Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen by Scott Rhine Read Free Book Online

minute and help us see them almost as well as they see us.”
    “I’ll tell the Prefect about their attack,” said one messenger.
    “I appreciate what you’re doing to give her . . .us the best chance of escape,” Pinetto told the smith. “I want to do the same for you. Watch the wolves. When they come at you, lure them into my tent. I’ve put all my remaining mana into those wards. Stand back-to-back in the circle until the spirits retreat.”
    The smith clasped his hand. “Brothers.”
    An only child, the astronomer repeated the word softly.
    Legato shouted, “Move!”
    Pinetto found the group of about a dozen archers hurriedly grabbing their personal gear. One was breaking down a tent. “Leave it! We cross now,” he ordered.
    The sentry he’d met before handed him two wooden racks with handles on the top almost like a croquet set, but much heavier. Inside were rows of foot-long metal darts. “I’m Strongbow. Those are for you.” Strongbow was a Semenosian with a bow made from magically hardened holy wood. Most men in the company couldn’t even string the beast let alone fire it. This gave the archer a certain informal command status among the troops.
    “I’ve never used anything like this before,” the wizard protested as they hustled to the banks of the river. “What do I do?”
    “Pretend the people coming toward you are trying to kill you. Kill them first.” Then no one could be heard over the splashing and shivering in the river. Fortunately the water level never rose as far as his testicles.
    Pinetto guided them to the easiest landfall. When Strongbow arrived, he began to bark orders. “I need a forty-five degree arc of coverage. The wings aim long and fire at will. Center gets the hostiles that reach the water.”
    “What about me?” asked the fledgling wizard, chilled to the bone.
“You’re cleanup. Anyone gets to this side, or even the shallows, you take care of them before they reach us. We’re going to be too busy to defend ourselves,” explained the head sentry, removing his bow from its waterproof wrap.
    “No pressure,” said Pinetto unpacking his toy darts and planting them in a circle around him. There were thirty darts in all. His bolo was still in the tent.
    The spike pits were torched, lighting the beach, as his fellows finished their meager preparations. The wizard felt helpless as the action started. His darts didn’t have the range to even cross the river. But he could see what was happening in startling detail, better than anyone else. When a bright, white column flared into the sky, Pinetto explained with a grin, “We just killed their first spirit. One for our side, boys.”
    The tent was cut to ribbons by the spirit assault, but the smith and the prince held the wolves at bay, the Defender slashing the nose or flank of any wolf that got too close. After losing two or three of their best spirits, the summoners recalled the beasts. A cheer went up from the men of the South.
    The first few ox herders got lost in the dark and began to drift with the river current. Pinetto called out to them. “To me, anyone who wants to live! Over here.” Once a line of men and goods stretched across the river, maintaining it was easy. Unfortunately, men from both sides of the conflict began pouring into the water. Before long, the wizard had to launch his first dart to protect a herdsman from a charging Imperial. The dart only hit the man’s leg, but was sufficient to discourage pursuit. The next target took two throws before he collapsed into the dark waters.
    The more darts Pinetto threw, the more he prayed. Soon, he got good at both. Eventually Sajika showed up to guard his back, and a growing number of scouts covered his flanks. He had injured at least twelve men and had only five darts left when the smith clapped his friend on the shoulder.
    “Leap frog up the hill behind us,” the smith said, covered in gore.
    Pinetto nodded. This leg of the trip was easier. He needed only