The Prince of the Veil

by Hal Emerson

  The ground shifted beneath them, and the sudden movement shifted the dagger’s direction and momentum. The small white dagger sunk into the Bloodmage’s shoulder, causing pain but leaving the man alive. The Daemon reared up beneath them, regaining its footing on the huge tree trunk legs, and began to swing about, trying to dislodge Tomaz. Both he and the Bloodmage were forced to grab hold of the nearest piece of Daemon they could find; Tomaz clutched at a moss-covered boulder that sprouted granite tips, his gauntlets scraping and tearing at the rock, desperately searching for a handhold.

  The movement stopped abruptly, and Tomaz craned his neck from his precarious perch to look over his shoulder. The creature’s gaze had fallen on the twenty-odd Kindred troops who had come with Tomaz through the gate.

  It went for them with a deep, earthy roar.

  With a grunt of effort, Tomaz, holding onto the Daemon’s back by a huge spur of granite that protruded from the beast like a shoulder blade, reached up and pulled the Valerium dagger out of the Bloodmage. The man clawed at his face, but Tomaz knocked the arm aside, losing Malachi in the process.

  With a snarl of anger he pulled himself up the rest of the way, finding footing even on the swaying form, and grabbed the black robes of the mage. The man grabbed his arm, twisting and shouting words that seemed to crackle and burn, but Tomaz paid him no heed. With a firm grip on his miniature dagger, he slammed the sharp blade into the jugular vein of the Bloodmage, and with a sharp tug pulled the Soul Catcher crystal from around his throat, crushing it in his hand.

  The light in the man’s eyes faded, and the Daemon exploded out from under them in a thousand pieces of blasted rock. The scythe, which had just swung up once more to reap the souls of a dozen Exiles, clattered to the ground, and as the pieces of the Daemon blew past them, the men and women looked up in wonder.

  Tomaz was thrown through air and into the side of the Black Wall itself, and as he hit he felt as though every bone in his body was about to break. But just as the pain spiked, red light exploded all around him, coming from the Aspect of Strength that was etched into his skin. Sudden strength pounded through his veins and the pain disappeared. He staggered up again, trying to find his footing even as the world spun around him. He pushed off the wall; stumbling through the rubble of the Daemon, and realized he had not been wounded in the slightest. His skin had turned hard as stone, and he felt strong enough to lift a house.

  How?

  His eyes fell on the Kindred soldiers who would have died from the Daemon’s blow, and he realized that what the Prince of Eagles had told him really was true – he would gain strength with every life he saved.

  Heavy treading footsteps sounded in his ears and two more Earth Daemons, one with shoulders made of moss-covered mountain scrag and the other with oak tree arms, pushed forward from the mouth of the alleyway, heading for the gate. A third Daemon came on strong behind them, and behind it, a gathering swell of men, pouring out in a huge tidal wave from both the boulevard and the alleyway. Tomaz jerked his head around and saw more Kindred coming out of the gate, many of them with the long spears and pikes used for fighting Daemons. Their faces were all grim, and Tomaz knew they were preparing themselves to fight to the death – for death it would be. Their force was no match for this kind of constant pressure; they would have a chance if the Daemons were gone, but those spears would never pierce the rock flesh of the creatures.

  The Daemons broke into a shambling run, two of them swinging enormous mauls longer than Tomaz was tall, both with a stone head the size of a full-grown horse. They saw him and bellowed, opening their huge maws and showing stumpy wooden teeth and throats coated in moss.

  Tomaz saw nothing else to do – he had to stop them here. It would be their only chance. He reached over his back and stopped, suddenly remembering he’d dropped Malachi. He spun frantically, searching the area –

  “Tomaz!”

  He turned to the gate and saw, again, the figure of the little boy Tym holding Malachi, his fine blonde hair swinging wildly about his head.

  “TYM! I swear by the seven hells I will tan your hide if you don’t get inside that gate RIGHT NOW!”

  Tym took the hint and fled, leaving Malachi behind on the ground.

  Damn kid may have saved my life twice today.

  He picked up the sword, and turned back to the approaching army, standing in the midst of the gathered Kindred. The Daemons roared at them, and the Kindred took an unconscious, fearful step back. Tomaz, however, took a step forward, threw back his head and roared out an echoing challenge as the red light of the Aspect of Strength burned through the holes in his armor. The Kindred on the wall took up the call, and then the Kindred at the gate, until they were all shouting as one. A palpable energy seemed to infuse them all, and as one, with Tomaz leading the charge, they ran forward to meet the charge. Something akin to shock or confusion crossed the dumb faces of the huge elementals and the first one paused, just enough to allow Tomaz an opening. He dove forward as the Kindred shoved at it with their long poles; he tapped into the power coursing through him, boiling his blood, and he reached out and grabbed hold of the first Daemon’s tree trunk leg, wrapping his own huge arms around it, pulling with all his strength. His back spasmed, and his booted feet were actually forced down into the ground, cracking the paving stones beneath his feet; but after an agonizing second of lost equilibrium, his strength won out and he uprooted the Daemon, throwing it off balance and sending it stumbling into the second Daemon, which was sent sprawling to the ground, dislodging its Bloodmage.

  Without pause, Tomaz launched himself over the splayed limbs of the fallen Daemon at the unseated mage; he grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck, spun, and threw him straight through the wall of the nearest building; he didn’t get back up.

  That gave Tomaz an idea.

  He reached down and grabbed the leg of the fallen Daemon, now without its Bloodmage, and heaved with all his might as more strength infused him, granted by the lives he’d saved from the Daemons’ charge. The hard oak leg crunched beneath his grip; his back and shoulders cracked and screamed in protest; but he refused to give in. Red light filled his vision and blinded him; power was coursing through his body with such a fervid brilliance that all thoughts of caution were brushed aside. He took a step, threw his weight forward, and sent the creature flying into the third Daemon with enough force to send them both tumbling backward through the air, end over end, into the approaching Imperial lines.

  The creatures landed and exploded, decimating the first dozen ranks of the approaching Imperials, and sending the ones behind running for cover as debris rained down upon them.

  Tomaz turned back to the first Daemon as it regained its feet, and ran for it. When he was a dozen yards away he pulled power from his Aspect and pushed off the ground, throwing himself in a high arc through the air. He crashed into the Bloodmage sitting astride the Daemon, and carried him off his perch, effectively close-lining the elemental itself and dropping it to the ground as well. Tomaz rolled over the man as they crashed into the ground, then turned back, picked him up by the scruff of the neck, and snapped his neck.

  The Daemon, pushing itself back up once again, slumped suddenly to its knees, stunned as the controlling mind that had directed it disappeared. Tomaz took the Soul Catcher from the dead Bloodmage and closed his hand around it, ready to break it; but then a memory of Davydd Goldwyn riding a Daemon at Aemon’s Stand came back to him, and he stopped.

  He didn’t stop to question the idea; he slipped the leather cord over his head.

  His mind felt as if it had suddenly doubled. He had two sets of arms, two sets of legs. He turned his head, and the Daemon responded in kind; he looked toward the Imperial army, regrouping and advancing once more, and the Daemon’s own eyes narrowed.

  They smiled as one, and then Tomaz imagined launching himself forward into the fray. The elemental fulfilled the thought, swinging its enormous club and trampling the first line of Imperial men as it attacked those behind wi
th a terrifying backhand swing. With an enormous effort of will, Tomaz pulled himself back from the Daemon, and turned to run for the gate.

  “Get back inside!” He roared at the Kindred outside the gate, and they retreated without needing to be told again. He gestured frantically to the Kindred and Banelyners on the Wall, the former cheering him on and the later watching with something akin to religious awe.

  “Shut the gate!” he cried.

  No one moved.

  “SHUT THE THRICE-DAMNED GATE, YOU FOOLS!”

  The second yell awakened them from their stupor, and they turned as one and began to shout down at the gatehouse inside the Wall, taking up his call. But whoever was inside the gate either wasn’t able to hear or couldn’t comply: neither the metal grating of the portcullis nor the thick wooden double doors moved.

  Tomaz crossed the barrier of the black stone, and spun to look behind him. The Daemon was still making its way through the Imperial army, killing and maiming as it went, but as he watched a shape flew in from the sky, something blinding white that crackled with energy; it crashed into the Earth Daemon, knocking it to the ground.

  Tomaz felt the shock of the impact both through the quaking earth and through the glowing green-and-red crystal slung around his neck. The new Daemon, blinding white and crowned with a ring of lightning, stepped forward and punched the Earth Daemon; breaking off part of its stony face in a flash of energy that cracked and rumbled across the city. Tomaz, giving the mental command to the elemental to fight back, watched the Earth Daemon give a mighty heave that threw off the new Lightning Daemon; they both came back to their feet, and the two squared off against each other.

  We’re running out of time, Tomaz thought frantically. He turned to look at the gatehouse and saw nearly a dozen men – Kindred, common Banelyners, and even men in the red and black of Roarke – all throwing themselves at the winch that held the portcullis; it wouldn’t budge. His eyes flicked up to the chain that held the solid metal grating in place and saw the upper wheel was completely jammed with rust. Likely it hadn’t been oiled in ages – no one had needed to close this gate against an attack in hundreds of years.

  Shadows and bloody fire!

  Tomaz felt pain across the left side of his face and realized the Lightning Daemon had struck the Earth Daemon once again. If the Kindred were lucky they’d kill each other and explode in the –

  That’s it.

  In a sudden rush of inspiration, he pulled off the crystal from around his neck and ran for the rusted wheel. The metal part of the gate, the portcullis, was made of thick iron bars bound one over the other, and meant to come down in front of the two thick wooden doors that could be barred from the inside. The doors wouldn’t stand up to Daemons – but if the Kindred could bring down the portcullis, they’d have a measure of security, at least for a time.

  He reached through the Aspect of Strength and pulled power from that strange red reservoir inside him, and as the Lighting Daemon fought the Earth Daemon, the two of them grappling and roaring at each other and blocking the Imperial forces, he closed his fist and cracked the Soul Catcher.

  Immediately, the Earth Daemon shuddered as if its spine had been broken, and the Lightning Daemon pounced; the Bloodmage riding it, clothed all in white to blend with the creature, urged it on.

  “This is a terrible idea,” he rumbled to himself.

  He pulled back and threw the crystal at the tangled, rusted mess of chain.

  The Soul Catcher arched through the air and hit the metal dead-on. The crack in the crystal widened the rest of the way and split the medallion in two, releasing whatever fell power had been contained inside. A wave of energy lanced out, blinding Tomaz, throwing him to the ground, and knocking the wind out of him. The Earth Daemon exploded as well, the spells and enchantments holding it in place violently ripped away; the Lightning Daemon was thrown off and into an already teetering house, that promptly lost the last of its supports and fell, spilling dust and splintered wood over the soldiers nearby.

  A rattling, metallic sound came from above Tomaz, and in the red haze left from the explosion that had knocked him flat, he realized the portcullis was descending, making straight for his head.

  He rolled, using what was left of the reserves of his strength, and watched as the metal spikes sunk into the paved stone road inches from his face with a huge, resounding crash. There was more motion, and he saw none other than Stannit, the captain of the guard from the razed city of Roarke, bellowing for him to pull back, as he and his men in the black and red pushed at the enormous doors. Tomaz threw himself backward once more, just as the oaken doors slammed shut in front of him. The last image he had was of the Imperial troops marching uselessly forward, the sound of marching feet not enough to drown out the horrible bellows of the maimed Lightning Daemon behind them.

  A cheer went up among the gathered Kindred, and many of the Banelyn Commons who had gathered about the wall with whatever swords or armor they’d scrounged up joined them. From Tomaz’s right, Stannit roared orders up into the air; more men were on the Wall, in the red and black of Banelyn, but also the green, gold, and silver of the Kindred. They stood side by side in rows that stretched out all along the battlements, and as Tomaz watched they raised their bows and loosed a wave of arrows. He ran for the nearest set of steps that led upward, and arrived just in time to see another volley of arrows leap through the air, striking the fleeing army below and felling men by the hundreds.

  Imperial horns sounded the retreat, and even the Lightning Daemon, now missing half of its torso and right arm, pulled back as the arrows continued to fly.

  Jubilant shouts and cries filled the air from the lips of the Kindred, Commons, and former Imperials, but Tomaz did not join them. He was looking at the gate – and at the far side of the metal portcullis that had been blown off. Somehow a boulder from one of the exploding Daemons had struck a weak point there, detaching part of the metal before wedging itself into the gears, breaking them when Tomaz had blown the chain, and leaving the whole thing skewed to one side. The gate was vulnerable now: this was where they would attack again.

  The smell of smoke came to him on the wind, and he held up a hand to block out the light of the rising sun, straining his eyes to see as far as he could into the Outer City. A haze had already begun to build as the Imperial Army retreated, and with a sinking feeling of dread he realized what was happening.

  Smoke began to billow even more profusely into the air over the Outer City of Banelyn as the labyrinth of rickety, towering structures began to burn, and the cries of joy on the Wall turned to shouts of dismay. A number of hulking forms were massing beyond the last row of houses around what could only be the beginnings of hastily constructed siege ladders and towers. Tomaz quickly guessed the rate at which the Outer City was likely to burn, then looked up at the distant sun, already twice its own height above the eastern horizon and partially cloaked by the rising haze of smoke.

  By sunset the city would be burned to the ground. It wouldn’t cross the Black Wall – no, they were safe from that – but as soon as the fires died away Dysuna would attack again. Another commander might wait until the following morning, but with a compromised gate and the cover of darkness … no, she wouldn’t wait. Not the Wolf. They had killed her brother, and nothing would stop her from taking this city and killing them all in recompense. They would put up a brave fight, and Tomaz knew he would lay down his life fighting to the last breath, maybe even taking her down himself in a fight of Aspect and Talisman, but his conclusion was grim. The army before them was enormous, and the Kindred were ragged from weeks of forced march. And if it came down to a fight between Dysuna and himself … he had only borne the Aspect of Strength for a few months, while she had been given the Wolf centuries ago.

  If the Prince could fight, maybe we’d have a chance … but even then, it would be a close thing, and without him … no, it doesn’t matter. I will take as many of them down with me as I can, and I will leave blood on this Black Wall
the stories and legends will never forget.

  Luck was a foreign idea to him. He was a hard man, a practical man. And so he sheathed Malachi and went to work helping the Kindred fortify the Wall as best he could; and in the back of his mind, he relished the way his limbs moved and his lungs breathed, even though the sun beat down and made him sweat and the air was hot and full of smoke. If he was to die, then die he would. But he would enjoy every last breath, every last sensation, until the very, very end.

  He would take as much of life as he could get.

  Chapter Two: As Luck Would Have It

  Davydd felt as though he were living in two simultaneous realities. In one, he was riding at the head of a column of Kindred Rangers and Scouts toward the distant city of Banelyn, hoping against hope that he would arrive in time. In another, he was being burnt alive.

  Autmaran, Commander of the Kindred Scouts and Light Infantry, rode beside him on the left and slightly ahead, while Lorna, Davydd’s Ashandel partner, rode on his right. He was lashed to his saddle with thick binding rope to keep him in place, and each shock of the horse’s hooves pounding the hard-packed earth road sent jolts of pain up and down his left side. The sun overhead burned down upon them and dissipated the mists that had cloaked the land for weeks, and the heat sent sweat dripping down his face. The salt of the sweat stung terribly, and he didn’t think he’d unclenched his jaw since dawn. Added to it all, his throat was dry, his lips chapped, and his tongue swollen in his mouth, but those symptoms were not unique to him. Lack of water and the drying, rushing wind that pushed against them on their way to Banelyn were turning out to be fiercer foes than the soldiers of Formaux. If they arrived in this state, they wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight, no matter what the situation was they found.