Blaze of Magic

by J. A. Culican

  Despite the sword's recruiting, she slowly lost ground. First, she was backed out into the hallway, then to the foyer, and finally, she and her troops were pushed back through the front door. Of her original trolls and elves, only a couple remained, and she kept them near her side as bodyguards.

  Once they were outside and the enemy had room to maneuver, the fighting grew more intense. Her troops were pushed back toward the street. She was hanging on, staying in the fight long enough to allow Mikah to escape, or at least, she hoped since she had no idea where he had gone to. But the fighting was so fierce and so desperate that her troops were getting killed as quickly as she could turn them.

  Bells' arms ached from swinging her sword, and in fact, her whole body was wearing out, while using its power so often drained her mentally. A cramp was forming in her right leg, too. As long as the enemy kept throwing troops into the battle, she realized, she would eventually wear out, and then her troops would, even as the enemy piled fresh troops through the portal.

  One of her bodyguards said, "Bells, you must run. We'll hold them off for you. Fight another day and gather another army."

  She dodged a blow aimed at her head and slashed back at her attacker, sending him reeling to the dirt. "No. I'm staying."

  Those three words were all she had the energy or the breath to say. She would have kept arguing, but all of her focus and energy was taken up by merely staying alive. For how long, she didn't know.

  Oddly, not knowing if this was her last day didn't bother her as much as she thought it should. If anything, deep down, she embraced the possibility of death. She was tired, so tired, and life had become far too complicated, too painful, with too many doubts and too many fears turned real. She'd never be able to just go back to her simple farm life, as much as she truly wished she could at that moment.

  Perhaps dying in battle with an evil enemy, clutching a sword she barely knew how to use, could be the next best thing. Even though she was breathing hard to suck down air like a forge's billows, she stood straighter and swung harder despite her physical exhaustion. This was as good a day to die as any. She cut down another elf as her frustrated grimace disappeared, replaced by a wan smile.

  A dragon fighting beside her, one of the few left alive from the manor, ducked below his opponent's attempt to shove a spear through his head and, rising up to stand tall again, cut the spear in half with his sword and followed up with a mighty kick to the elf's chest, sending him reeling backward to knock over two of the elf's fellow attackers. The dragon grinned wide at her in the brief pause he’d created and said, "Today, you became a real warrior. Now I've seen everything—a fae whose heart beats dragonfire in battle!"

  Bells backed away from a renewed onslaught while two dragons rushed forward to fill the gap she created. It gave her a moment to look around again and catch her bearings. Situational awareness, Jaekob would have called it. That thought brought him to the front of her mind, and her fierce war face lost its grin. If she died today, she hoped Creation would bless her with the chance to at least see Jaekob once more.

  She snarled back, "I just realized I might die here with you, today, but accepting that was almost liberating."

  The dragon let out the deep, resonant, bass-filled rumble, a dragon's battle cry, then he and two now-friendly elves rushed into a sudden gap in their attackers' battle line, and the abrupt, pain-filled screams that followed told her the surprised move had been effective.

  She was almost tempted to look for an opening of her own to charge through, but alone, that would be suicide. In the heat of the moment, that idea didn't seem so bad, but only she could wield the sword that was their only hope of containing the attack long enough to find a way to close the portal. She had to hang on.

  As Bells took stock of the situation, she realized she was less than a dozen feet from where she had first met Mikah, the very spot where he defended himself against his would-be assassins. That seemed like a lifetime ago, and in a way, it was.

  She heard boots pounding the pavement behind her and glanced over her shoulder in time to see a dragon and a troll rushing toward her unit. In a fight like the one she found herself in that day, every warm body could spell the difference between victory and ultimate defeat. "Boy, aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Glad to have you here, dragon."

  "Well met, sword-bearer Bells. I'm sorry we were delayed. Where are Mikah and Jaekob?"

  Bells spotted an opening between a troll and an elf, both attacking one of her sword-recruited elf officers. She darted forward and used her sword to recruit them.

  She turned back to the newcomers and grit her teeth. "I have no idea where Jaekob is. Mikah was in the manor when the attack began, and I suspect he's tying down a bunch of enemy troops somewhere inside."

  If Mikah still lived, he was probably leading a very effective defense in the Manor's east wing, as the maze of rooms and hallways there made it ideal for making a strong stand.

  A grimace passed over the dragon's face. "Perhaps that's part of the reason the Black Khan's forces have not yet overwhelmed your unit. Well done, holding out. Where do you need us?"

  Both the troll and the dragon were scanning the ragged battle line. Normally, she would have worried about making the best possible choice so they didn't have reason to think they could do better than some fae, but now, she was far too busy to worry about that. "My north flank is hard-pressed to keep the line. They could use a dragon warrior to shore them up."

  She didn't wait to see how they responded or whether they followed her directions, instead diving back into the fray.

  It was amazing what thirty seconds of rest could do to recharge a body in the middle of a fight like that. She would remember that for the next time. Assuming she got a next time.

  Mikah

  "One... Two... Three!" Mikah cried out, and then he leaned right, exposing part of himself to the attacking elves and their few were and troll supporters. The enemy was clustered in doorways all down the hallway. Mikah exposed himself only long enough to throw the silver coin he'd spent the prior ten seconds preparing. Ten seconds was a long time in battle.

  From behind the fixtures and furniture scattered about the grand room Mikah and his forces defended, half a dozen of his battle mages stood or leaned or crawled from behind cover, unleashing devastating spells without mercy. Some of the enemy had guns, as though mere technology was going to help them in this fight. Such mundane weapons hadn't helped the humans they originally took them from, and they weren't helping the Black Khan's troops any more than they had the humans. Still, it was remotely possible one of them could get a bullet to reach him, especially if he followed his gut instincts to charge the attackers' positions. Dragon instincts leaned heavily toward offense.

  The silver coin arced through the air, streaking in a blur toward the hallway. Mikah couldn't help but relish that sight for the few seconds it lasted before the coin's glyph burst into angry, purple sparks and flames that spread outward in a sphere, faster than even a were could dodge.

  At least four elves were caught in the blast and they immediately burst into flames, immolated with the purple mage fire. Within seconds, the spell cremated them down to their bones, and a haze of ashes drifted through the air like the aftermath of a volcano.

  The elves in the next pair of doorways had a critical extra second to take cover, however.

  Mikah cursed under his breath. His chief of security, Brandon, crouched behind the same patch of cover as Mikah and, grinning, said, "Don't talk about Creation like a curse. What you said, that's the opposite of creation, I think."

  "Bah," Mikah spat. "It could have been a far better, more spectacular result. I feel like I wasted my coins."

  Brandon ducked out from behind cover long enough to loose an arrow, then ducked back half a second before several return-fire arrows streaked by, passing through the space his head and chest had so recently occupied.

  Farther down, two elves with human assault rifles poked their heads and their barrels
from behind cover and hardly bothered to aim as they fired twin streams of bullets at Mikah, Brandon, and whichever Guardians they could see at the moment.

  Mikah barely had time to grin at their panicked stupidity before the rounds struck his simple protective wards. The shooters didn't even have time to duck before their own bullets came back at them and Mikah's quick count showed at least six more dead elves, and one troll who had the poor luck of being in the way.

  Brandon shook his head, and Mikah could only shrug and nod in agreement. "Sometimes, I wonder what made elves believe they were so much smarter than the fae they enslaved. Hah, guns."

  "Yes, First Councilor. But I think we all knew their claims the fae were too stupid to fend for themselves in this terrible, hostile place were, shall we say, greatly exaggerated."

  Mikah fished in his pocket and retrieved another small silver coin and made it dance between his fingers, flipping it over and over to get it used to his aura. “See if you can't contact Jaekob's personal arms master, Bruindy. I want an update on how he's doing out there, wherever he is."

  Brandon frowned and looked away, breaking eye contact. "Jaekob has almost never gone this long without responding to you. But Bruindy didn't respond either, sir."

  A ball of fear formed a knot of pain in Mikah's chest, though he barely had time to recognize it for what it was before his fear for his son had turned into raw, seething anger at the Black Khan's forces. "Well, they sure are trying hard to get to at us. If they can get their act together, I'll have to sound the fall-back alert, but at this rate, they'll never get into this room."

  As Brandon dug through his quiver, no doubt looking for one with a particular enchantment, he grinned up at the First Councilor and said, "Yeah, I'll be happy to lead them into another room just like this one. I don't know about you, but I could keep this up all day."

  "Yes, we had all the time in the world to make this house a fortress. But if I find out anything has happened to my son, I'm going to start taking the Black Khan much more seriously. I don't think he will enjoy that."

  His head of security nocked an arrow, but instead of leaning around the corner to take aim and fire, he shot it all easily over the barricade, out into the living room, without even looking. Two seconds later, there was a terrified scream from across the room—a scream that ended abruptly.

  Mikah grinned.

  Jaekob peered over the rubble wall left by a row of houses destroyed when the Pures first returned to Earth determined to commit genocide in the name of love for the planet. Some love. A hundred yards away stood a large school, but now, instead of teaching children how to count, the city's new Pures residents occupied it. A pair of the Black Khan's soldiers were spaced every twenty feet around the perimeter fence.

  Lying in the gravel shoulder to shoulder with Jaekob, Hawking let out a low whistle. "I had no idea it was this bad. They aren't strong enough to take the city but they'll do some damage before they go. I think that must be why they attacked your father's manor. You know, just to delay any organized response to this evil act."

  Jaekob said, "Well, I'm glad you found me when I got to the market and started trying to organize a defense. Also, thanks for telling me you spoke with Bells. I worry about her and my father, so it's a huge relief to hear she's okay, but I doubt I could have added much to the fight going on there."

  Hawking looked back at the crowd of people inside the school fence line. "Oh, this can't be happening."

  Jaekob followed Hawking's line of sight and his jaw dropped. Trolls and elves herded captive Pures toward the school's parking lot. Apparently, the school was now some sort of intake station.

  "What do you think they're going to do with all the people when the dragon army rallies a defense and then comes for them?" Hawking asked.

  Jaekob shook his head. The fae had to know the answer to that, and Jaekob didn't really want to say it aloud. Instead, he focused on the one thing he could do—run. He could either hide until the threat passed or try to find a friendly unit to attach himself to. "Or, I could..."

  His voice trailed away when he realized he was paying so much attention to his internal debate that he had actually spoken it out loud.

  Hawking said, "Or, you could do... what?"

  Jaekob grinned, and this time it was no dragon's snarl. "I'm a little embarrassed, actually. I didn't mean to say that out loud. But since you ask, I was trying to decide if I should try to hide and avoid the Black Khan's troops long enough for them to run back into the wilds, or if I should try to find a dragon unit and try to free all those people in the school."

  "Any idea how many people are down there? They're wandering around too much, and I lost count."

  Jaekob shook his head. "I'm sure there are at least a thousand Pures down there, maybe more. What a terrible prison camp."

  "I count at least one-hundred enemy soldiers spread along the perimeter fence line to guard them."

  "Other than those, I didn't see any other major threats, only a couple squads congregating over on the north side of the school. They wouldn't be able to respond in time if we had a plan and struck them hard and fast."

  Hawking pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Look, I know you're one of the best warriors around, but I'm not. Sure, I'm crafty and can hold my own in a fight, but those are soldiers, and it wouldn't be a fight. It would be a raid. Plus, however good you are with your spear, I suspect that a hundred enemies will be too much to handle, even for you. Too bad you can't just polymorph into your dragon and strafe them. Crispy trolls."

  "Crispy prisoners, too," Jaekob replied as he shook his head. "We need a better plan than that. You said you're crafty? This would be a great time to prove it. The Black Khan's troops here will probably slaughter those prisoners when the dragons and other Pures gather enough strength to push them out of Philadelphia."

  "It's hard to imagine anyone doing something so terrible. We can't let that psychopath khan do this, can we? I mean, this isn't a military action, and we're under no obligation to treat it like one anymore."

  "If the dragons can't prevent a slaughter like this," Jaekob said, "then the Crown of Pures will break away again, and self-serving bureaucrats like Darren might take advantage of the situation to try to stage a coup within the Dragon Council. If either of those things happen, then the Khan would be almost certain to win."

  Hawking crawled backward on his belly, away from the rubble wall's peak. Jaekob followed close behind. When they were at the bottom and safely out of sight from the khan's soldiers, Hawking said, "Okay, you're the military leader, so I hope you can come up with a plan. I'm not a brave man, but whatever I can do, I will."

  Jaekob grabbed Hawking's forearm in a warrior's handshake. "Brave enough to fight at my side, and you'll have the chance to prove your words shortly."

  How long had the skirmish been going? Bells was too exhausted to remember. Keeping her collected fighters from dwindling away to zero hadn't been enough to keep the attackers at bay, and she had lost ground by inches and feet, leaving a litter of corpses from both sides.

  Pushed back across the street, she and her fighters were taking advantage of the many dry, brown hedges edging the street, and this finally stopped the attackers' advance. Now, it was easy for Bells to use the sword to turn any who tried to cross the dun-colored hedges. Each time she took a warrior's will and made it her own, their companions cut them down before they got the chance to turn on their former allies.

  Bells felt cruel and merciless, but this battle had taught her a cold, hard truth: forcing the enemy to kill their own comrades was efficient, fast, and much safer for her scarce troops. She also felt a heavy weight from personally ensuring so many people's death, but she didn't let it stop her. She had to be a big enough thorn in the khan's side that he focused on dealing with her instead of securing the city, to buy the Crown and dragons time to organizes defenses for a counter-attack.

  In fact, making a stand at the hedges turned out to be so efficient at getting enemy tro
ops killed that, for a moment, she had a glimmer of hope the tides could be turned. She was "turning" them faster than they could kill themselves off, and for the first time, the pressure the enemy put on her and her troops relaxed.

  When the next wave of attackers came through and halted some twenty feet away instead of rushing to join the hedgerow slaughter like the prior waves, her glimmer of hope flared to life, her heart soaring. She roared a spontaneous battle cry, exulting in confounding the attackers' plans, and her exhaustion was quickly forgotten. Her troops must have felt the same, because they engaged the enemy across the hedgerow with a new enthusiasm.

  Suddenly, an explosion wracked the manor's east wing and a tremendous blue mushroom cloud cast an ominous light on everything. Half of the east wing was blown apart in an instant, and the rest was quickly becoming engulfed by blue fire, the light pulsing like a heartbeat.

  Her battle cry died on her lips along with her newfound hope. For a moment, the battle raging around her seemed to pause as the implications dawned on her. Hope was replaced by horror.

  Mikah...

  If he had been alive and fighting the enemy within the manor...

  No one could survive such a blast.

  As shattered timbers and debris rained down all around the manor, the khan's forces took advantage of the brief lull in fighting to shift people around, and the fresh wave of invaders standing by in the background rushed forward, screaming their own battle cries.

  The fight was on again, but what would happen when the attackers inside the manor came looking for a new target?

  She didn't have to wait long to get her answer. A stream of enemy Pures flooded out of the manor. They were a cloud of fighters, all charging toward Bells' unit. Even with the hedge, she had no hope of holding them all off. They'd easily outflank her or simply overrun her in a frontal attack if they tried hard enough.

  Bells' grim acceptance of the inevitability of her death returned, and she focused on simply doing as much damage to the attackers as she could before she died.