by Frank Morin
The thunderous detonations deafened her right through her shielding. In a blinding eyeblink that entire corner of the township transformed into a superheated oven and charbroiled everything beyond the melting point of cold steel.
The brutal onslaught drove the double-layered half domes of her shielding nearly a foot into the frozen ground. Verena shouted and clung to the earth, eyes squeezed shut, trying not to think about what she had just done.
She stayed like that for ten long seconds after the last explosion. She did not want to move, did not want to look, but if she hesitated, more soldiers might come and she lacked the weapons to defeat them all again.
As soon as she released the shielding, brutally hot air rushed in, sucking the breath from her lungs. Despite the bitter cold of the snowy day, the land for a hundred yards in every direction was now a blackened wasteland, pocked with craters. Even the topsoil had melted to a glassy crust.
No trace of any of the soldiers remained.
Verena refused to acknowledge the sorrow she felt for those deaths. She wasn’t safe yet and if she stopped to think about the lives she’d just snuffed out, she’d break down into helpless tears. She refused to die that way. It was Harley’s fault for sending those men and women into battle.
She’d find a way to make Harley pay for those deaths. Somehow.
First, she had to get out of there. She again tapped her sculpted obsidian and connected with the distant windrider. It wasn’t a battle craft, but it was a flying platform, and that was better than what she had now. Trying to land the ponderous windrider through remote control would be tricky, but it seemed her best chance.
Before she could even try, the wagon suddenly shattered, as if a giant, invisible hand had squeezed it to pieces.
Verena cursed and released obsidian. She peered up through the curtains of snow, as if she could see up where the broken pieces of the windrider were already falling toward the river. Had Harley shattered it, or had one of her Petralists recognized what Verena had done and targeted the helpless wagon?
It didn’t matter. The wagon was gone. That meant she was stranded on the ground, with too few power stones. Verena buckled on her sword belt, adjusted her satchel, then started jogging north toward the township, hoping to circle the fighting.
Kilian and Mattias needed her. She would not let them down.
90
The Challenge with Juggling
Using intertwined ropes of fire and water, Ivor slashed across Harley’s face and neck from three sides at the same time. He snapped those ropes of elements against her like bullwhips, every strike powerful enough to decapitate any normal person, and most Petralists.
They just annoyed Harley.
The seared flesh and shattered bones healed as fast as he damaged them. She didn’t scream, didn’t even stumble, but she did swat at them with one hand. More importantly, the earth she used to defend herself from him was earth she couldn’t use to crush Hamish’s Juggernaut.
As the battered Juggernaut burst free of the earthen bands that had been tightening around it, Ivor added a fourth mark in the outer shell of the Slide. Hamish was doing a remarkable job fighting Harley, but that made four times he most likely would have died without Ivor’s assistance.
Together they couldn’t defeat her, but hopefully they could keep her annoyed and distracted until Connor or Kilian returned to help.
Ivor suspected Connor would get there first. Merkland had suddenly calmed a moment ago, and he took that as a hopeful sign that Connor had succeeded. They needed Connor badly. Harley had split them and played them for fools. If they didn’t turn the tide on her soon, they’d lose any chance.
Ivor was already pushing his limits more than he ever had. If not for how deadly serious the situation was, he would exult in the moment. He’d never spread his influence so widely. While he sat in a comfortable chair on the deck of the Slide under the surface of the Macantact, he enjoyed unrivaled access to the landscape all around. Not only was he linked tightly to the river, but through the high-piled snow and ongoing snowstorm, his will permeated everything.
He wasn’t alone, but he was as yet unchallenged in his mastery of the area. Kilian was already fighting Petralists on the east bank, and Ivor was eager to check in on him. Verena had crashed her new Swift, and he’d lost contact with her after that firestorm she’d unleashed. He wasn’t too worried about her for the moment.
Rory’s forces were attacking the western flanks of Dougal’s army, and Ivor was striking at their eastern flank every chance he got. He kept the Spitters distracted by sending waves of water bursting the banks of the Macantact to drag soldiers into a holding cell deep in the river, or by striking at their ranks with the billowing snow.
They fought back, but didn’t know exactly where to hit him. He kept himself carefully shielded, but had also created half a dozen fake Slides that he scattered down the length of river. He allowed those shields to slip a little, giving the Spitters targets, which they attacked with admirable tenacity and coordination. They even pulled in Sentries to help, spearing earth blindly up into the river to try to strike him down.
Ivor felt confident that between his and Rory’s efforts, they could keep the main army distracted for a while, but that was but a lesser skirmish in the greater battle.
Hamish made a reckless dash back at Harley, firing a dozen diorite missiles to cover his approach. Harley deflected them away with powerful air currents, so Ivor struck at her back with a hundred ice balls, helping distract her long enough for Hamish to crash into her and roll clear again. The daring strike left her body gashed, but again she healed almost immediately.
As Harley slid across the ground after Hamish, Ivor left them to the chase for a moment and turned his attention to Kilian. The ancient Dawnus’s presence was like a towering inferno. The man was so powerful, he inspired and intimidated Ivor in equal measure.
The enemy troops had slowed their advance in the face of Kilian’s opposition, ceding the front lines to half a dozen Spitters and an equal number of Firetongues. The two groups were attacking him in ferocious, well-coordinated strikes that would have overwhelmed most Petralists in seconds. Ivor might have held his own for a while, but he would have been fighting a desperate, defensive battle.
Kilian was whistling.
He marched toward the enemy Petralists, ringed with fire and water that flowed all around him in intricate, ever-shifting patterns. The barrage of elemental attacks deflected away or parted around him without quite reaching him.
Ivor tried turning his mini-hub to Kilian’s speakstone, but he heard far too much interference from the elemental storm to make out any words. So he switched to Mattias, who was flanking Kilian, about fifty yards behind, out of the worst of the elemental barrage. So far it looked like he’d been ignored as everyone focused on Kilian.
“Mattias, what’s your status?” Ivor asked.
“Are you seeing this?” Mattias asked, his voice awed.
“I can sense it through soapstone, so I get a pretty good idea.”
“He’s teaching them,” Mattias exclaimed in disbelief. “Can you believe that? They’re hitting him with everything they’ve got, and he’s congratulating them on working well together and encouraging them to try harder.”
Ivor chuckled. “Maybe he’s trying to intimidate them.”
“With reverse psychology? Why doesn’t he just kill them?”
“Maybe his fight isn’t with them?” Ivor suggested. He didn’t doubt Kilian could kill those Petralists if he really wanted to, but one of the things he really respected about Kilian was his restraint. He’d kill if he had to, but maybe he was looking for a way to spare those men and women whose only error was in following orders?
As Ivor scanned the area, he noticed a group of Striders sprint around the front of a warehouse at the trailing, southern end of the township to Kilian’s right, blades and nets poised.
Attacking Kilian like that seemed awfully optimistic.
“Fin
ally, something for me to do,” Mattias said as he ran past Kilian, twin swords drawn.
Kilian threw out his hands, and Ivor felt the mighty surge of his will. It slammed against the ongoing assaults from the attacking Petralists, scattering their control and their elements together. Fire and water exploded away from Kilian in a blinding sheet, and he turned to watch Mattias.
The onrushing soldiers seemed happy to target Mattias first. Four cast nets to tangle him, while the rest threw knives or rushed in with short swords.
Mattias wasn’t the champion of the Edderitz games for nothing. He twirled past the first two nets, tipped a third high enough to duck under, and simply slashed the fourth one to shreds before it could wrap him up. His swords blurred as he deflected knives with sharp clangs.
Some of the Striders seemed to recognize the danger and peeled away, but most of them did not. They rushed in, swords striking at Mattias’s head and shoulders.
They never came close.
Mattias lunged through their midst, feet dancing, blades slashing like a sphere of deadly steel around him. Swords somehow missed by a hair’s breadth, or clanged as he deflected them aside, more often than not to smash into one of their companions. His own swords whipped out, touching enemies gracefully for a split second.
Blood blossomed at every stroke and Striders cried out and fell, clutching at their bleeding wounds. In three seconds, only the Striders wise enough to flee remained standing.
Eight Blades took their places.
The twin-sword wielding warriors approached in a wedge formation, moving with the same deadly grace as Mattias.
He saluted them, and they saluted in return.
Ivor tensed to intervene. He appreciated Mattias’s optimism, but not even he could stand against that many Blades and hope to survive.
“Mattias, get back,” Kilian called.
In that moment, the Spitters and Firetongues attacked again, actually weaving water and fire together and driving the mixed elements at Kilian like a giant, elemental spear.
Ivor was impressed and suddenly fearful. That kind of combined attack could threaten even Kilian, couldn’t it?
Kilian grinned fiercely and clapped his hands together, fingers pointed at the enemy. The elements swirling around him flowed into the shape of an enormous shield, and the attacking spear deflected high.
Kilian erupted off the ground, bursting right through his own shield. He made a grasping motion, and the enemy spear stopped in mid-air, then leaped into his hands.
He paused twenty feet in the air, reversed the spear, and threw it back at his attackers. It split into a dozen smaller spears, each aimed at one of the attackers. They either dove aside or raised hasty barriers.
Most of them managed to deflect or avoid the deadly attack. Two of them didn’t. A pair of Firetongues tripped over each other and fell in a heap. The spears drove in for the kill, but abruptly paused, inches from their hearts.
Then every spear exploded in a blinding display of colored lights and sparkling ice crystals.
Kilian said, “Not bad, kids, but take a break for a minute.”
They didn’t take advantage of the reprieve, but re-formed their line, looking ready to resume the attack.
Kilian snapped his fingers. Twice.
One of the Spitters screamed, clutching at his head as steam boiled out of his mouth and eyes. He collapsed, and when Ivor scanned him, he recoiled with disgust. The man had boiled from the inside.
One of the Firetongues pitched over at the same time, body rigid. Ivor scanned that one too and found the body completely frozen.
Kilian had drained the heat out of that man in a heartbeat. At the same time, he’d set the other man’s blood boiling.
A fearful silence settled over the entire company, and Kilian’s voice sounded clearly through Mattias’s speakstone for Ivor to hear. He spoke softly, but with deadly intensity.
“I told you to take a break.”
One of the Firetongues held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Be our guest. We’ll just wait till you’re ready, I guess.”
“Good lad.” Kilian extracted a ceramic jar from his vest and added, “Danger lies not only in the elements you wield.”
He threw the jar and pushed it high, past Mattias’s head with blowing snow, then shattered it with a burst of fire. The contents sprayed all across the Blades, who had again resumed their advance.
One breath later they began to stagger. Two seconds later, most of them dropped their swords, looking confused and afraid.
“What was that?” Mattias demanded.
“Anti-obsidian powder. We only recently discovered it. This was the trial run. Looks like it works.”
Ivor applauded from where he sat in the Slide. That was a brilliant move.
Mattias sheathed his swords and said with obvious disappointment, “I can’t fight them now.”
“You’re welcome,” Kilian said with a smile in his voice.
Seeing their Blades fall to the strange powder seemed too much for the Spitters and Firetongues, none of whom looked eager to attack Kilian again.
They retreated into the larger force massed behind them. Four soldiers rounded the same warehouse the Striders had appeared around a moment ago. Their leader spoke, and even though the voice only reached Ivor faintly through Mattias’s speakstone, he recognized Dougal.
“Your time has—”
Kilian did not wait for Dougal to start monologuing. Instead he whipped out a spear of mixed water and fire and hurled it at Dougal and the three blades flanking him. Ivor gasped at the amount of power Kilian poured into that spear. He didn’t want to just kill Dougal, he wanted to incinerate him to ash.
The deadly spear of mixed elements somehow slipped past the four of them, without so much as curling a single hair on their heads. It struck the warehouse behind them and vaporized it.
High Lord Dougal laughed, sounding overjoyed. “Your mother sends her best, along with this little secret that protects us from your elemental powers.”
“It’s so annoying when the enemy gets clever too,” Ivor muttered.
Mattias drew his swords again. “I’ll take care of the other three.”
Kilian started to shout a warning, but Mattias suddenly staggered, his hands gripping his temples.
Dougal chuckled as he drew to within fifty feet. Mattias trembled violently and Dougal spoke, his tone gloating. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you go take off the head of that annoying little Builder?”
“Oh, no,” Ivor whispered. Dougal had seized Mattias’s mind. He’d probably been waiting for a chance to take the mind of anyone tapping obsidian. Connor knew to be wary, but Mattias had apparently forgotten about the danger. Leave it to Dougal to complicate things. The man really needed to die.
Mattias dropped his hands from his face and Ivor could imagine murder in his gaze. Without a word, he turned toward the area where Verena had crashed.
Kilian wrapped Mattias with a constricting layer of ice. “Cool off a bit, Mattias. We’ll talk in a minute. I should have saved some of that anti-obsidian powder. It would have simplified things.”
All of the enemy Spitters and Firetongues who had made such a show of retreating a moment ago now attacked again. The Spitters struck with a blizzard of ice shards, attempting to overwhelm Kilian with the sheer volume of the assault, but they diffused their own strength so much that he easily deflected the ice away.
The Firetongues whipped out ropes of crimson fire, trying to seize his limbs and bind him. He swatted each of them aside, but they snapped right back at him with annoying persistence. None of the attacks threatened him much, but all together they seemed to finally consume a lot of his attention.
That’s when the Blades flanking Dougal began to advance. And just to make it fun, an unseen Sentry joined the fray. The ground rumbled and thick earthen walls rose up twenty feet on either side of Kilian and ten feet behind him. The side walls that boxed him in extended all the way past Dougal before a back
wall rose, completing the rectangle and locking him inside with the enemy Blades and High Lord Dougal.
Mattias ended up on the outside, along with the other tertiary Petralists. The unseen Sentry began dragging him away along the ground by the very block of ice that Kilian had used to bind him. The Spitters and Firetongues did not strike into the box, but they prowled the perimeter with their wills, ready to attack on Dougal’s command.
Ivor prepared to intercept Mattias. He’d have to strike fast to overwhelm the Sentry and avoid interference from those Spitters and Firetongues. He’d have surprise on his side, but he also didn’t want to kill Mattias.
But his attention was drawn back to Hamish. Harley caught up with him, bashing the Juggernaut brutally with a thrown boulder. The impact knocked it off course and dented a couple of the outer panels. He was in dire trouble and needed Ivor more than Kilian.
So Ivor left Mattias. He figured that the best way to save Mattias and Verena was to kill Dougal quickly. Kilian seemed eager to do just that. Instead, Ivor whipped up a mini blizzard and wrapped it around Harley, grabbing at her, spitting shards of ice into her eyes, and doing everything possible to distract and annoy.
It seemed to work. Hamish accelerated away and although Harley gave chase on her earthen chair, Ivor’s distraction initiative kept her busy enough to allow Hamish to keep ahead.
Ivor grinned. He might not be in the middle of any of the multiple fights scattered along the river, but in a way he was in the middle of all of them. He swept another squad of soldiers into the river from the main army, then turned his attention back to Kilian, just as the ancient Dawnus drew his sword and his long-knife, his movements fluid and resolute.
Ivor turned his mini-hub to Kilian’s stone and this time he managed to catch the words as Kilian said, “I’m afraid you’ve over-estimated your own cleverness today.”
Dougal snarled, “Finally, we meet on equal terms.”