by Jim Hodgson
Wagast let fly with a slow-moving fireball that hung in the air long enough to provide some light to the shapes moving ahead and trying to cut them off before they reached safety. As soon as she could see, Yonca began firing smaller, faster fireballs of her own which felled Yetkin wherever it found them. Wagast too was using smaller fireballs, flinging them as fast as he could and laying waste to the Yetkin running alongside. They were fast. Too fast. But there was no time to despair of that now.
Out of the corner of his eye, Wagast saw a big fireball incoming. There must be a Yetkin mage behind them somewhere. Wagast yelled in Yonca’s ear to dodge left again, then waited for a sickening moment before raising his shield. Fractions of a second before the fireball burned all three of them to dust, Wagast got his shield up. He sent a volley of fast-moving fireballs in return, but had no way of knowing whether it hit anything. Probably not.
They were within sight of the tunnel now. Yonca hollered at the gate to get them started opening it.
Wagast cast a tiny globe of light and held his robe aside to investigate where the missile had hit him and what he saw there chilled his blood a hundred degrees below freezing.
There was a tiny black mark, which was bad enough, but even worse were the tiny veins spider-webbing outward from it. He cast a healing potion spell as quietly as he could, hoping against hope that Yonca wouldn’t hear him, then downed every drop and cast the vial over his shoulder.
She didn’t say anything.
Phew, he thought.
Back inside the tunnel he slid off Yonca’s spider and headed up the stairs alongside Yonca to brief Usta and the rest of the leaders on what they’d seen. His legs felt strong. He checked his hands when Yonca wasn’t looking. They were steady.
He’d have another look at the mark on his upper chest later, but it seemed he would be okay.
Chapter 37
Ozel nearly died before he even knew the battle had begun. He was chatting with one of the younger wizards when someone shouted. Ozel had time to turn before the fireball streaked into the side of his stone tower, taking a chunk out and causing part of the structure’s walls to crumble. The floor under Ozel tilted as if in slow motion and suddenly he was falling into the night. One of the archers managed to grab his clothes and haul him back to safety, but it was only luck that they’d had something solid to stand on. Had the attack hit the tower full-on they’d all have been lost.
“Everyone out,” he yelled from the floor, then scrambled to his feet. “The tower could collapse at any moment. Out!”
The narrow stairway was a good design for defensive purposes since it meant only one man at a time could go up or down, but it was agonizing for evacuation. The wizards and archers were flying on the supercharged energy of mortal fear though, so they made it down the stairs and out the wooden door in record time, even if one of the men had made most of the trip sliding down headfirst, breastplate clanging on each stair as he went. Ozel reached down, grabbed the struggling man’s armor by the arm holes and hauled him outside. The man got to his feet and nodded his thanks.
“Go to the other towers and warn them all!” Ozel yelled. Then, because he knew that frightened people needed specific instructions, he pointed to each person in turn. “One! Two! Three! Four!” he yelled at each of them, and so on, until each person had been given a tower to warn.
Judging by the fireballs already streaking out of some of the other towers, however, they knew the battle was on.
Ships were approaching, but the only reason Ozel could see them was the fireballs being loosed by the other towers. The ships were black, with no sails and no oars. It looked like the first of them would attempt landfall directly ahead of his position, so he sent a fireball straight into the air to alert Alabora. But since his tower was now empty and he’d given all his men jobs to go and warn others, until some of them came back or Alabora’s men arrived, Ozel was now alone and guarding a gap in the shoreline defenses.
There was nothing for it. He had to get outside the wall and do what he could to keep those ships from landing here until he was reinforced.
He swore under his breath, then prepared to run to the coastline. He had to dodge as another big fireball came arcing through the air. As Ozel rolled, the fireball struck the earth and threw up a spray of dirt, some of which went into Ozel’s eyes. He wiped at his face to clear the dust, but as he was blinking it away he could see figures leaping over the side of the closest ship. They’d be ashore soon, and Alabora wasn’t here yet. It was up to him.
He scrambled to his feet and ran toward the wall, then through the zigzagging passage in the wall to the water line. When he emerged, he was ducking and dodging to avoid glowing green missiles. Were they arrows? Magic? He couldn’t tell, but he knew from the direction they were flying from that he didn’t want to get hit with one.
The figures in the water were firing green missiles toward the other towers. Ozel saw a few enemies tumble as wooden arrows found their marks. A ship in the distance took a direct hit from one of his wizard’s fireballs and the Yetkin inside screamed and jumped overboard. Near the shoreline, huge figures were splashing in the water, making white foam in their efforts to get ashore. The closest one held an axe with a blade the size of Ozel’s body.
The green missiles were coming faster now, the closer Ozel got to the shore, but he knew what he had to do. He cast a shield to protect himself and tried to keep one eye on the ground to keep from stumbling over any rocks. He just needed a few more feet. He looked up again and realized that the Yetkin beast splashing ashore ahead of him would slice him in two with that enormous axe. It was now or never.
Ozel cast a lightning spell he’d been working on since his battle with the hill people on his first trip to Ilbez. The lightning arced to the closest Yetkin, who already had his axe raised to strike. The lightning caught the Yetkin square in the chest. The beast froze and convulsed as the bolt fanned out behind him to catch a few of his foes. Ozel was momentarily glad to see the beasts splash into the sea without technically making it to Dilaran land. Then as the big attacker in front of him went down, Ozel heard two earth-shaking booms in quick succession. He whipped his head around to see two of the defensive towers crumbling down.
There was a splashing sound, then the sound of metal on metal. Ozel had nearly been cleaved in two by a Yetkin axeman but was saved at the last minute by a soldier. Ozel rolled away, then resumed fighting as more soldiers arrived. He wanted to thank the soldier who had saved his life, but saw that one of the glowing green missiles had hit its mark and he was clutching at his chest and screaming.
Ozel let fly with a wide area of flame attack and felled another handful of Yetkin. Soldiers were crowding in from his sides and he wanted to order them to give him space to work, but they were shouting something.
“Master Ozel, we must regroup behind the wall!”
Ozel nodded, and cast one more fireball out into the ships trying to come ashore and saw it land dead in the middle of a black boat, sending the occupants scattering into the waves.
As they retreated inside the defensive beach wall, Ozel could see up the beach. Other Yetkin craft were disgorging big fighters onto the shore. They were taking heavy casualties from magical and conventional fire.
Still, the enemy was coming ashore. War had landed in Dilara.
Chapter 38
Wagast and Yonca relayed the details of their scouting mission to Usta, Nazenin, and Alabas Solak, who had been elected to represent the extramortals until they crowned a new king. Since the primary magical weapon at hand was fire, the extramortals were being held in reserve for when, and if, the fighting became strictly hand-to-hand.
Usta thought it would probably be a “when.”
“We can improve the tunnel’s magical defenses,” Yonca said, nodding at Wagast. “But they will not last forever. The giants they are using to throw the fireballs have a range no wizard could hope to match.”
“We think that against the foot soldiers and even the
mages, we could withstand a siege at the tunnel indefinitely,” Wagast said. Something stuck in his throat as he was speaking and he gave a little cough. He was getting too old for war. “But with those long-range throwers, they’ll destroy the tunnel sooner or later.”
“They might even be able to make their own tunnel,” Yonca observed.
Wagast grunted in agreement.
“So, we should go out? Meet them on open ground?” Usta asked.
“Heavy losses,” Wagast said. “They have light-ranged attacks as well as the heavy throwers.” He thought a moment. “What if we arrange for the tunnel’s collapse, fall back into Dilara and take up fortified positions there?”
“If they truly have an evil wizard, he should be able to sniff out a trap like that,” Yonca said.
“Perhaps he won’t notice?” Usta suggested.
Wagast and Yonca looked at him.
Usta put his hands up that it was just a suggestion. “I’d like to hear your thoughts, Nazenin.”
The fighter frowned. “I think if our choices are heavy losses or total losses, there’s not much of a decision to be made.”
Usta let a long breath escape as he considered that.
“I’d like to make a suggestion,” Solak said.
“Yes, of course, Lord Solak,” Usta said.
Solak chuckled. “Oh, I’m no lord, Your Majesty. But I think my people could be of service.”
“How so?” Usta asked.
“We could go over the mountain in a flanking attack, do our best to make our way to the enemy’s rear, and disable the magic throwers.”
The rest of the table looked around at one another.
Solak continued, “I believe we could be over the mountain and on the field of battle within, say, eighteen hours? Add another few hours to maneuver as needed and we could be flanking them before dawn a day hence.”
“Are you sure you could ask some of your people to do that?” Usta asked. “You’ve already given so much. And lost much as well.”
Solak opened his hands and then closed them as he spoke. “Your Majesty, all my people want is to be of purpose. We objected to being slaves, but we have never minded hard work. I rather think I’ll have trouble finding extramortals who do not want to be in the raiding party.”
“We could field some riders as well to cause a distraction,” Nazenin said. “No question that Ilbez’s warriors will be game to take the fight to the Yetkin.”
“Wagast?” Usta asked. “Yonca?”
“It is a great sacrifice,” Yonca said.
“Could also be our only hope,” Wagast said.
Usta sighed. “All right then. Against such long odds it makes me ill to think of throwing Dilara’s allies into harm’s way.”
Solak bowed his head. “With respect, Your Majesty, it makes my people ill to stand idly by.”
Ergam heard them coming before he saw them climbing up the hill. He considered just lying still in the rocks and not saying anything, but this was probably his last chance.
The words “last chance,” rattled around in his brain for a moment, but didn’t stick to anything.
But yes, a last chance to hear news of his friends. A last chance to send them a message, if he could think of any. Last chance.
He intercepted the group as they were climbing to the high pass near his peak. He was surprised to see that they were decked out for ultimate stealth. Each extramortal had removed every shred of clothing so that they were just bones and whatever flesh still clung to them. Then they’d all been dusted with charcoal ash so that their bones were black as night and gave no reflection. On flat ground they’d be fast, silent, and nearly invisible at night.
“If you’ve come to find me, you’ve succeeded,” he called to them. “If you’ve come to talk me down, turn around.”
The party stopped, looked at one another. “We’ve come to do neither, Your Majesty,” one said.
Ergam stared. They wouldn’t lie about this. “Ah, ... well, er. What are you doing up here, then?”
Again the party members looked at each other. More were climbing up the hill. There must be a couple of dozen of them.
“We’re a raid,” the one who had spoken first said. “The Yetkin have giants who can throw magic great distances. We are a flanking attack.”
“Oh,” Ergam said. “They sound nasty.”
The other man nodded his night-black skull.
Ergam said, “What of my friends? Ozel, Aysu, Usta, everyone?”
“All well,” the man said. But then he added ominously, “For now.”
“For now?”
A shrug. “If our raid succeeds, we may have a chance. The enemies are many and powerful.”
“I see,” Ergam said. He felt a surge within himself. Shouldn’t he be with his friends, especially if they were facing great odds? Perhaps. But then again, where would he have been all these years without his father? It was just so massively unfair what had happened, that his great father should meet so ignominious an end. The only way Ergam could see to deal with the pain and loss was to walk the same road his father had. “Good luck and good hunting to you all,” he said.
The man nodded, took a step forward again, looked at Ergam, then resumed walking. The war party, black as night and nearly as quiet, followed.
Ergam watched them go. He considered that in a moment like this he should be a mixed bag of emotions, but that was one of the problems. He didn’t have proper emotions anymore. All he had was the knowledge that he had to do this.
He’d made a few attempts but they hadn’t quite worked. His working theory was that he’d not used enough metal stacked around himself. Now that he’d hauled the cart of scrap metal from below up here, he had plenty. There was a sword in the pile as well, which made a good tool for lifting chains with one hand once he already had some metal piled around him.
He was ready. It would be tonight.
Chapter 39
A series of crossed posts had been planted into the soft bottom at the mouth of the river with sharpened tips of great timbers pointing skyward at an angle. The hope was that these timbers would stop any ships trying to sail up the river to disgorge enemy combatants directly into the city. The good news was that this appeared to be working well. A number of Yetkin ships had been speared by the timbers and stopped. But no one had predicted the Yetkin ships’ ability to fling huge balls of magical fire into the air.
As the sun dawned, after a night of bloody fighting along the coastline, the defenders of Dilara could see that many of the Yetkin ships were fitted with wooden contraptions that could cause a ball of magical fire to sail into the air. These were being used to shell the town from the mouth of the river, and while much of the city was out of range, the parts that weren’t were being devastated. Bucket brigades were formed down to the river edge, but the age of the structures lent themselves well to total devastation by fire.
Kadin, as interim captain of the city watch, organized the bucket brigades as best she could given that she was, herself, terrified. “Post!” she yelled.
“Right here,” he called back, running out the door of the house they’d been checking for survivors. It wasn’t easy to recognize him with half his face covered in a smudge of black ash.
The next house on the street wasn’t just filled with smoke. The roof was beginning to catch. The one beyond that was lost to the flames completely, but this one might still have someone in it.
Kadin had snatched a bucket off the cobbles that was half-full of rank water of unknown vintage. Despite the smell, she poured it over herself, then thrust the empty bucket at him. “Go fill that in the river and then come back and throw it on me.”
He gave the bucket a look as though she were trying to hand him a live ball of snakes.
“Take it!” she barked. “I want you to keep me doused with water.”
“But what about me?”
“You’re alive, Post! You’re like a goddamn bag of water on legs. I’m a hat rack made of kindling w
ith a coat on. Now move!”
Post snatched the bucket and ran off toward the river. Kadin nodded after him, and plunged into the nearby house.
The smoke inside was getting thicker by the minute, but she managed to find her way around by crouching down a bit. She heard movement and what sounded like whimpering coming from upstairs. For a frustrated moment she thought the stairs to the second floor might be on the outside, but then she found the narrow stairway. Looking up the stairs she could see the smoke was even thicker. She heard the pitiful noise again, and this time it sounded even more human. Someone was definitely up there, and she was probably that person’s only hope.
She pounded up the stairs, then dropped to her hands and knees so she could see a little better where she was going. The smoke was so thick up here it would probably have killed anyone with lungs. Kadin kept her head swiveling left and right in case anything like a spark or naked flame revealed itself. She’d been told ever since her first death that she was horribly flammable and to stay far, far away from anything like a flame. She considered that most extramortals in her current position would have jumped into the river and moved away along the bottom never to be seen again. Who gave a good goddamn if the city of Dilara burned to the ground, anyway? They’d enslaved her people. The city had killed her. But even so, there was still one person who would have run even faster toward danger than she did; her father.
She heard the noise again, and pushed a door to her left open. The smoke was a little lighter in here due to an open window in the far wall. An old woman had pulled herself across the floor and was trying to get her face up to the window to breathe the fresh air. She was alternately moaning in pain and coughing. The smoke would likely kill her any moment.
Kadin got to her feet. “Madam, let’s get you out of here.”
The old woman turned her face to look at Kadin, and screamed, then devolved into a coughing fit. The woman’s eyes were wild and white, rolling around as she clawed at the wall, apparently trying to lift herself out of the open window.