was enough room for thirty men to stand comfortably atop the flat towers, to rain arrows down on anybody who sacked the fortress. A central tower, the keep, rose just a little higher than the others, almost lost to sight amidst the low-hanging grey clouds that seemed a permanent feature of the sky in this part of the country.
“Any idea what’s become of the village?” He asked, of no one in particular. He knew that, on the other side, a small village had been constructed in the structure’s shadow, housing some hundred villagers who worked the rough ground and hauled in fish for the settlement. It was about the same size as Harlest, on the southwestern coast. But up here in the north, the trades were a little different. It wasn’t produced that was found here, but raw materials such as metal, coal, and gems.
“We received a report from Lord Tokugawa two hours ago,” one of his officers replied. “He and a few of his companions managed to slip inside the village to learn more. For the most part, the villagers are left to their own devices. They are not being harmed by the invaders.”
“That will likely change when we begin our assault,” Samuel said pensively, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Tobi slipped into the village, did he? That’s not a bad idea.”
“We cannot hope to sneak men inside the castle, my lord,” his officer said, sounding apologetic. “Their security is too tight, and they have killed anyone who has approached.”
“I don’t plan on sneaking men in,” Samuel explained, and the man relaxed his shoulders slightly. Then he looked tense again as Samuel clarified. “We’ll be sending only one man in, to look around and lay a trap.”
“Who?”
Samuel turned slowly to face the officer, a wry grin on his face. “Let’s pull the men back a bit. We don’t want a stray scout to spot us tonight. And no cook fires.”
The officer looked a little perturbed as Samuel dodged the question, but saluted nonetheless, and hurried off to extend his orders to the others. Samuel remained where he was, his eyes locked on the imposing fortress. He watched the movement of men on the walls and towers, observing their patrols and their patterns. It was as the officer had said. The security was very strict, and the men showed no signs of exhaustion or sleepiness. The guard must be changed regularly to prevent mishaps, he thought. That meant that sneaking in from the ground was nigh impossible.
He spent another twenty minutes or so in his silent vigil, taking note of as many details as he could. He only broke his fierce concentration when one of his attendants, a man placed within the army to watch over him, approached with a plate of food. Samuel had protested vehemently to having an attendant at first, but he’d been unsuccessful in dissuading Aren. The Prime Magus had insisted that this was traditional. The attendant took care of his basic needs, ensuring that he was in top form. So Samuel had finally agreed, on the condition that his attendant be a competent fighter at the very least. He didn’t want to waste any time protecting someone when he needed all his power for the offense.
“Your meal is ready, Lord Bragg,” the attendant said quietly. Samuel gave a quiet sigh that the man didn’t notice, and accepted the plate of food with a quiet word of thanks. It was stale bread and dry, tough meat. Far from the comfort food he’d grown accustomed to during his life in Milagre, he thought. Still, it was better than the plain fare he’d eaten before he’d learned of his fate, while he was still a poor map maker in Harlest. He retreated a few dozen feet down the slope of the hill he’d been laying on and sat down to eat.
“You go get some food for yourself, Edmund,” he told the attendant. Edmund looked resolute for a moment, but as Samuel stared at him pointedly, he accepted the order with good grace and a brief salute. “Of course, Lord Bragg. Please enjoy your rations.”
Samuel had to resist the urge to snort with laughter as Edmund retreated to the main force, and procured sustenance for himself. He was a former soldier with some aptitude in magic, Samuel had come to learn. Already an experienced warrior at thirty-four years old, he had enrolled in the College of Milagre to sharpen his arcane talents. He was unremarkable as a student but had nevertheless advanced to Journeyman rank already, so he had some skill. Samuel dismissed the thought of his attendant and wolfed down his unremarkable food in large bites, letting his mind wander freely.
He wouldn’t try to claim that he was exactly unqualified for the role he’d been offered, per se. He was pragmatic enough to admit that he had a good mastery of arcane magic after nearly six years of constant study. He was even competent when it came to physical magics and fighting with his sword. His only unrefined skill was the ability to lead other men. But, of course, he had attendants and officers to aid him in this regard. Though fresh to the role, he did not doubt that he could fulfill it.
The real struggle would be convincing the officers under him of his plan. He knew that they would view it as hare-brained, or even possibly suicidal. They might even try to stop him by force. But he also knew that, while unorthodox, it was a good plan. And as Grimr had once told him, success tends to make the unorthodox acceptable. He blinked, thinking through that last thought. He almost slapped himself on the head as he realized the path he needed to take.
Setting the plate to the side and crossing his legs, he began to measure his breath. In. Out. In. Out. Within a minute, he’d slipped into the by now familiar meditative trance, where he felt a vague connection to the various parts of himself; body, mind, and soul. He reached out with his mind and soul, casting in no particular direction, certain that he’d find his way eventually. Sure enough, his focus snapped in the right direction, revealing a new scene to his eyes, or rather his mind.
“Grimr, I need a moment of your time.”
Grimr was, as usual, lounging in the bowl of a massive, ancient tree. It was the first that he’d brought to life after defeating Neratas, and it was the core of the forest. The ancient was in his human form, and appeared to be nothing more than a young boy with shaggy brown hair and dressed in hides. But then his face swiveled to look at Samuel, and the glowing violet eyes ruined the illusion. He grinned lazily, and clambered gracefully to his feet, pacing a few feet forward. He had the usual necklace of fangs around his neck, the memento he always carried, in honor of his fallen elder brother.
“Nice of you to pay a visit,” He said in his low growl of a voice. Yet another feature that hinted at his extraordinary nature. “Well, you seem in a hurry. What is it?”
“I’m with the army, near Jyrok,” Samuel said simply. Grimr’s face showed understanding, and he continued. “The fortress is more solid than I expected, so I need to find a way inside without being detected.”
Grimr appeared to ponder the matter for a few seconds, staring off into the distance just over Samuel’s shoulder. Maybe he was peering in the direction of Jyrok, the mage thought. After a short pause, his mouth twisted in a grimace. “That’s a tall order. I remember the day that Jyrok was built. The architect in charge of it was no fool. He spared no expense.”
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“I could tell,” Samuel said dryly. “But I thought you might have some idea for me, as an Ancient. Are there any secret passageways in and out of the fortress?”
Grimr looked at him in mild bewilderment, before letting out a short bark of laughter. “You’ve been reading too many epic tales, young Samuel. That kind of fantasy does not occur in real life.”
Samuel glared back at him, his mouth twisted into a disapproving frown. This only seemed to amuse Grimr more. “Well, then, can you offer me any advice? You’re as old as the land itself, after all.”
“That is true,” Grimr admitted, growing serious once more. “But my experience as an Ancient won’t help you. Whatever words I could offer, you already know. But I can provide some assistance in my second role.”
Samuel was confused for a moment, then the realization sunk in. “You mean as God of Nature.”
“Specifically as a Guardian. I am in tune with all the natural centers of the world, not to mention the hotspots of natural magic. There just so happens to be one very near to Jyrok, that you could take advantage of. I think you know the one.”
“The coastal winds,” Samuel guessed. “I know they’re powerful, but how can they help me?”
Grimr did not answer that question directly. “Do you know how the dragons used to train their hatchlings to fly?”
Samuel shook his head, and Grimr continued. “They would lay their eggs at the base of the cliffs, far from the reach of any predators. When the child hatched, it would use the winds to travel safely to the cliffs.”
Samuel finally understood. “I can use the winds to get high enough that I won’t be noticed, then descend on the fortress.”
“Correct,” Grimr agreed. “Though I should warn you, it is a dangerous task. The winds are more chaotic at the bottom, and it will take a great deal of strength and cunning to survive them and reach the upper drafts.”
“That’s enough for me,” Samuel said. “I’ll figure that out on my own. Thank you, Grimr.”
The Ancient gave a lazy wave as Samuel pulled away, already stalking back to the tree to resume his dozing. Samuel blinked, and he was once again back in his body. To his surprise, Edmund had returned, with two of his officers, and the three of them were staring at him intently. They were obviously curious to learn what he’d discovered, assuming he’d been meditating. He stretched his legs back to their more comfortable straight position and leaned back on his hands.
“Edmund mentioned that you have a plan, Lord Bragg,” one of the officers said. “Will you share it with us? We can mobilize enough men for it.”
“We won’t need any men,” Samuel said. “I’m more than enough, and I have less of a risk of discovery if I go alone.”
Their reaction was more or less what Samuel had expected. “My lord! This plan is suicidal! You cannot hope of entering that stronghold and leaving alive!”
“How can you even enter?” Edmund asked. Out of all of the advisors, he’d remained silent, offering the sensible question rather than give way to an outburst of emotion. “Aren’t there wards to protect against unwanted teleportation?”
It was a logical assumption and an action that every force took when preparing for a fight. Samuel nodded in confirmation of his guess. He’d scanned the fortress from afar before, and had identified the barriers that would stop a normal mage from entering without severe injury. Of course, he could avoid them by using World Shift. But that spell was unpredictable, and, even if he was successful, the risk of other mages discovering the spell was too high. “There are indeed such wards in place.”
Edmund frowned deeply. “Then you’d have to approach in person. They’d spot you at once. Even if you disguised yourself, they won’t trust a stranger. Everyone is the enemy to them.”
“That is true,” Samuel said, heaving himself back to his feet with a sigh. If he didn’t cut the conversation short now and leave, they’d just delay him further with attempts to dissuade him. “Keep the men back and out of sight. You’re already far beyond my search radius, so I doubt anyone else could manage to sense you from Jyrok. Still, keep enchantments up to protect against God’s Eye, just in case.”
He directed this last statement to Edmund who, while still looking confused and obstinate, nodded his understanding and gave Samuel a salute. He was a good man, Samuel thought. He didn’t waste time trying to convince Samuel not to go with his plan. He instinctively knew he’d never succeed. Strangely, his acceptance seemed to take the edge off the indignant refusal of the others. “May the God of War be with you, Lord Bragg.”
Samuel gave a brief wave in reply, then took to the air. By now, his flight spell was almost instantaneous, and he had no problem clearing a hundred yards in just a few seconds. A smile touched his lips at the brief prayer. He was sure that Shigeru had been glancing down at him from the Divine Isles from time to time, and would doubtless be aware of what he had planned. If he were here in person, he’d ridicule such a reckless plan, and then offer his aid so that its chances of success rose. Out of all the warriors, Samuel had ever known, Shigeru was one of the most impulsive. Even in old age, he thought, though he did his best to hide it from others.
Samuel took a long, curving route to the cliffs, keeping his distance from the fortress. He knew he was in the right spot when his spell was no longer necessary to stay afloat. He canceled the magic, enjoying the sensation of unassisted flight for a moment before preparing to descend. He tried to part the surging winds with his mana at first, but they were too strong. That wasn’t a total surprise to him, and he had a backup. He pointed his hands down to the base of the cliffs that he could barely make out and thrust one hand down like a sword.
“Hati.”
The single word, spoken in the ancient language, was enough. The column of wind split in half, and he dropped like a boulder in their absence. The updraft was split all the way down to the base, and he caught himself with a summoned gust of wind just in time, directing himself to the side right before the column reformed. He alighted upon a nearby flat wet rock and immediately lost his balance as a lone gust of wind knocked him over. He slammed down onto his back and cursed, his voice lost over the howl of the many different air currents around him. Grimr had not been exaggerating, he thought. He could scarcely hear himself think over the tumult of sounds.
“Hati,” he said again, directing both hands forward. To his surprise, this had virtually no effect. Splitting one stream out of his way just made space for another to come through, which smacked him full in the face and knocked him over once more. Now it was the elbow of his sword arm that was sore from impact against the rock. He cursed again, despite not being able to hear it. Finally, he created a barrier around his body that consisted entirely of mana, with an extra effect to redirect any wind that hit it. Once it was complete, he shrank it to fit his body.
That made a difference, he noticed. Random gusts still hit him, but they didn’t upset his balance at all. Even better, the drain on his resources was negligible. That problem solved, he paced back and forth, staring up at the various gusts. He noticed that not all the air currents were permanent. Some were born, flew around until they hit something, and died. Their movements reminded him of the chaotic creature he’d fought in Zaban with Tobi. Except that this was natural chaos, rather than the product of human failure.
In the end, the answer was simple, if terrifying. He had to use his sharp senses and reflexes to jump into a stream right as it formed. He had to ride that stream until it crossed paths with the main updrafts and put as much force as he could into his upward flight. Taking a deep breath, he crouched low, his legs tensed, waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Then, he saw the opening and jumped. He put as much wind behind him as he could, giving him enough speed to punch through the outer edge of the stream. Immediately it accepted him and began directing him along its path.
Now was the difficult part, he thought to himself. As it whirled around and around, nearly slamming him onto the surface of the cliff, he was tumbled about, spinning in every direction as he tried desperately to keep his attention focused on the main updraft. Now! He let out a massive burst of air, with just enough force to propel him out of his stream and into the main column. Then he righted himself in the more stable current and boosted his ascension with his own flying spell. In the blink of an eye, he was past the edge of the cliff. Then he was hundreds of feet above it, the combined forces of updraft and his magic having thrust him higher than should have been possible.
The air was thin up here, he noticed. With a quick gesture, he condensed the air around him to make breathing easier. Then he set the wind around him to push him forward in a gentle glide, glancing down at the rocky terrain below him. He could just barely make out the cook fires of his force below, hidden from Jyrok’s position by three hills. And there was Jyrok itself, about the size of his fist from this distance. He pushed himself a bit further to the side, then, with a deep breath to steady his nerves, canceled the spell. Much like Bora Bora did on the other side of the continent, he began to fall like a rock, aiming directly at the fortress below him.