Far too soon.
There was only one thing to do.
“I’m going through them!” he called out to Hildr and Barami. If they registered any shock at this, it was lost in their own intense concentration as they battled to keep weapons away from them.
“You can’t!” Barami shouted.
But Jais didn’t have a choice.
He was not a tall man and couldn’t see past the hordes of people in front of him. He didn’t know if Volf had managed to get Caerwyn in, or if they were still sneaking around somewhere. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t wait.
The trick would be to do this without harming anyone.
It was going to hurt, but he hoped his healing ability would save him in the end. It was a desperate gamble, but he had to do something now.
He let out a scream, more to invigorate himself then intimidate the mindless people in front of him. Then he ran headlong into that wall of flesh and armor.
He was right.
It did hurt a lot.
But he was strong, stronger than any normal human by some degree. He pushed people aside and bull-rushed through them. Blades cut lines of fire through his flesh. Fists hammered him. Shields bashed at him. His head rang, and his body’s ache became a living breathing entity of pain.
But then he was free, out the other side of the horde of people. Some were turning to grab at him, but he ran. His legs were exhausted, but he forced them to propel him forward in a stumbling shamble of a jog.
There was yet another group before him with weapons ready, but beyond that, he could see the wizard and Caerwyn.
He had a brief moment before he reached the next group as he watched what happened beyond. Volf was nowhere to be seen, probably still hiding. The wizard unleashed a great gout of fire at Caerwyn, and Jais screamed as it engulfed her.
Charging forward, he continued his anguished cry, crashing against the next wave of Dronnegir before him.
The mind-controlled barbarians closed in around him, clustering close and cutting off his view of what happened beyond. He tried to push through them as he had with the last group, but these seemed more prepared for such an attack.
He was moving forward, but it was slow, step by agonizing step, and the force against him was immense. He’d forgotten how strong these people were. They didn’t use weapons against him this time. That would have been futile as bunched together as they were. They would have been cutting themselves as much as him. But their fists were weapons, and they used them with abandon, smashing down on him as he tried to get past them.
He wasn’t going to succeed. For every step he took, trying to push forward, he found his feet sliding backward in the dirt of the floor.
More hammering fists rained down on him. His strength waned. His Body began to give way as his mind grew hazy. If he survived this, everything above his waist would be one great bruise of lumpy flesh.
He surged his healing ability to give himself what strength he could, but precious little happen. He was too far gone into fatigue.
One of his hands found the hilt of his sword and he gripped it. He wouldn’t draw it fully. He’d made a promise to Hildr and he’d keep it even if it meant his life. No, he drew it out only enough to lay a finger on the blade.
Father… I need…
His father’s spirit read his thoughts quickly enough and did as he’d hoped.
Energy flashed into him.
He funneled everything he could into healing and rejuvenating himself. He could feel it working, his flesh mending, his muscles strengthening, but even as the sword push the last of what it could into him, he feared it wouldn’t be enough.
He cried out again, in a great wail of pain, fear, and frustration.
Even as he did, the force of the people around him pushed him to his knees despite all his newfound energy.
From his knees, he was pushed lower still, to all fours.
People must have been piling on above him as the great weight on him increased.
Tears leaked from his eyes, his lids clenched shut.
He let out one last bellow…
Caerwyn had summoned her immunity to magic just in time to avoid the fire spewed at her from the wizard. She’d had it lowered so Volf could keep her hidden. But when the wizard had turned to her with that hideous laugh, she’d remembered it and raised it just in time.
The fire washed around her, warm and harmless.
When it died, the wizard’s eyes went wide.
She grinned. She still wasn’t feeling particularly hopeful, but the look of shock in the other man’s eyes was pleasing.
She didn’t know if the ability would affect her weapon, whether that might allow it to penetrate through his magical shield. It was worth a try.
She threw Davlas with all the pent-up fury and rage she felt at her own impotence. It bounced off the wizard’s barrier once again. Though there was a moment of terror in the man’s eyes. Perhaps he’d doubted his own magic.
Apparently, her ability to negate the magic of others was only on things actively affecting her, not passive defenses.
She summoned the spear back to her hand and reassessed her situation, but in that moment, the wizard figured out how he could fight someone immune to his magic. He did after all have an entire village of slaves at his disposal.
A group charged at her.
Now she had a problem. If she wanted to keep Hildr happy, she couldn’t fight them with her weapons. She’d kill someone if she went all out. She could defend herself and had just enough time to take her shield from her back and slide it onto her arm before the people arrived. She kept Davlas nearby but didn’t wield him physically. She could control the spear with her mind and did so, drawing her sword to deflect any attacks at her.
It quickly became apparent that though she was pulling her attacks so as not to seriously harm anyone, the villagers were not.
She had to retreat from the onslaught of so many infuriated and skilled warriors. Her calf, just below the knee, bumped into something as she stepped back. She nearly toppled over, but only just managed to keep her balance.
She didn’t have time to look behind her but hoped what she’d encountered was what she thought it was.
She leapt up and back and thankfully found she was now atop the platform which dominated the side of the longhouse.
She had something now, if not much and not for long. She was a good foot and a half above her attackers. She had some high ground. Her mind whirled through the years of tactical training. She didn’t have much to work with, only a little height advantage, but she be damned to the darkest shadows of Holn if she didn’t use that to its fullest extent. She hammered down on several attackers with her shield. They’d hurt, but it wouldn’t be anything fatal, she hoped.
Two men tried to step onto the platform on her right. She sent Davlas back behind their legs, then pulled it forward, toppling them backwards into others.
She had a moment, a few heartbeats at most, to pause.
She couldn’t get past these people, which meant she couldn’t fight the wizard.
There was nothing she could do. It would take all her ability and tactical knowledge to just keep these people at bay. Moving past them without harming them would be near to impossible.
She could do nothing to affect the wizard now.
It was all up to Volf.
And that’s when the earth shuddered and heaved beneath her.
38
Volf felt the tremor. It shook him so violently he let his shadow-form drop. He was exceptionally agile, but still went to one knee at the violence of the quake. Dust and debris from the rafters was shaken loose and fell on everything around him. For a moment, all was obscured by the haze.
Before the sudden and inexplicable tremor, the wizard had been focused on Caerwyn, one hand outstretched and eyes near-to-closed as if it took some great concentration to control those attacking her.
Volf had stood so near, but terrified to act.
Wha
t did he know of fighting, of killing? He didn’t even have a sword on him. He’d left the one Caerwyn had been using to teach him back with his pack. He hadn’t thought of it at all, he wasn’t a fighter. Stealth and secrecy were his weapons. All he had on him was a single long knife and that was in his hand. But what to do with it?
A few times he’d taken a tentative step toward the wizard but had backed off every time. If Caerwyn’s spear hadn’t broken through the man’s shield what made him think his knife would do any better?
Even now, as the dust settled and he tried to regain his feet after that odd tremor, he realized he’d dropped the weapon.
He knelt again and rummaged around in the dirt, but he still could not see well through the settling dust. His hand brushed something, cutting a finger. He plucked up the weapon by the blade, slicing his palm, but at least he had a weapon now.
He switched the knife to his other, unwounded hand as he rose.
It was only then — as the dust settled — that he saw what he guessed had caused the earth to shake as it had.
Jais was on his hands and knees at the center of a small crater. There had been a group of Dronnegir there before. They had all been thrown away, flung to all sides, creating a small cleared area around Jais.
The wizard was also down.
Jais tried to rise, but it took him several attempts and when he did, he swayed on his feet as he staggered forward toward the wizard.
The wizard was quicker to his feet and faced Jais.
“I do not think you will be resistant to my fire,” the wizard said, hissing out his words with a ragged vehemence. He raised a hand, but then a form — shrieking and flying through the still dusty air — knocked him to the side. The wizard’s gout of flame missed Jais, but only by a few inches and Jais raised an arm, ducking to one side to shield his face from the heat.
Volf could now see it had been Caerwyn who had hit the wizard, and she was following up her flying attack by physically battering on his magical shield. The wizard was still standing as Caerwyn bashed with her shield and slammed her fist against his defenses again and again. Her sword had been knocked from her hand when she’d hit the wizard and lay on the floor a few feet away.
Volf rushed over to the weapon, thinking to toss it back to Caerwyn, but once it was in his hand…
He was behind the wizard.
Jais had closed distance. He and Caerwyn were pounding on the wizard’s shield and the man seemed to be hard pressed to keep them at bay. He wasn’t throwing any magic at them and for a moment, Volf wondered what the man was doing.
But then in his periphery he caught the villagers closing in slowly and carefully behind his allies. The two were so focused on trying to bash down the wizard’s shield they weren’t seeing the attackers gathering behind them, weapons ready.
Volf felt his mouth go dry and his stomach heave and clench. His palms were slick and his breathing quick. He had to do something.
But what?
He’d just be battering the wizard’s shield as well.
His mind flashed through everything the dragon had given him about his own abilities and as it did, it snagged on something. It was some bit of knowledge, some ability he hadn’t had time to think on or test since he’d gained his newfound awareness of his skills.
It was a variation on his shadow-walk. That ability allowed him to move quickly over-land despite a leisurely pace, but there was a deviation from that which would allow him to step through barriers. He didn’t fully understand it. The insight came in a flash, and he knew what to do without truly knowing how he was doing it.
He held out the sword in his one hand and concentrated just on it and his arm. It faded a little, becoming transparent. It seemed to shake with a great intensity, such that he could feel the rapid tremors through the rest of his body as well.
He didn’t think.
Thrusting forward with the sword, it encountered no shield.
The blade plunged into flesh.
The feel of a blade jarring through a man’s body was too much for him, and he stumbled back, releasing the sword, horrified. His stomach churned, and he felt himself growing faint.
Both Jais and Caerwyn stumbled forward a step as their attacks hit nothing.
They shared a revelatory glance then both pounced on the wizard.
Even as they did, the men and women who had been gathering behind them swayed and staggered. The faint glow of their eyes was gone. They’d been freed of the control on them.
Volf let out a giddy laugh of shock and joy… and fainted.
Caerwyn’s fists connected with the wizard’s jaw. Her knuckles were already torn and bloody from pounding on the magical shield, but she didn’t care. It felt good to feel his skin and bone give way with the blows.
She was on the man now. He lay prone and she was half atop him and half kneeling. She surged her strength and endurance with a wild cry and hammered down on his face with the wild fury of a cornered bear. She’d lost her shield and was simply pummeling the man with both fists. Her scream did not let up until her voice could cry out no more, and her arms did not stop descending on the wizard with rapid blows until someone grabbed her.
“He’s dead, Caer,” Jais said.
She couldn’t see him — nor the wizard — through the glazing of tears in her eyes. She blinked, but the tears did not go.
She wiped her eyes as she staggered to stand. Yet that did little. Her hands were covered in blood. Still, she could barely see.
Her throat was raw and her face wet. She’d been sobbing through her screams, she knew that now.
Jais’ voice was close. “Gods, you’re a mess. Here let me…” She felt his tender hands wiping her face. When she could see again, she looked around, still dazed.
Jais stood next to her. He was holding her, supporting her, or perhaps she was supporting him. He looked completely drained, barely able to stand.
But despite his fatigue, he wore a weary grin. “We did it.” He turned his head slightly and nodded.
She looked and smiled grimly. The wizard was no longer recognizable. His face was well caved in, near to crushed. A sword tip poked through his belly as he lay at an awkward angle, propped up slightly by the hilt of the sword behind him.
“I…” But she had no words. Her fury was spent, and her emotions surged within her.
She fell to her knees and Jais went with her. It seemed they had been supporting each other after all.
“I know,” he said softly as her tears returned and she doubled over weeping. His hand rubbed her back. “I know.”
Barami — closely followed by Hildr — came upon a strange sight. They’d known something had happened when the villagers they were defending against had suddenly stopped. The villagers’ eyes had returned to normal, and they’d stood, confused, blinking and recovering from their possession. He and Hildr had pushed their way through several groups of villagers to see what had transpired. They’d come across a group of villagers recovering and groaning, tossed about like twigs from some strange attack that had scattered them so. Then they’d reached where the final battle had been fought.
Caerwyn was lying on her side, curled into a ball, weeping. Jais was nearby, kneeling, face down in the dirt… snoring. Volf was a little ways off, splayed like a ragdoll and similarly out of it. The wizard was dead, quite so.
With no one to tell them what had happened, Barami could only imagine the various and odd scenarios which had led to this scene.
“It’s over,” he said softly.
Hildr put an arm around him. “Thanks to you and your friends.”
39
“Skoll!” Barami cheered, clashing his metal flagon with many others. He didn’t know what the word meant. The Dronnegir used it as some sort of toast to health. Also, he didn’t much care as he was getting well drunk from their strong and sweet honey-mead.
A great celebration was being held, a festival and a funeral. Several days had passed and life was ever so slowly moving
on in the village. Several clan members, Elria’s father among them, had gone up to the dragon-cave and brought back her body for the proper rights. Her remains lay on an unlit pyre to one side of the large village center. The pyre would be lit at dusk, or when Jais had awoken to give his final respects, whichever came later.
Jais had been asleep for days, unable to be woken by any outside force. He’d risen for brief periods to eat great quantities of food, but then had succumbed to his fatigue once again.
Caerwyn had been abed for much of that same time as well, though Barami could tell her weariness was not of body, but of soul. He’d been meaning to talk to her but hadn’t had the heart, not yet.
Volf had woken not long after the fight, only to be sick. He too had rested for quite some time. Now he stayed near Caerwyn tending to her.
That had left Barami on his own. He’d rested for some time as well. He wasn’t as young as any of the others and had no special powers of endurance. But he had something to get up for.
Hildr had seemed to sleep little. She was much younger than he and still well in her prime. He had no doubt she’d slept, but not for near as long as he. The woman was a blessing, a wonder, a miracle. Just seeing her made him feel ten years younger.
She came for him now, pulling him away from the celebration with the group of Dronnegir.
“Be you ready?”
He grinned. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You be drunk. Do you think that wise?” Her tone was scolding.
He could only grin wider at that, and he chuckled a little to himself. So many times in his life he’d seen men chided by their women in similar ways. He’d seen it with his own father and with friends who’d been bonded. He’d laughed at those men and the trouble they’d caused, thinking he’d never be in such a position. And now that he was, he found he thoroughly enjoyed it. One could not be scolded by a loving woman, unless one had a loving woman, and he did.
“I can handle my liquor. And I think I need just a little fortification to face your father again.”
Shadow Soul Page 24