by Jim Hodgson
Kadin leaned over to lift the woman, but the elderly lady grabbed a book off a nearby table and swung it weakly. It bounced harmlessly off Kadin’s shoulder. The woman was screaming something, or trying to.
“What are you doing, you daft old bat?” Kadin yelled. “Do you want to die in a fucking fire?”
The woman stopped screaming and looked at Kadin. She coughed once more, then said in a scratchy voice, “You mean you’re not Death?”
Kadin was able to carry the old woman easily thanks to her small size and Kadin’s own extramortal strength. Outside, she carried the woman away from the burning area toward a square where people were helping one another. She placed her down on a stone bench. Someone from the neighborhood recognized the old woman and ran over with a blanket.
“Thank you for saving me,” she said. She coughed again, but sounded better after just a few minutes in the fresh air. “And I’m sorry I hit you with a book. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
Kadin considered that if she was in a life-threatening situation and saw a skeleton rushing toward her out of a pall of smoke she might also think she was looking at Death. “It’s no trouble. I’m just glad we managed to get you out.”
“For the record,” the woman continued. “I never liked the way your people were treated.”
Kadin nodded. “Yes, well.” She wasn’t sure how to respond. “Maybe, in the years to come, we can all treat each other with a little more digni—”
At that moment, Post appeared with a bucket of river water and heaved it at her. It splashed across the chest of her coat and into her face. She stood there with the water dripping off her, looking at him.
He looked back with wide eyes. “You said—” he began.
“I know what I said, Post.” She’d carried that old woman pretty easily. She could probably throw Post most of the way down the block if she really wanted to. But no. He really was just following orders. As she was deciding not to do violence to the only member of her interim city watch, another fireball arched overhead and smashed into a house a few streets away.
Post dunked his bucket into the square’s fountain, refilling it, then hurried to follow Kadin as she turned and ran toward the flames.
But as they skidded around the corner, they could see that in this case there was nothing to be done. The house had taken a direct hit. Kadin could hear someone inside screaming and then a loud slamming sound. That was probably a wooden timber falling inside the structure somewhere. The front door opened a crack, and she thought someone might be making an escape. Instead, a river of cats burst forth from the doorway and scattered in all directions, mewling and spitting with rage. Behind the door, the flames rose. No one could be alive in there with heat like that. If a living thing had opened that door, they’d died doing it.
A cat leaped onto a windowsill nearby and settled itself into a comfortable position, flames reflected in the little globes of its eyes. If the fact that it had nearly died a moment ago troubled the animal, it didn’t show.
Cats, Kadin thought. Then she thought some more.
A moment later she thought again, Cats.
Chapter 40
The defenders of Dilara fought like mad with arrows and ranged magical attacks through the night and on toward dawn. The physical defenses themselves had been well designed and resulted in heavy Yetkin casualties, but there were so many of the beasts it hardly seemed to matter. Over time, the ability of the Yetkin heavy magic throwers to weaken and eventually topple towers and walls was turning the battle against Dilara, and the toughest blow to morale was the sight of more and more Yetkin arriving on the beach.
Alabora and Ozel gradually pulled the Dilara forces back from the wall and regrouped around the existing holes in the walls, using them as pinch points to concentrate the fighting. This worked to delay the Yetkin advance inland, but also gave up the beach as lost. The great beasts fell by the dozen to Ozel’s magical forces each time a volley was fired, but still the defenders of Dilara were giving up ground.
By afternoon, the defenders had retreated to their second line of defenses, a series of earthworks dug in case of just such an eventuality. These protected them against the Yetkins’ ranged attacks more effectively, which meant that some of the warriors who had been fighting all night were given a chance to rest and eat something. More importantly, the Yetkin advance toward the defenses left the enemy’s flanks exposed to a charge by a group of Ilbezian mounted warriors who had been held in reserve in a wood. The charge was deadly effective and had the expected effect of breaking the Yetkin momentum, but even as the riders retreated in victory, the defenders could see some of the magic-throwing machines being carried up from the beach.
The green-tipped arrows the enemies were using proved to be touched by some magical horror that caused the wounds to turn black, but the healing potions seemed to keep the infection at bay. The trouble was it meant that even when the wizards weren’t fighting they were obliged to help heal the wounded. At least when a swordsman isn’t fighting he can truly rest.
The sun went down on the battlefield and the attacks slowed to a trickle. The Yetkin attackers apparently needed rest as much as the humans. Cook fires winked into existence, dotting the landscape as the stars dotted the sky. It would surely be beautiful, Ozel thought, in some other circumstance. He remembered seeing this very stretch of land festooned with colorful flags for the wizarding tournament years ago. Of course, there hadn’t really been much of a tournament. More of a slaughter, in fact, as the undead wizard Cezmi had killed most of Dilara’s wizards without warning. The only reason Ozel, Wagast, and Aysu had managed to escape was thanks to Ergam’s speed. He’d been an extremely fast horse, Ozel remembered.
In spite of himself, he smiled at the memory of Ergam as a horse. He wondered where his old friend was now. Would he ever see his magical mask again? If they were ever all together in good times again, Ozel would make a point to ask Wagast to please turn Ergam into a horse. At the time, the magic had seemed terribly impressive, but with the advantage of years, Ozel reflected that he could probably ....
Hmm.
“Absolutely not,” Alabora said. “Too bloody risky. Even considering it is too bloody risky by half and here you are actually talking about it.”
“What’s going to happen when the sun comes up and those heavy throwers start pounding us?” Ozel asked. “What’s going to happen when they’re in range of the city itself? There will be nothing left to defend!”
“They’re already in range of the city. The ships pinned at the mouth of the river were firing into the city this morning. They’d still be doing so had they not caught themselves on fire in the process.” Alabora paused to breathe a few times. “What would happen if our magical troops lost their leader, not to mention the only full wizard on the battlefield?” he demanded. “Tell me that?”
Ozel glared. “General, I respect you and your leadership. More than that, you have been a role model to me over the years. But I am charged with doing my best to protect Dilara. We are not at our last stand yet, but we will be soon if something isn’t done. I know what to do. This is wizard business.”
“What does that mean? ‘This is wizard business.’?”
Ozel gave a short sigh. “It means, with all due respect, that I’m not asking.”
Alabora looked ready to tear Ozel’s head off with his bare hands. But Ozel thought he also detected an inkling in his eyes nagging at Alabora, saying that Ozel might, in some way, be a little right.
“You’re lucky I’ve seen you save a city before,” Alabora said.
“I’m lucky I learned from you what duty means,” Ozel said.
They stared at one another in mutual admiration.
The magic wasn’t as easy as he’d remembered it being, but with a few hours of practice Ozel had a reasonable Yetkin avatar. It was lucky there were so many examples of dead Yetkin beasts lying around to use as models. Lucky for his avatar, anyway.
When he stepped into the avatar for the
first time, Ozel realized there was a problem. His human-sized legs weren’t long enough to get him fully into the avatar. He used a bit of rope to attach some blocks of wood to his feet. That helped, but it meant that he’d have to walk slowly. Running would be out of the question.
He considered sneaking through the woods then along the coastline to the western end of the beach, but decided he’d have more cover if he floated down the river disguised as the Yetkin and then climbed out among the wreckage of the ships and onto the shore. It would hopefully also give him a chance to examine the throwing mechanisms for weak points.
The plan to float down the river for cover worked well, but he could see as he slipped into the dark river water that examining the boat-mounted throwing machines wasn’t going to be possible. The mouth of the river was a jumbled mass of boats, all on fire. He worried that the light of the fire would reveal him too soon as he floated toward it, and that the river’s current, lazy though it seemed most of the time, would trap him against the flames. In the end, he managed to climb around the wreckage half-in, half-out of the water on the rocky far bank, then splashed and slipped his way over and around the abandoned boats to the rocky shore where he needed to be.
The first Yetkin vessels had piled into the defensive spikes, impaling themselves, but this hadn’t stopped wave after wave of ships behind those ramming into them. The result was a tangled mass of shipwrecks peppered with the bodies of Yetkin who had fallen to ranged attack. Now the front of the massed wreckage above the waterline was burning. The rear, helpfully, had been abandoned. There were a few dead and injured Yetkin on the beach. Now he would know if his avatar worked.
Ozel climbed heavily out of the water, trying to move as if he was nearly at the end of his strength even though adrenaline was coursing through him. A Yetkin up the beach waved an arm as if trying to signal him, but Ozel ignored that. No one stopped him. So far so good.
The first throwing machine he came to wasn’t assembled. The pieces appeared to be there, though. Perhaps this was a pile of parts from other machines being lumped together to make a new whole out of old parts? Ozel quickly looked over the heap, then reached down and cast a super-precise blade of air between his finger and thumb. The throwing arm just under the metal basket made to hold the fireball was quickly sawed most of the way through. There was enough material left to make it look like the machine was operational, but Ozel was certain that any real pressure put on the throwing arm would cause it to snap. He looked around. There were Yetkin all around, but still none of them appeared to be paying any attention.
Further up the beach the crowd of Yetkin invaders became much thicker. Ozel’s heart was pounding in his chest. He focused on keeping his breathing calm and it helped hold his panic level in check somewhat.
The next two throwers he encountered were unguarded, so Ozel disabled them the same way. There were at least a half-dozen more throwers in sight, all of which were surrounded by Yetkin working by torchlight to get them ready. Ozel skirted around and plodded through the water lapping at the beach to see if he could locate any more unguarded throwers. As he was walking, one of the blocks of wood he’d tied to his feet came undone. Ozel looked around, then bent and retied the rope. He made it extra tight, which hurt, but at least he’d be able to—
There was a guttural sound behind him, like an animal choking on something. Ozel stood and looked over his shoulder. One of the Yetkin mages was standing there, looking at him. The mage grunted again and then gestured up the beach. Ozel put his hands out that he would comply, not knowing what he was meant to comply with, but in the hope it would calm the mage down. It had no effect. The mage was getting louder, more insistent. Ozel looked around quickly. There were other Yetkin in sight, but no one too close.
Ozel stepped quickly toward the mage, put a hand out, and directed a bolt of lightning at the mage’s center. The mage stiffened, then sank to his knees and toppled over backward. Ozel looked around again, hoping the way he was standing had blocked most of the flash. No one seemed to be rushing toward him, so he walked away. There were other bodies strewn about. Perhaps no one would notice one more fresh corpse.
As he was walking toward the next thrower, he began to hear confused shouts. He ignored them and kept going, hoping to blend into the crowd of Yetkin further up the beach, but when he stole a glance he saw a few shapes rushing down toward the water line. Uh oh, he thought.
He quickened his pace. If he could just make it to the next thrower and disable it, he could possibly run headlong through the Yetkin front lines. He had a signal ready to let his own troops know to let him pass, if he could just make it that far.
He made it to another thrower and used the blade of air to weaken the throwing arm. But due to his haste, or possibly to an imperfection, the metal basket snapped off the end, making a deafening clanging noise as it fell. He turned. Just yards away a crew fussing over another one of the machines turned to look at him. He shrugged, then let fly with a blast of fire that destroyed the invaders and their machine in one swipe. Shouts erupted out of the darkness from all directions.
Ozel tugged at the ropes holding the wood blocks on his feet. The first one came loose easily, but the one he’d retied moments before refused to budge. The shouts were getting louder. Ozel rolled onto his back to relieve the pressure on his foot so that he could untie the rope. As he did, a green-tipped missile flew past him and thunked into the wood of the throwing machine.
The rope came loose at last, the block fell away. Ozel scrambled to his feet and ran.
There was a hissing sound at his shoulder. One of the Yetkin arrows had just missed him. He cast a shield behind himself as he ran and saw it deflect a few more of the missiles. Now the shouts were being echoed on all sides. The beasts were realizing that he was in their midst.
The first arrow to get through his defenses embedded itself in his calf. He stumbled, but managed to keep the shield up behind him. He felt something hit him on the arm. The pain was bright and nearly caused him to stumble again. He was close to the remaining throwers now. Ahead, the Yetkin were cutting off his escape.
There was a moment when he felt a stab of despair. He’d never see Aysu again. He’d never see Wagast again. His friend Ergam was devastated and lost. For what? He felt rage rise in his gut even as another arrow slipped past his shield and nicked him on the shoulder. The pain was distant.
He began to cast the way he’d fought in the mountain pass against the hill people, only now fueled by rage instead of just fear for his life. Electricity arced from his hands left and right, striking Yetkin soldiers and mages alike as they tried to close in on him. Fire erupted from the timbers of a thrower as he passed. The deaths of the attackers and the destruction of their siege engines became a blur to Ozel as he cast again and again with barely a second between one spell and the next. He felt himself casting hybrids of spells he’d learned as an apprentice, a shield with a gout of flame at its center. He was simultaneously blocking incoming arrows and incinerating attackers until at last he could only see ahead of him a long line. The Yetkin had retreated from him and were lined up shoulder to shoulder in the distance, watching silently with the flames he’d left behind flickering in the metal of their shields and off their helmets.
Ozel ran again, preparing to lay waste to the lot of them, or as many as he could. Instead he collapsed and fell gasping to the cold earth, his many injuries howling with pain. He looked up to see the face of the Yetkin coming to dispatch him, his energy to cast anything more completely gone.
The face, though, was Alabora’s. “Well,” the general said as he lifted Ozel’s limp body from the ground and ran with it. “That was something.”
Chapter 41
It was time. By now, the distant flanking attack must be in full swing. Wagast could hear the chains clanking as the heavy inner doors and outer gates closed behind the Ilbezian riders. They galloped away into the night, whooping and yelling to draw as much attention as possible to themselves. The night accep
ted them, leaving nothing behind but swirling dust.
Wagast had the urge to bite his fingernails, something he hadn’t done since he was a boy. He moved his arm toward his mouth, but the movement caused the nick in his shoulder to send warning bolts of pain radiating throughout his body. There was no denying it anymore. The arrow that hit him had done more damage than he’d like to admit. He should have said something to Yonca about it before now, but he knew she’d be cross and at the moment he couldn’t deal with that. Once this attack was over he could excuse himself and have a quiet minute to look more closely at the wound. Perhaps there was yet something he could do to reverse the effects.
There was a clap of thunder and a flash far too close to have come naturally from a storm cloud overhead. Wagast looked out over the parapet to see a mage standing at the edge of the firelight. He was wearing a material that was so black it seemed to absorb all light. There were green highlights to the garment here and there of a brightness Wagast had never seen. Was he using some kind of magic to make his clothes more striking? Whatever he was doing, it was impressive. Wagast looked down at his own age-old off-white robes. Had these been blue once?
The figure moved toward the gate, the skin of his face and hands so white it nearly glowed. Even at this distance it seemed to Wagast that he could see the firelight reflected in the man’s eyes. He could also sense the wizard’s power with magic. It was immense, raw, angry, like a charging bull.
There was a shout elsewhere on the battlements as a few defenders loosed arrows toward the mage. The missiles swerved around his body like a river around a stone, landing harmlessly in the dust. After a few tries, the archers gave up. This too was an impressive bit of magic, given that he hadn’t dodged or even seemed to notice the incoming arrows. Only a wizard would be able to appreciate it.