by Frank Morin
Connor glanced across the river. It sounded like Verena was on the ground. Why wasn’t she in the Swift? Had Mattias broken the thrusters somehow?
Dougal was there fighting Kilian? Why wasn’t he dead yet?
It didn’t matter. Mattias was trying to kill Verena. Under Dougal’s command, he’d do it. He’d kill himself later if he regained his faculties and realized what he’d done, but that wouldn’t change anything.
Towering rage boiled into Connor, hotter than the fires he was using to kill Harley. He fanned it, using it as a shield against his fear, and wrapped Harley in yet another layer of superheated fire.
“Where are you?” Hamish asked.
“North end of the township.”
“I’m coming.”
Connor said, “No. I’m going.”
“Harley’s not dead yet,” Hamish protested.
She couldn’t be far from it. She’d stopped struggling, stopped screaming, and her skin was blackened and peeling. Connor stabbed her again and she didn’t twitch.
“I’m going. You finish her.”
It took only a couple seconds to surround the boiling fire that was charbroiling Harley with an outer layer of ice. Just to be safe, Connor tapped limestone and hit Harley with sensory deprivation. Even if some spark inside of her still remained, she was locked away until her body crumbled to ash.
“If she stirs, smash her flat, but I think she’s done for.”
“I don’t think we should underestimate her,” Hamish warned.
“You can do it,” Connor assured his friend. Then he threw himself into the sky, letting his giant suit peel away.
He needed to stop Mattias. He didn’t plan to kill him, but if he had to choose between Mattias and Verena, Mattias would die.
92
The Great Merkland Bash Fight
Jean ran after Rory and his army as they courageously made the quietest charge in history.
They weren’t trying to be quiet. Soldiers shouted battle cries, while Crushers chanted their favorite Grandurian battle songs. Jean cringed, wishing she didn’t understand the words.
Student Eighteen blocked all the sound.
In a silent wave, they charged into the swirling snowstorm. Then all of a sudden, Jean spotted the Obrioner army and she quailed with fear. There were so many of them!
Even though the charge was completely silent, the army noticed them and soldiers turned, swords and spears rising.
General Rory’s voice boomed over the battlefield. “You are surrounded! Surrender!”
Some of them actually did.
Soldiers wearing High Lord Dougal’s colors simply couldn’t disobey an order from General Rory. They threw down their weapons and dropped to their knees, looking disgusted with themselves, but still defeated.
Their companions charged.
Tiny but intense bursts of light erupted among them. Rory’s Solas’s had been inspired by Connor’s words that limestone could do more than anyone usually accepted. They scattered the blinding, distracting little lights all through the enemy ranks.
Then the air erupted with sound. Thunderous booms shook the air, as if every diorite bomb ever invented detonated just over their heads. Soldiers ducked instinctively, then crouched lower as thousands of invisible arrows swished past.
Then their officers shouted orders, just not the orders they intended.
“Fall back!”
“Every man for himself!”
“We’re surrounded!”
“Surrender!”
Jean gaped and slowed as the confused soldiers milled around, glancing at officers for confirmation. The officers looked stunned and shook their heads, pointing and shouting, but couldn’t seem to make the right words come out.
Rory and his five hundred slammed into their confused ranks. They plowed the first rows right under, driving deep into the enemy army. Non-Boulders simply collapsed under the onslaught, but granite Petralists rushed to block them far too soon. The stone-hardened warriors grinned as they closed, matching the jubilant expressions of Rory’s forces.
The two groups crashed together, shouting, “Bash fight!”
Boulders and Rumblers beat on each other with unrestrained glee, using fists as much as clubs or swords. The cracking of stone fists against rock-hard faces echoed across the battlefield like continuous, rolling thunder. Soldiers beat on each other, laughing insanely as they all enthusiastically leaped into the fiercest bash fight Jean had ever imagined. They punched and elbowed, kicked and bashed with such intensity, Jean wondered if they feared the bash fight might end too soon, so they wanted to get in as many punches as possible before the dreaded order to stand down came from the officers.
Conflicting orders continued to be shouted from both their officers and Student Eighteen, but the granite warriors didn’t seem to notice. They ignored the sounds of explosions and a few pedra screams that Student Eighteen threw into the mix. Bash fighting was the purest joy that Boulders and Rumblers knew, and they embraced it as the truest form of fighting, their greatest pleasure in life.
The rest of the enormous army retreated from the wild fighting. Tertiary Petralists threw elements at each other, and Striders sprinted around the perimeter, looking for other fast movers to duel.
The nearby river rose into a tidal wave and burst over the road, sweeping at least a couple hundred Obrioner soldiers off their feet. Fire erupted right out from the waters and speared at Sentries, keeping them distracted while the Crushers closed.
Ivor had joined the fray.
Jean was no soldier, but from where she stood, a little behind the furious bash fighting, she had an excellent view of the battlefield and she noticed a subtle shift. Rory’s forces enjoyed the element of surprise and they’d struck the tail end of the Obrioner army, stretched thin along the road. However, their initial success was quickly being eclipsed by the sheer numbers of the Obrioners.
Most dangerous were the companies of tertiaries. They were fewer in number than she’d expected, perhaps because many of them were up front in the vanguard, but they still outnumbered Rory’s few tertiaries many times over. After their initial surprise, they were counter-attacking with remarkably good coordination.
A group of Spitters began targeting Rory’s Striders, turning the ground beneath them to slick ice, sending them tumbling, then wrapping them with icy bands before they could rise. Four Firetongues were whipping white-hot flames over the heads of the bash fighters, targeting Rory. He only had one Firetongue defending him, and it looked like that woman wouldn’t last much longer. Jean was close enough to that fight that she felt the intense heat of their duel. It must be blistering poor Rory.
“Hurry!” Jean cried, gesturing the soldiers carrying her supplies closer. She directed them to drop their bundles, then thrust her hands into the first pack, keeping her keystone out of sight. With careful twisting motions of the keystone, she began activating mechanicals and handing them out.
“Those are speedcrack walls. Get some Striders to throw them. They’ll make fast-sliding walls to interrupt enemy formations.”
A sack full of round balls of slate, encircling marble, came next. She activated them and said, “Careful. Get some Boulders to throw these. When they hit, the slate will burst open and release blasts of fire.”
Larger diorite bombs were easy to identify. She activated them and said, “These explode easily so be very careful and get someone to throw them far.”
She hated the idea of helping hurt or kill, but Harley could kill Hamish any second, and if she had to fight through that entire army to get to his side, she’d do it.
Sounds of screams and clashing of steel weapons sounded from every side. With the falling snow whipping around and playing tricks on the eyes, it was impossible to tell what was going on beyond the closest sections of the battlefield. It sounded like the fighting had spread to every corner of the army, as if they really did have thousands of extra troops joining the fray.
Jean extracted her last group
of mechanicals and cringed to think of the damage they were about to do. She directed seven soldiers to each hold one of the leather-wrapped balls, with the tiny pieces of quartzite aimed diagonally down at the ground. She moved down the line, activating each one in turn.
The quartzite whooshed loudly, flinging the balls high into the air. As they arced out over the army, the quartzite shrank just enough to slip inside through spring-closed flaps that prevented them from escaping.
The balls disappeared into the vast army surging toward Rory’s embattled forces. Other bombs were detonating as Boulders flung them over the fighting, but the explosions seemed so tiny against so many. Jean waited eight seconds until the building pressure inside those balls ruptured the seams. Hundreds of hornets tore out, spraying in every direction. Waves of fresh screaming echoed across the battlefield.
Jean cringed. She’d done what she could, but she needed thousands more mechanicals to make a difference.
Student Eighteen patted her shoulder. “Well done, Jean. Now it’s my turn. Don’t waste the prisoners I send to you.”
“What?”
She winked and her expression turned eager as she sprinted toward the still-raging bash fight. Instead of plowing into the fighting soldiers, flames erupted under her feet, throwing her into the air, aimed directly at those four Firetongues attacking Rory and advancing on his position.
They were so focused on their impending victory over the general that they never spotted Aifric. She crashed into one, knocking him right off his feet. As she rolled into the group, the earth buckled under them, knocking them flying, then grasping them with slender fingers and cracking them together hard enough that Jean imagined she heard their heads banging all the way across the battlefield.
Aifric barely paused. She sprinted with Strider speed toward those Spitters wreaking so much havoc among Rory’s Striders, but then changed to granite just as she reached them and pounded them off their feet.
Jean frowned as she watched Aifric’s solo assault on the enemy force. Jean knew many of Aifric’s personalities, but none of them could tap all those powers. Aifric was changing personalities, using different aspects of herself to tap different affinities.
The display of absorption and tap rate management was awe inspiring. Jean had never imagined Aifric could switch between personalities so fast and change affinities so quickly. She looked more like Blood of the Tallan than a single person.
As Aifric disappeared into the distant gloom, beating a swath of destruction right through the heart of the enemy army, Rory’s voice boomed over the battlefield from that direction. Aifric had borrowed it and enhanced until it cracked like thunder.
“Any who do not wish to die, report to Lady Jean at the southwest edge of the field and surrender to her. No others will receive any quarter.”
Other officer voices began calling for their troops to surrender. The officers who owned those voices looked furious, trying to restrain their soldiers from obeying, resorting to hand signals, but unable to reach most of their men.
The waters flowing freely around the battlefield rose up around many of those officers, yanking them under the surface and out of sight. Jean had no idea how Ivor was coordinating his efforts with Aifric, but their combined assault on the command structure of the Obrioner forces was devastating. It left soldiers frightened and confused, and therefore not effectively fighting.
Jean stood in a pocket of calm at the outer fringes of the fighting. Rory and his command group were advancing toward the bash fight, leaving her standing alone with her few assistants. With her mechanicals mostly spent, she was a mute spectator to the chaotic insanity of that battle.
Now a horde of soldiers moved toward her. Some looked confused and frightened and eager to surrender. Others looked angry, weapons clenched, as if they were only coming to her because their officers ordered them to.
Jean swallowed her fear and assumed her Healer expression of confident authority that she used with difficult patients. She wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was for accepting the surrender of enemy combatants.
So she pointed to the ground to her right. “You are all now under my command. Form ranks behind me and stand at attention until I deliver my orders.”
Many hesitated. She needed to assert her authority, or she’d lose them all. So she extracted from her satchel the keystone and a piece of marble. Applying the keystone, she gave it a twist and generated a blast of fire that she aimed over their heads.
“I am accustomed to my troops obeying my orders at once. Snap to it, soldiers!”
That broke the spirits of enough of them that they scrambled to obey, dragging their companions along behind them. As they formed into companies behind her, Jean fought to suppress a smile.
She had just assumed command of what would soon become several hundred soldiers. Many were regulars, but some were Petralists.
What could she do with so many?
Student Eighteen raced up on Strider legs and skidded to a halt in front of her, saluting and reinforcing the illusion that Jean was some sort of officer. “Well done, Lady Jean. The hero of Schwinkendorf assumes yet another title, eh?”
“It is rather exciting,” Jean admitted.
One of the soldiers in her new company said loudly, “What kind of officer are you? I don’t recognize your uniform.”
Jean was wearing her battle outfit, consisting of a form-fitting leather vest, with leather bracers on her forearms, a wide leather belt encircling her narrow waist, loaded with vials and pouches of medicine. Brown leather boots peeked out from under her dark green skirt, and a larger medical kit hung from a strap on her back. She’d braided her long, blond hair, and wore a leather headband. A long, blue woolen coat covered it all, but hung open in the front.
Student Eighteen stepped forward, her voice carrying easily to every ear, even though she spoke softly. “She’s the Lady Jean, of course. Didn’t you hear General Rory? Soldiers, you are privileged to now serve under the Hero of Schwinkendorf, the Healer of Alasdair. Lady Jean commands Builder mechanicals, but she is no Builder. She flies, but is no Pathfinder. She is the builder of cities, nobility seek her counsel, and she is the dread and glorious elfonnel’s bane! She is the Lady Jean! Obey her commands, and you will see victory in every venture she directs.”
They looked impressed and suitably cowed. Jean caught herself just in time before gaping in astonishment at the litany of her accomplishments. That would have ruined everything Student Eighteen had just accomplished.
The Mhortair turned back to her and winked. Jean said softly, “You make me sound as amazing as Connor and Hamish and Verena.”
“You are. Keep them distracted. Run an inspection or something. This battle is far from over, but we’ve got them confused, and Ivor is a one-man army. He’s dragged thousands into the river.”
“He’s not killing them, is he?” The thought sickened her.
“I doubt it. He’s probably got them stuck in a hole in the middle of the river. Can’t do any harm there. But several thousand soldiers broke away from the front of the army. That’s their second wave, and they’re charging upriver, but angling to the west. Looks like they’re planning to circle around Harley.”
“How do you know all this?”
Student Eighteen raised a single eyebrow. “Really? Keep your forces busy,” she reiterated. “I’ll be back.”
She rushed off with Strider speed, disappearing into the snowstorm in seconds.
Jean turned to face her steadily growing army. Luckily she saw few officers of high enough rank to challenge her. She didn’t exactly have a bellowing-level voice. The handful of soldiers acting as her assistants looked even more astonished than she did by the turn of events. So she beckoned a hulking mountain of a man closer. He wore the insignia of sergeant and the battle leathers of a Boulder. He actually saluted.
“You are now my caller. New battle plan. We will circle the fighting and render aid to the city.”
“But my lady, we we
re supposed to—”
She gave him the look she’d used on Connor and Hamish all their lives, and it cowed him just like it had them. “Do you want me to send you back in there against Rory?” She pointed at the insane bash fight.
“No, ma’am.”
“When this is all over, we’ll sort things out, but right now we have work to do. Sound the charge and follow me!”
She began to run out around the main army, her assistants close on her heels.
Her new caller’s voice boomed so loud, he sounded like he’d eaten a Pathfinder for breakfast. The bellowing order to follow the Lady Jean snapped the troops out of their milling indecision.
Three hundred soldiers charged after Jean.
With heart beating wildly from excitement, Jean left the Great Merkland Bash Fight behind and led her army in a desperate charge to help Hamish.
93
Some Friends Are Terrifying. In a Good Way.
Hamish peered through his sightstone viewscreen at the sphere of translucent ice that held the white-hot flames burning Harley alive. He could barely see her, and he was grateful for that. The hints he did see of her blackened corpse threatened to make him sick. He loved watching a good ham roast slowly over a fire, but this was totally different.
As much as he wanted to not look, he increased the magnification factor and peered closer. Her body seemed to be swelling inside the fire. That was weird. Was she filling with fire, about to explode?
Gross.
He tore his gaze away and spun the Juggernaut toward Ilse. She had somehow dragged herself all the way to Lukas. She clung to his remains, weeping, a piece of sandstone clutched in her fist.
All of a sudden her head snapped up and she shouted, “Hamish, look out!”
Twenty snarling demon hounds, the size of horses, galloped out of the blowing snow. They swarmed the Juggernaut like a living tornado, knocking it rolling west, away from the river and Harley’s burning prison.