“I have that privilege.” Said Koucey in a strong, proud voice.
Your sire’s face was the last thing I saw in my old life.
“It was war,” Koucey said, simply.
You owe me a debt.
Koucey didn’t say anything. He also didn’t lower his sword, for all the good it would do him.
“It was war,” I repeated, when the silence grew too long. “And this man was not even born then.”
It matters not. His line owes me a debt. He owes me a debt.
“What could he possibly give you? He has nothing. All that he had, you took.”
There was a short pause. Not all. He has his life. He owes it to me.
“Killing him would end his suffering, too,” I offered. “Whatever crimes his sires committed, he, himself, was only guilty of defending his people and his lands.”
His people. My lands. Yet I will not murder him. Instead he shall serve me until his last heartbeat.
“Never!” Koucey said defiantly, and started to charge. He looked splendid, every inch the lord knight in battle. The fathers of his House would have been proud of him. Me? Not so much. He was a damn fool who was going to get us all killed.
“No!” I shouted, and immediately began to fire a spell from my warwand. It was the least lethal of the ones I had hung. It was a short but powerful stunning spell, the kind of thing that’s great for knocking over a cavalry squadron. I had it ready before he had taken five steps, but I was too slow: the Dead God had reached out with his mind and took over control of Koucey’s body. My spell passed him harmlessly, though it gouged out a small crater in the earth behind him.
“Let him go!” I shouted, smoking wand in hand.
He belongs to me, now.
“I said, let him go!” Koucey’s legs moved jerkily until he was standing to the left of the globe. I tried to think of an appropriate spell, but I had nothing.
“Milord Captain,” called Carmella, warningly, “is it not best that he live out his fate?”
“I agree, Min,” added Penny quickly. “He knew what might happen when he stayed behind the evacuation.”
“I can’t allow that,” I said, sternly, and advanced to within three paces of the Dead God. As I approached I got to see a little more detail within the sphere of green amber. It was grotesque – just what you would imagine a two hundred year old fossilized and partially decomposed head of a goblin who died by violence might look like. “Let him go.”
He is mine, the voice said in my mind. It was disconcerting how it was no louder, now that I was close to it. Stand away.
Instead I stared intently at the sphere, committing every detail to memory. “He does not deserve this,” I stated.
You are correct. But this is the worst punishment I can bestow. He deserves a thousand times worse.
“He is a good man who has done nothing but defend his people!”
He is scion of House Brandmount. I knew his great-grandsire. I spoke with him for days, before he murdered me. He shares his sire’s face. He has himself hunted my people and kept them away from the sacred cave. He has prevented the fulfillment of prophecy.
“What prophecy?” Shit. There was a prophecy. That could complicate things.
Centuries ago a great shaman, Ula-telec, prophesied that we would lose the Valley to the unclean, and that all of my people would be in danger. The time was called the Exile, and it came to pass. Ula-telec also prophesied that the Great War would come, and for four generations all would be in chaos. All is doomed, he said, until the One gurvan who sees the Cave first after the Exile leads his people through the war and into a greater Peace. I am the fulfillment of that prophecy. I alone shall lead my people to wipe yours back into the Void.
Uh, oh. Genocidal prophesies, a maniacal undead God, a potent mystical portal – this was all leading someplace. The Dead God was to be the savior of his people, because he would be the first gurvan to see the cave.
Only he hadn’t been. Gurkarl had been. And he didn’t know that. That had to be significant, somehow.
“Well, we wouldn’t want to stand in the way of the fulfillment of prophecy,” I said. “Why don’t you just let the knight go, and we’ll be on our way?”
He belongs to me. His fate has been spoken. To the end of his days shall he serve me.
How much was I willing to push this? Before I answered my own question, I decided that it would be best to know exactly what the stakes were.
“If you take him, you would let the rest of us pass in peace?”
He owes me a debt. I am deciding if you do, as well.
“What the hell did I do?”
You slew my captains, killed my shamans.
“They invaded our homes. It is the right of every being to defend their homes.”
And it is the right of every conqueror to cleanse the lands of the conquered.
“You might find that more difficult than you think,” I said, starting to get pissed off a little.
The Dead God laughed, inside my head, which was eerie when I could see his “face” through murky jade, and it didn’t move.
Those pebbles you clutch are meaningless. They are the merest slivers of my power.
“But they no longer answer to you,” I pointed out.
It matters not. A hundred times as many would be useless against me. You are no threat, Spellmonger.
“How did you—?”
I can see inside your minds as well as speaking to them. For all of your vainglory, you are little better than a village witch. A pawn of your betters. You are no match for me. From inside your own eyes, I see. I know what spells you have prepared. Useless.
“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out. I want safe passage for all of us, outside of the Valley.”
And I want the last two centuries of suffering and exile to not have occurred. It appears we are both doomed to disappointment.
“Perhaps. I thought you hadn’t decided if we owed you a debt, yet.”
True. If I decide you don’t, then I will grant you a quick death. If I decide you do, then your agony will encompass weeks before you are sacrificed to me.
That was a cheery thought.
“Then you realize what I’m going to have to do.”
I look forward to it. It should prove entertaining if naught else.
“Last chance,” I warned.
You try my patience.
“Attack!” I yelled in what I hoped was an impressive and inspirational voice, and loosed my two most powerful hung spells at once. I could feel everyone else’s going off all around me, in what was the largest sudden release of magical energy I had ever been involved with in my life.
Nothing happened.
I don’t mean that we didn’t hit him, or that it didn’t have an effect. I mean that time stopped, and suddenly I was standing in a forest of statues. And I wasn’t alone.
Around me, in front of me, a line of diminutive figures had suddenly appeared, each one holding a gnarled branch that doubled as a powerful magical implement – at least as potent as any wizard’s staff I’d seen. The Tree Folk had arrived.
* * *
While I can’t honestly say that they were the last folks I expected to see, they weren’t high on the list.
I knew that the Alka Alon had been watching us, monitoring the situation. They were too good at magic not to notice that abomination, or all of the activity. I had thought that they would have stayed away, quietly slipped out of the valley while they could. I did not honestly think that the Aronin would pitch in, else I would have tried earlier.
But there he was – he and a dozen or so of his “court.” They picked their way across the courtyard, as normal as you could ask. It was everything else that was askew.
My comrades were in various stages of flinging spells at the sphere, their arms raised and their mouths open. Sire Koucey was hanging in mid-air, frozen, a blank look on his face. Even the birds in the air were still, hung as if suspended from strings. The sphere wasn’t
moving, either. Not that it moved much before. Everything was frozen.
Penny was an elegant statue with a look of grim determination on her face, hands gracefully outstretched in mid-spell.
Carmella had a mixture of fear and excitement on her face as she mouthed the trigger of her own attack. All around me, everyone was petrified. Suspended in the moment.
Except for me.
“Huh? What . . . ?”
“Spellmonger,” the priest-king called, and stepped gracefully across the pockmarked courtyard. “It is good to see you again.”
“Uh . . . yeah. You too, my lord. I take it you were in the neighborhood?”
“We have been watching you for weeks, now. We knew you would provide us an opportunity to strike.”
“You did? I did?” I asked, confused.
He gestured toward the malevolent sphere. “We knew he would seek to engage you personally. Shereul had a thirst for vengeance too strong to do otherwise. You kept his army at bay for weeks longer than he had planned. And we knew you would mount a defense. We had to wait for the encounter.”
“Why?” I asked, openmouthed. “Uh, a couple of weeks ago, we might have had a chance, with your support. But now?”
“Because as much as it troubles me to say, the welfare of your people was not our foremost thought. It pleases me mightily that you have found a way to preserve them. We did not expect you to make use of the molopar.”
“I didn’t think the Alka Alon were able to be surprised.”
He broke into a rare smile that was overwhelmingly good-natured. “It happens rarely. And when it does, it is noteworthy. We waited for the right moment, the moment when he was distracted, and his defenses were canted towards human magics.”
I looked around. “Well, glad we could oblige. Um, how are you doing this?” I asked, gesturing around.
“This close to the molopar such spells are easy. We have slowed time. It was one of the few things we did not think he would expect.”
“So . . . you have a plan?” I asked, hopefully.
“We do. We will surround the abomination and weave a web of energy around it such as hasn’t been attempted in living memory – and the memory of my folk, not you ephemerals. This is not the first time this has happened.”
I stared blankly. “Beg pardon? You mean, magically reanimated goblin heads aren’t the novelty I suspected?”
“The gurvani have never tried this, but the technique occurs in nature. You are aware, of course, that irionite is the result of kellisarth sap crystallizing?”
“Yes . . . I suppose.” The concept was weighty. I could see how it would happen, from a theoretical perspective. The glowing green globe that wanted to see all of humanity wiped off of Callidore was proof of the concept.
“It happens, occasionally, that an insect or small animal gets entrapped into the matrix. When that happens, the creature’s will re-asserts itself, only magically. The poor creature is usually driven mad, unable to escape its essential nature, but unable to realize the potential it enjoys. We call such aberrations kulnuara. They often go on to cause much destruction and havoc, and have to be brought to bay.”
“So how do you defeat a . . . kulnuara?” I asked. “Please tell me it’s a simple and trivial piece of conjury.”
The Aronin shook his head sadly. “It is exceedingly difficult. Sometimes armies of my folk have been sent against the beasts, and been slain before they were able to control it. In this case, we face someone who knows what they are, who knows how to sing magic, and who revels in their power. This is no ordinary kulnuara.” He also looked at the sphere, the first time I ever saw one of the Tree Folk look grim.
“The three usual ways to counter a common kulnuara are to sap its power utterly, to bend it against itself until it can no longer hold the strain, or attack the integrity of the physical object itself. We shall attempt the second measure. The power is too great to attempt to draw it off, and the sphere is quite massive. Should we manage to break it open there will likely be enough crystal left within the skull to counter any further moves we make. So we shall turn its own power against itself.”
I sighed. “This should be fun to watch.”
“No, Spellmonger, you shall not be here to see our battle.”
“We won’t survive the fight, I take it. Well, I expected no less.”
“You misunderstand. Your presence here would be a . . . distraction. And we have work for you to do.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Someone who understands what is involved must organize the defense of Men, Spellmonger. Else the human world will be destroyed, as the Dead God gains power. You must go to the Councils of Men and tell them what you know. While your magics are crude and elementary, they must be strengthened and organized against the gurvani tide, else Man will be washed away.”
“You sound like you aren’t planning on winning.”
“We must be prepared. This is not a certain thing. It bears much risk. He is . . . very powerful. We may well fall before he is defeated. And there is still the matter of his hordes. Should the Dead God fall, his followers will be leaderless, but still very destructive. Defenses must be erected against them, lest your nations fail. Win or lose, this great army will issue forth from this valley and drive your folk in front of them.
“They will offer no quarter, and will slaughter every Man they encounter. They will bring forth flame and steel, and magics most terrible. They will brandish weapons not seen in ages of Men. They will seek to turn the weak-willed to their bidding, and use Man’s own power against him. If you value your race, a great line of defense must be erected against their assault. It is your charge to see to that.”
“Why would anyone listen to me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Because you will make your case with such passion and conviction that you will crush any opposition.”
“More foresight?”
He shook his head. “Nay. You just seem like that pushy kind of man.”
“Thanks,” I said, weakly.
“You will not be unaided. Your friends here will follow you unquestionably. As you work, the lore of the ancients will prove helpful. My own folk will do what we can to aid you, but you should be sufficient to rally the human lands for this crisis.”
“You have a pretty high opinion of my abilities. And an imperfect understanding of Ducal politics.”
He shrugged – which looked strange. Their shoulders were so narrow. “You use what you have.”
“I . . . see. Okay, I’m not going to argue the whole escaping thing, because I’ve wanted to flee this place for weeks. But . . . how about my folk?”
“All shall be rescued. All save that one,” he said, nodding toward Koucey.
“Why not the lord?”
“He is trapped within a powerful song, Spellmonger, one which we shall not have the strength to breech while we struggle against the Dead God. Lord Brandmont was a good and noble man, but he may be forfeit in this struggle. Knowing him as I do, he would not object to the sacrifice.”
“You know Sire Koucey?”
“I have lived in this vale eleven lives of men. I have seen him grow from a babe to an old man. There is little that happens here I do not know.”
“Well, you’re probably right, then. He wouldn’t mind, not if it helped end this menace. So . . . how are we getting away?”
“Here,” he said, sketching a circle in the air about ten feet across. The magic from his wand was palpable. “In a few moments it will open and lead you outside of the valley. Not as far as you did with the molopar, but out of harm’s way.”
“Great. I appreciate it.”
“You will earn your passage. This spell of time will fade shortly, and when it does you must lead your men against the sphere, just as you had planned. You must keep it distracted a moment while our spell comes into play. Then you will flee.”
“And you?”
“I will fight. Perhaps die, but I must make the attempt. Once this
Valley was a holy place. What the Dead God would turn it into would defile even the memory of that time.”
“Why don’t you just move on, with your people?”
He smiled faintly. “This valley is my home. I would rather die than see it turned into a dead wasteland.”
Even the Alka Alon were, in the end, stubborn villagers when faced with inevitable doom. “I . . . I don’t know what to say. I almost wish I could stay and help . . .”
“Nay. You must leave. You and your people here are to be the core of a great new army, an army that can beat back this tide. An army that you will lead. It must persist, and persevere, until there is no more danger. You must lead them, Minalan. No one else. You and your children shall become the base of a great line, should you succeed.”
That was good news. Except I didn’t want to lead an army. I wanted to settle down and make babies. Not for the first time I considered how little my wishes mattered to the will of the rest of the universe.
“There is more. When the time is ripe, in its fullness, you will seek out my daughter, who even now seeks a place of refuge for the rest of my folk here in the valley. I have given to her certain . . . things that may assist you. Arcane secrets, you would call them. She has agreed to act as my messenger in this. Seek her when you can find no other way.”
“Again, you’re not sounding optimistic.”
“I wish that I could, Spellmonger. But I fear I will never see my daughter again in this life.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll tell her you said hello,” I said, which was a stupid thing to say but I was long past the influence of inspiration.
“You do that. Now prepare yourself, for you have a long and difficult journey ahead.”
“Thanks, Aronin. May Briga guide your magics.”
“And may She keep you and your family safe in your travels,” he responded amiably. “Are you prepared?”
Hell no! I heaved a great sigh and raised my wand and staff. “I suppose.” While we had been talking his folk had formed a loose ring around the sphere, and were establishing a net of power around it. With a nod that they, too, were ready, he closed his eyes . . .
The Spellmonger Series: Book 01 - Spellmonger Page 39