Black Coven (Daniel Black Book 2) Page 2

  Walking through deep snow obviously wasn’t practical for a large band of refugees, but the hover-barge we’d used to escape Lanrest was too wide and clumsy for overland travel. So early in our trip I’d replaced it with a half-dozen smaller vehicles. Each one was essentially a stone box on skis, with a little driver’s cab in front and a larger cabin area behind it. The driver’s cabs had glass windshields, and the main cab generally had two or three small windows and doors at both ends.

  The interiors were pretty cramped for the number of people we had to house, but they provided good protection from both the weather and the occasional monster ambush. Of equal importance was the fact that I’d been able to teach some of the refugees how to operate the simple steering wheel and lever that controlled their movement enchantments, so I could spend my days working on more gear instead of driving the group around.

  They weren’t especially fast, since I didn’t want my inexperienced drivers to plow one into an obstacle and kill themselves. But the broad skis gave them a surprisingly low ground pressure, and they could negotiate the relatively flat terrain of southwestern Varmland at a steady jogging pace indefinitely. With two feet or more of snow on the ground no one was going to be matching that on foot, or even mounted.

  But the boxy masses of grey stone were an intimidating sight to those who weren’t familiar with them. It took a few minutes to reassure Carl’s men that they weren’t a threat, although I noticed that the wizard himself wasn’t especially concerned.

  “Moving shelters? Impressive,” he admitted.

  “It got us this far. So, is there room in the courtyard to park them? I’m assuming you’ll want to leave in the morning?”

  It was late afternoon, so that seemed like a safe bet.

  He studied the vehicles a moment longer, and nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that sounds like the best plan. I think we can fit three or four of those things in the courtyard, and block off the hole in the wall here with another one. You’re welcome to whatever you can salvage from the inn, as well. The owner died a week ago, and we’ve gathered a lot more materials that my men can move. There was supposed to be a detachment of royal troops arriving with more sleds two days ago, but I’m guessing they ran into the trolls.”

  “Could be,” I replied. “Does your team have a healer? If not, maybe I should take a look at your wounded.”

  Of the sixteen men left in his band Carl had seven seriously injured, and it seemed like half of the thirty or so peasants who’d taken refuge in the inn needed attention as well. I had to limit myself to stabilizing the wounded and giving a quick boost to the sick, and it was still nearly dark by the time I was finished. Fortunately Captain Rain was perfectly capable of getting our people settled in without my supervision, although of course there wasn’t room for more than a few at a time to come indoors.

  That wasn’t a problem we normally had, but we could cope. We blocked off the ruined gateway into the courtyard with one of the vehicles, just to make sure nothing nasty snuck in during the night. Then we hung canvas roofs between the ones in the courtyard to help trap heat, and set up a couple of big space heaters I’d made the week before in the mostly-empty barn.

  Each heater was just an x-shaped base supporting a tall pole of stone, with three broad iron fins jutting out near the top. They were enchanted to heat themselves red-hot when a small lever on the pole was flipped up, and cool back off when it was down. They put out as much heat as a small bonfire with no need to gather firewood, which made one more thing we didn’t need to stop to forage for. They also warmed the interior of the drafty stable to a tolerable level, and while I wouldn’t want to sleep on smelly straw I’d learned that peasants weren’t especially picky about such things.

  It also made a decent spot for an impromptu planning meeting.

  Gronir arrived first, since he and his little group of half-feral hunters were already in the barn. They were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after their fight with the troll, exchanging congratulations and re-enacting snippets of what had apparently been a pretty intense battle. I’d seen them bring down plenty of smaller threats with the wolf pack tactics they’d been developing, but a mountain troll was by far the toughest thing they’d ever tried it on. Even injured those things could easily outrun a man, and any hit it managed to land would likely be fatal.

  But Gronir’s pack weren’t exactly human anymore.

  The first time we’d killed a felwolf Avilla had cut its heart out and made steaks of it, using a ritual designed to endow anyone who joined the feast with a small fraction of the monster’s powers. Most people just got a little shot of endurance and cold resistance for a few days until it wore off, but a few of the refugee band I’d been leading had embraced the change eagerly enough that it became permanent. Gronir had somehow figured out what she’d done, too, and since Lanrest he’d persuaded her to do it again whenever the opportunity arose.

  One felwolf heart split among nearly a hundred refugees had barely been a noticeable effect. Five more split among seven men and three women had them well on the way to transforming into some kind of human-wolf hybrid. They were stronger and a lot tougher than normal people now, with sharper senses and an odd ability to run quickly over the top of the snow instead of sinking into it like the rest of us. I suppose that last bit had something to do with the magic that let a wolf the size of an elephant avoid the obvious square-cube law problems.

  It was a little unsettling, but I wasn’t going to begrudge anyone an edge that might help them survive in the middle of an apocalypse.

  Gronir had grown a couple of inches since I’d met him, but he was still a bit short of my own six feet. With a wiry build, narrow face and eyes that never stopped moving he was the sort you’d expect to see cast as a snitch in some gangster movie. He wore the grey shirt, trousers and cloak Avilla had managed to assemble for all the members of our little quasi-werewolf pack, with the black lightning bolt I’d adopted as my livery embroidered on the shirt.

  Daria came with him. The little thief who’d helped us in Lanrest had immediately fallen in with Gronir’s group, and there wasn’t much doubt the two were a couple now. She nodded politely to me, and set herself to combing Gronir’s hair while we waited for the others.

  She’d also gained a couple of inches since Lanrest, all of it in her legs. Her chestnut hair hung loose around her shoulders instead of being braided like most of the townswomen, and her manner was a lot less timid than when we’d first met. Becoming a wolf-girl seemed to agree with her.

  Marcus and Oskar arrived together, deep in a discussion about how best to arm the rest of their men when I had time to make another batch of magical weapons. The two were quite a contrast.

  Captain Rain was a minor noble from one of the kingdom’s richer cities, and the leader of the last few survivors of the 5th Margold infantry company. He stood just shy of six feet tall, with aristocratic features and an athletic build. He wore most of a suit of plate armor, absent the helm and a couple of other bits that hadn’t survived our trip, along with a thick cloak and a heavily-mended surcoat. The broadsword at his hip was his only weapon, although it was rather more effective since I’d put a force edge enchantment on it.

  In contrast, Oskar was a blacksmith who’d ended up leading an impromptu citizen militia back in Lanrest. He was a huge bear of a man, probably six foot eight, with massive muscles and a wild mop of red hair. His full beard was getting long enough that his wife had started braiding it for him, and the axe he carried looked like it had been sized for a troll. He didn’t bother much with armor, just a leather jerkin heavy enough to stop goblin arrows. For most of our journey he’d been in command of the militia force that formed the last line of defense for our caravan’s women and children, while Captain Rain led the smaller group of professional soldiers who did most of the fighting when we had a choice about it.

  Avilla and Cerise were the last to arrive, and I noticed that the blonde hearth witch was leaning on her lover for support now. I was really
getting worried about her.

  Cerise was thriving in this environment, but since she worshipped the goddess of black magic and murder that was hardly surprising. The dark-haired witch threw her cloak back the moment she entered the barn, uncovering a scandalously short dress that barely concealed anything of her lithe beauty. It especially failed to hide the tail peeking out from beneath her skirt, or the inhumanly perfect smoothness of her pale skin. She swept the room with a predatory gaze, heedless of the lingering chill, and smiled warmly at me.

  Usually Avilla would have managed to outshine her anyway, despite her more restrained demeanor. But the buxom hearth witch wasn’t human, and unlike us she couldn’t survive on a diet of scavenged grain and wolf steak forever. Her magically animated body had a long list of special needs, and while we could supply some of them we hadn’t had much luck scavenging sugar, honey or cinnamon from the ruined farming villages we’d passed.

  She’d held up well enough for most of the trip, but she was losing weight and her ever-present smile had grown strained. None of us knew how long she could go without, but I was starting to worry that she was near her limit. Fortunately we were almost to Kozalin, and I was sure a city that size would still have supplies of luxury goods. At least for now.

  “Marcus, Gronir, that was good work with the trolls,” I began. “A few more refinements, and I think you’ll be able to handle that sort of thing without me.”

  “You plan on going somewhere, boss?” Gronir said with a toothy grin.

  “No, but the more firepower we have the better I’ll feel about our chances,” I answered. “We’re almost to Kozalin, and a lot of things are going to change when we get there.”

  Avilla frowned. “You don’t think it will be safe?”

  I shook my head. “Safer from monster attacks, but we’ll have politics to worry about instead. I’m not going to get caught off guard again. Marcus, are you going to stick with us?”

  “Yes, sir. I don’t see we have much chance of getting home, if it’s even still there. We’re with you for the duration, although we do need to work out a contract.”

  “That’s fair,” I agreed. “We’ll talk details when we get there. It looks like I can get an introduction to the Conclave from Adept Stenberg, and from there I’m sure I can get in touch with whoever is in charge of the city. Avilla, unless things look a lot worse than expected I’m planning to build us a permanent home within a few days”

  She smiled wearily. “Thank you, Daniel. Having my own hearth again will help a lot.”

  “Good. I expect we’ll be able to find what you need in the city, but get your girls to check over the inn’s supplies anyway. There’s more here than the Adept’s men can transport, and they’re fine with us taking whatever we need. Oskar, I’d like some of your men detailed to help with that. Our own supplies are a little low, so let’s restock while we can.”

  “Yessir,” Oskar agreed. “If they have rope, we’ve got plenty of room on top the wagons for more boxes and barrels. Is this new place going to be a tower, like in Lanrest?”

  “More like a castle. I’m hoping the city will hold, but I want a position we can defend even if it doesn’t. You can assure your men that we’ll have a place for everyone who’s still here, and I hope to make things a lot more comfortable as well. Unless there’s someone you want to get rid of?”

  Everyone shook their heads at that. We’d started out with a number of troublemakers among the group, but by this point they’d all either shaped up or been left behind at one of the surviving towns we’d passed.

  Or died. I still felt a surge of guilt every time that happened. But I couldn’t be everywhere at once, and even if I could I was a long way from being invincible.

  “I think we’re good,” Oskar said.

  “Yeah, we finally ran out of dumbasses,” Cerise agreed. “I guess I get to start calling you ‘Master’, Mr. Dark Wizard sir?”

  “When it will support the story,” I chuckled.

  “Um, is there any chance of getting fresh clothes here?” Avilla asked. “Or even just cloth and thread? A lot of our people still don’t have much.”

  “If it’s here and the Adept’s people haven’t already claimed it you can take it,” I told her. “First priority is food, but clothing, weapons and armor are right after that. We’re on our last day of travel here, so I guess we can crowd up the transports a little more if there’s a lot of good stuff to take.”

  Marcus frowned. “Sir? If we’re planning to travel with the people here, how will they keep up? I can’t see them making more than three or four miles a day on foot, and we’ve still got fifteen miles or so to go.”

  “Yeah, I’d thought of that. I’m going to pull an all-nighter and make some cargo sleds we can tow. It’ll slow us down a little, but not like keeping pace with people on foot. Just get a look at what’s available here before I’m done with the first one. If there’s anything good I want to claim it before Stenberg realizes he’s not going to be limited to what his men can carry on their backs.”

  There were chuckles at that, but Avilla and Oskar exchanged concerned glances.

  “Again, sir?” Oskar said uncertainly. “You sure you’re not pushing that a little too hard?”

  I sighed. “It needs to be done, Oskar. I can catch a nap in the morning while we travel, so I’m not completely out of it when we get there. Hopefully things will slow down once I’ve got a stronghold built, and I can sleep for a couple of weeks.”

  It was a nice thought, but somehow I doubted things would work out that way.

  Chapter 2

  Kozalin was a lot more impressive than I’d expected.

  Back on my own Earth, low-tech cities were invariably tiny and overcrowded compared to modern megalopolises. It takes enormous amounts of labor to build anything with muscle power and hand tools, especially if you’re working in stone. So aside from a few monuments built at staggering expense by emperors or pharaohs, ancient structures tend to be surprisingly small and cramped.

  But in this world they had magic.

  I’d gathered that Varmland was a pretty big kingdom, encompassing what in my world would have been the Danish peninsula, southern Scandinavia and a good chunk of the Baltic Coast. The geography didn’t quite match up - the Baltic Sea seemed to be a lot smaller in this world, and there was a stretch of flat farmland and a couple of rivers where the Kattegat should have been. All told the Kingdom was about the size of modern France, and had probably had over a million inhabitants before Fimbulwinter began.

  Kozalin was the major center of magical learning in the Kingdom, and it showed. The city was built on the north bank of a major river I was pretty sure was the Elb, a few miles inland of where it emptied into the North Sea. The landward side was defended by a wall that had to be forty feet tall, a fact that was all the more impressive because the city was several miles across. A moat wide enough to look like a small lake stretched out from the base of the wall, crossed at three points by stone bridges that would have formed nasty choke points in warmer weather.

  Round towers rose well above the level of the wall, their flat tops supporting a variety of both mundane and magical siege engines. At the eastern end of the city a cluster of even taller towers advertised the location of Brokefang Castle, an ancient fortress that was widely considered impregnable after withstanding an attack by dragons several centuries ago. At the western end of the city a gleaming metal spire hundreds of feet tall marked the home of the Red Conclave, the most powerful organization of mages in Northern Europe. The sky overhead was patrolled by a flight of knights mounted on griffons, and I could see the immaterial glow of a vast network of magical protections enclosing the entire settlement.

  Unfortunately, any hope of safety we might have entertained was dashed by the breach in the wall.

  The frozen moat was littered with the bodies of giants, a mute testament to the price they’d paid for that hole in the city’s defenses. Hundreds of laborers were already at work turning the mo
und of rubble in the gap into a proper barricade, guarded by several companies of soldiers. But if a band of giants could accomplish that much, what kind of damage would a dragon do? Or a pack of ungols?

  A city this size wouldn’t fall easily, but protecting it would demand a steady price in blood from the men who held the walls. If this went on long enough, eventually there wouldn’t be enough of them left to man the defenses.

  Judging from his expression, Carl was having similar thoughts.

  “There must have been at least a hundred of them,” he observed. “With an enchanted battering ram, I suppose. Damn, but Loki’s allies are getting bold.”

  I nodded. “They haven’t been finding much that can stop them. Although I’m surprised they’re already attacking a place like Kozalin. You’d think they’d work their way through the smaller towns first, and then take the time to concentrate their forces.”

  Carl shook his head. “Probably just testing our defenses. They’ll strike where we’re weak, and leave the stronger positions for later. So we’d better make Kozalin as strong as we can, eh? I bet you can repair that breach before the next attack.”

  “Yeah, I can fix that in an afternoon.”

  “See? Come on, let’s get our people settled so I can introduce you around. The High Adepts will be happy to have you.”

  The first part of that turned out to be easier said than done, at least for me. The gate guards recognized Carl’s group and let us in readily enough, but once inside we found that the city was packed with refugees. The main streets were mostly clear, but every alley and plaza was clogged with carts, livestock and huddled masses of desperate people. The inns were full to overflowing with nobles and wealthy merchants, and soldiers spilled out of the towers and barracks spaces to cover drill fields and practice yards with closely-spaced tents. By the time we were halfway to the Conclave’s tower Carl was shaking his head apologetically.

  “I should have realized the city would be like this,” he admitted. “I’ve probably sent a thousand people here myself, and there were a lot of us working rescue early on. Maybe the Conclave will have room?”