The Warder

by D K Williamson

  “That it has,” Dech replied. “You know your comrades. I’ll let you decide their disposition.”

  “Awfully nice of you,” Tucker said with a smile. “What do you propose?”

  Dech looked to Aril. “Speak up if you disagree or have a better idea.” Looking back and forth between the mage and section leader he continued. “I lead in. Two knights go with me and engage the siphon while the other three move his victims from the place. If the opportunity presents itself, use that crossbow and do as the order-captain suggested.”

  “Simple enough,” Tucker said. “Best that way. It’ll be confusing so best keep it simple.” He looked past Dech to Aril. “Once the ward on the door is down, any chance he raises it again?”

  “No, at least not another persistent spell. That takes time. He is drawing from the Font of Glaes for the ward and I can bring it down. He may try and raise something else of shorter duration though.”

  Tucker nodded. “I’ll follow at the rear then. Position myself near the door in case he does bar the way again. Wouldn’t want to miss the fun,” he said grimly.

  “I know siphons do not draw from an infernal or malevolent source, but would a priest be of use?” Aril said.

  “We’re not performing an exorcism or banishment,” Dech replied, “but a cleric might provide a distraction. That could be a help, but it will be risky for the cleric.”

  “It is something to consider.”

  The group took the street a few blocks to the marketplace, then a course that passed through alleys and streets and finally terminated at a wide set of steps down to the area running along the old canal. The worn dark stone that made up every structure from the narrow streets to the top of the buildings created a bleak atmosphere, the squalor within the vicinity made it even more so.

  Aril pointed at the street they needed to take and as they rounded the corner he slowed and glared at the knot of people a hundred paces distant. Several knights were engaged in a heated discussion with aggressive gestures thrown at one another and the dwelling where the siphon awaited.

  “We must make haste. I fear those there may try something rash,” Aril said.

  Trailing in a single file behind the mage, the contrition knights followed his winding path through the crowd.

  “I say we smoke him out,” one of the knights said as the group approached. “Breach holes in the walls from the neighboring spaces and set fires. He’ll come out eventually.”

  “That won’t work and is risky as well,” another countered. “Might as well burn the place down. All the floors above are wood.”

  “Be for the best considering what lives here and about,” said another knight.

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Aril shouted over the noise. “Not any of it.”

  The arguing stopped and all eyes turned to the mage and the armed force at his back.

  “And who are you to cast commands at knights, mage,” asked one of the armored men.

  “He answers to Duke Frederick himself,” one of the others replied.

  “I do,” Aril said. “I have order knights to aid me in dealing with the barricaded man. I would—”

  “Ah, men who would martyr themselves to atone for past misdeeds,” one of the knights said. “You think religious fervor will work where martial skill failed? I think you’ll be disappointed.”

  Aril ignored the comment and continued. “I would ask you to push this crowd back and away from this end of the street so we can attempt a rescue.”

  “Rescue?” another among the knights said. “Of what? I was in there before he knocked most of us down. The poor souls he feeds from are near dead as it is.”

  “Not so,” Aril replied. “They are entranced. If not too far gone, they will recover fully. All the more reason to make haste.”

  “I think this ends with us burning the place down, but try if you like, mage. It’s your life you risk. Remember, he killed seasoned knights and that robe of yours isn’t armor.”

  As the knights started moving the crowd away, Aril led the contrition knights closer to the open doorway where the siphon was cornered.

  “Do you see the shimmer in the opening?” Aril asked with a point at the doorway. “That is the ward.”

  “Might a bolt fired from a heavy crossbow pierce it?” Tucker asked.

  “Doubtful. Even if it could, the siphon would see you and could cast a spell or sign called a bar, one that—”

  “Blocks blows and projectiles,” Tucker said dejectedly. “Still, if he sees the crossbow, he’ll need to keep his guard up.”

  “Yes. You are well versed in magic. I am used to dealing with more… traditional knights,” he said with a gesture at those pushing the crowds away.

  A small and wiry man in the black robes of a cleric pushed through the jumble of people. Ignoring the commands and curses of the knights, he walked toward the band readying to deal with the siphon.

  “I can be of aid to you,” the man said. “Priest I may be, but I am no stranger to a fight. I serve as a chaplain in the duke’s forces when needed and—”

  “And harasses contrition knights on occasion,” Tucker said.

  The cleric scowled and then smiled at the sight of the section-leader. “I am also a fair healer and barber-surgeon as the red-haired giant might attest.”

  “I’ll give him that,” Tucker said before looking at Dech. “That’s Priest Ferid. He’s plenty brave enough, Warder. Been with us in a scrape or two and stood fast. One of us gives him a bit of cover, he might be the distraction we were talking about.”

  “I can manage liturgies, blessings, condemnations, exorcisms, and any number of other utterances and exhortations,” the priest said. “Not bragging, but I can addle the minds of men just as well as I can fortify flagging resolve.”

  Aril offered no objection prompting Dech to nod. “Keep him with you, Tuck.”

  “That I will,” the big man said with a smile. “He’s a wee target.”

  “I would like to get a look inside before we proceed,” Aril said.

  “As would I,” Dech replied. “Will the siphon respond?”

  “He seemed to be satisfied with merely looking smug when I tried to speak to him earlier. He appeared to feel quite secure where he is. Perhaps he has a plan to escape.”

  “After dark, that’s when I’d do it if I were him,” Sir George said.

  “You may be on to something, lad,” Tucker said. “Let’s see to him before then, shall we?”

  Dech, Aril, and Tucker walked on the left side of the narrow street near the stone wall across from the entry to the siphon’s lair. They slowed when they could see inside. The siphon leaned against a table at the back of the room eating an apple and paying little attention to the action outside his door. To the left of the mage was a tight row of low and wide benches leading toward the front of the room where the victims lay shoulder to shoulder. A large table of heavy construction rested on its side between the siphon and the door, the top facing the entry, a pair of bodies visible on the floor just before the makeshift blockade.

  “The room looks to be maybe… nine or ten paces deep?” Tucker said.

  “Nine or ten of your steps,” Dech said with a smile. “A few more for men of normal stature.”

  Tucker snorted a laugh. “This will be a hairy dance with a boar, Dech,” he said, his tone becoming dead serious. “I suggest we go as hard and as fast as we can. I’d wager that siphon has some tricks in mind.”

  “I agree,” Dech said. “The bodies on the floor will make getting to the mage an adventure. I’ll take those with me to the right of the table. Those moving the victims head straight for them.”

  “Simple,” Tucker said with nod. “I’ll place myself to the right of the door so the lads have a clear path out. The priest can stand behind me.”

  “I will stand near you as well,” Aril said. “I may be able to aid those moving the victims. I will alert you to spells the siphon may be casting if I can detect them.”

 
“That could be useful,” Dech said. “When you bring down the ward on the door, how long will it take?”

  “Little time. As soon as I cast the counter, the ward will drop.”

  “Will the siphon be aware of your counter-spell before you cast it?”

  “I doubt it. This man is not a skilled practitioner. He is using the siphon form to make himself far more powerful than his skill would normally allow. His spells and signs will be basic ones, but cast or thrown as if he was far more advanced than he actually is.”

  Dech nodded. “Hard and fast. Let’s go brief the others.”

  The three returned to the group and explained the layout of the space and their course of action. Section-Leader Tucker designated each contrition knight a task, with Sir George as one of those moving victims.

  “Can the ward he has on the doorway be cast to prevent passage from both directions?” the young knight asked. “If so, he could prevent us from exiting the dwelling.”

  “It can be done,” Aril said, “but not by our siphon. You do bring to light a tactic he may employ. He could cast a barring spell to keep us inside. Once I detect the spell, I should be able to counter it.”

  “If he does lock us all in there together,” Tucker said, “I suggest we throw all we have at him. It’ll be a mess and we’ll be as likely to hurt one another as him, but we’ll bring him down.”

  “We’ll do that only if necessary,” Dech said. “Is the siphon skilled enough to bar attacks from all directions at once?”

  Aril nodded. “To surround himself with a barring field? I would think so. It would be taxing, but we best assume he can. Such a spell lacks the strength of a linear bar,” he said looking at Tucker. “Blows or crossbow shots stand a better chance of penetrating. If he wavers, he may be vulnerable. It is something we should look for.”

  Dech looked at the two contrition knights assigned to follow him. “We will close with him as fast as possible. Once there, we press him. Remember, his bar may prevent our attacks from landing, but he will need to exert effort to stop us. Such spells do not make him immovable either. If we can assault him from three directions, he will be hard-pressed to prevent those moving the victims from doing their part. Watch where you strike, we do not want to harm one another.”

  “And listen for my call,” Tucker said. “If his defenses wane like our good mage here mentioned, I’ll put a shot through his evil head.”

  After the knights donned helms, the nine men walked to the right side of the doorway, the contrition knights and priest near the wall in a line with Dech at the head. Aril positioned himself next to the warder. As Dech drew his sword, all those in line save for the priest and Tucker followed suit.

  “If you haven’t done so, place your medallions outside your surcoat,” Dech said. “We don’t want to interfere with Aril’s counter-spell or have the siphon detect us, so leave the sheath over it until the ward is removed. Once it is, pull it free. I would suggest you drop the medallion between your surcoat and hauberk. When Aril says it is clear, follow me in.”

  “Your medallions will not be a problem for my counter, but I had not considered the siphon detecting them. Are we ready?” Aril asked.

  Dech looked down the row behind him and each knight and Ferid nodded. “We are,” he answered.

  “Then let us begin.”

  Aril drew in a deep breath and let it out before raising his hands. Muttering with barely moving lips, his hands tensed and came down in a motion directed at the doorway. Without a sound, the shimmering field disappeared.

  “The way is clear,” the mage said as he sidestepped to allow clear passage.

  Sword and shield held close to his body, Dech rushed into the doorway, his comrades on his heels. Striding over the bodies of two knights, the warder could see the siphon reacting quickly despite being caught unaware. Bringing his hands forward, the siphon cast a sign at the doorway.

  “Oxter!” Aril shouted from outside as the third knight in line was knocked from his feet by an invisible force.

  The siphon waved a hand before himself and as Dech rounded the table barricade he saw the telltale shimmer of the barring spell. Raising his hands again, the mage cast the oxter sign at the warder.

  Dech brought his shield up as he dropped to a knee, the knight behind him crouching at the warder’s back. Canting the shield, Dech shunted the battering force to his left causing the table to scrape across the floor a short distance.

  The warder came to his feet and charged, the siphon backing away with a worried look on his face. A quick glance toward the doorway showed Dech the siphon’s efforts had caused the first deviation from the plan as those behind the downed contrition knight were still extricating themselves from the logjam of people in the doorway. Knowing he needed to buy time, Dech attacked knowing the man behind him would soon join.

  Pressing his shoulder against the back of his shield, the warder drove hard into the siphon’s almost invisible barrier, forcing the mage back a step. A hard horizontal cut with his sword followed soon after, the blade halting a foot from the siphon’s ribs. The knight who trailed Dech joined the fight, his low thrust turned aside by the bar spell.

  “Move, lads! To the door!” came Tucker’s bellow as Dech and his partner pressed the siphon.

  Dech spared a look and saw one of the contrition knights dragging a hefty dwarf toward the door with another knight close behind carrying a small woman in his arms while George lifted another woman from her resting place to follow.

  The siphon raised his arms to cast an oxter sign at the rescue crew, but a hard shield battering from Dech and a pommel strike by his partner forced the mage to cease, but not for long.

  The siphon muttered sounds before he raised a hand above his head and thrust the other low at his two assailants, taking their feet from under them as frightful thoughts flooded their minds.

  Dech landed hard on his back, the rage within him rising against the siphon’s mental spell, relegating the invading thoughts to the back of his mind. He rolled onto his side as he saw the mage throw another oxter sign at the rescuers.

  As the warder rose, he saw Tucker taking aim and stayed low as the priest began singing a condemnation in the characteristic flat, shrill tones of such pronouncements and noticed the oxter sign had knocked George off his feet. Somehow managing to turn as he fell, the woman he carried landed on top of him rather than the other way around. While the woman appeared unharmed by the fall, the same could not be said of the young contrition knight who growled in pain as he tried to shield the woman from the siphon’s attacks.

  Aril strode toward the siphon and cast a wide bar in front of him, shielding the two other rescuers as they made their way outside.

  Tucker launched a bolt from his heavy crossbow, the projectile hissing as it passed over the warder. Deflecting from the bar field, it buried itself deeply into a wooden beam eliciting a bearish growl from the big knight. As he used his enormous strength to haul the bow string back for another shot, Dech rose to his feet.

  The siphon aborted a verbal chant and glared at the noise emanating from the small man behind Tucker. He threw his arms toward those near the doorway as Dech charged. Hearing a crashing noise and the priest’s angry rebuke, the warder lowered his shoulder against his shield and slammed into the siphon’s defenses.

  Driven back, the siphon snarled and cast the oxter sign before Dech could react and he was taken off his feet, flying across the room and sliding to a stop near the table barricade. His breath knocked from his lungs and ribs smarting, the warder let the rage flow more freely. Using the table to aid his rise, he came to his feet and forced air into his lungs with a painful draw of breath. As he turned to attack the siphon once more, he saw Aril pushing himself from the floor as Ferid pulled the woman lying next to George toward the door.

  A finger of bright blue light crossed the space from siphon to priest, a small plume of white condensation erupting from Ferid’s shoulder causing him to yelp and arch in pain. Despite this, the l
ittle priest made for the doorway with his precious cargo in tow.

  Dech grimaced and locked eyes with Tucker.

  “Stand ready, brother,” he growled from under his helm.

  As Tucker brought the crossbow to his shoulder, Dech turned and moved at the siphon once more.

  The warder’s fighting partner was down, but still trying to disrupt the mage. Crawling on his stomach and uttering angrily at the fear that clouded his mind, the knight swung his sword into the bar field that protected the siphon.

  Dech strode quickly, hearing Aril tell the priest he was covering his exit with spell. The siphon glared at Dech and then smiled. Kneeling, the mage barked a sonant spell that buckled Dech’s knees and pulled him toward the siphon, his sword slipping from his hand. Coming to a rest near the mage, a snarling Dech slammed a fist into the siphon’s shimmering barrier.

  The siphon glared at Dech in anger and aggravation. Forming the oxter sign once again as Dech rose to his knees and looked for his blade, the mage cast the sign, sending Dech and the other knight hurtling toward the front of the room.

  Bouncing before slamming into the bottom of the table barricade, the warder rebounded from the impact and was left sprawled on the floor amongst broken pottery, shards of glass, and a wooden stool, the other knight seemingly fortunate to avoid the barricade. Dech looked at the ceiling above and tried to regain his senses.

  “Aril, behind me!” Tucker shouted.

  Moments later, a sword cut through the air above Dech followed by other objects flying past, hurled by siphon’s spell. A wooden bucket, small cask, and a stool much like the one beside the warder streaked by. The thudding, cracking sound of hard impacts followed soon after along with another bear growl from Section-Leader Tucker. Another sword flashed by above and another thudding impact sounded. Tucker’s growl became an angry cry of pain as the siphon walked past Dech and stopped at the table.

  “This ends now,” the siphon said, the bar field in front of him shimmering as strong as ever.

  Dech closed a hand around the leg of the nearby stool and let the rage within him build. “It does,” he snarled as he splintered the stool on the siphon’s left knee.