by D. H. Aire
#
Ethran Seawarden gestured and his men rushed down the stairs, now behind the Tanish guards, rushing to succor Lord Tane, whose eyes widened as a number of his guards were cut down by the intruders garbed in old Tanish livery.
Janielle stared as she was pulled away from Rathian as the courtiers cried out. “Ethran?”
“Milady, my men and I are yours to command.”
Farrel urged Lord Tane from behind the dais, Tett guarding her back as the Tanish guard halted, uncertain as to what to do.
“Traitors?” Tane asked, angrily.
“Us?” Ethran said. “Rather Haydenese Loyaltists here sworn to protect Lady Janielle.”
Rathian saw one of their old mages mutter something under his breath and knew help was on its way.
“Where did you get that ridiculous livery?” Lord Tane rasped.
Ethran smiled, “This place doesn’t seem to like you.”
“What?”
“Your palace gave it to us.”
Lord Tane laughed, “Oh, of course, it did.”
The tall statue shook, made a scraping noise, inched forward to the left, the right. Lord Tane gaped, “No, it can’t be.”
The statue edged forward, inch after inch.
“It’s not possible.”
The doors burst open as mage light flared, which arrowed toward the blade threatening Lord Tane’s throat. The magic hit and— there was a percussive explosion as the blade’s anti-magical properties rebuffed the magery around them.
The remaining statues swayed, except for the taller one.
Blood spurted on to Farrel’s face as Lord Tane’s head toppled from his shoulders, the courtiers screaming in horror.
“Father,” Rathian rasped as he looked up, having been knocked to his knees.
Mages entered, dragging unconscious ones, who they cast unceremoniously to the floor, including the one who had cast the spell that should have disarmed Farrel. “Lord Kolter sends his regards,” one of the Haydenese mages said, “Lady Janielle, you will come with us.”
#
Renara spilled the decanter on the tray she still grasped as the concussion rang around her. Now mages loyal to Kolter confronted the hall, where Rathian tried to come to grips with his father’s death.
Farrel lowered her blood stained sword, “Lady Janielle is not going with you.”
The leader of the mages smiled. “That was a nice trick with the sword. Lord Tane’s murder is on your head, not ours.”
Farrel shook her head. “It was on his, actually.”
The mage chanted a spell as everyone in the room felt a sense of lethargy. The mages marched into the room toward Lady Janielle. “No matter,” the mage said, grinning.
#
Sound, rather jarring. He woke, surprised at his surroundings. He recognized one thing in particular, the midnight black metal sword. Someone peered around him, warded from sight. “Oh, boy,” he heard the dwarf whisper.
He moved a finger and tapped the fellow.
That drew a rather startled reaction.
He smiled.
One of the mages walked past him. He stuck out his foot, tripping the fellow, and cast his call. There were six unbroken statues. They all responded.
The mages gaped.
The ancient sigil of Tane on the old livery Ethran Seawarden’s men wore blazed with light, heeding the call as well, freeing them of the spell that held them in thrall.
Farrel’s anklet flared. She reached back and touched Tett, who found himself free. He followed Farrel across the room as the mages found themselves confronting men and statues, whose touch left them feeling lethargic.
Renara was still unable to move as the lead mage grabbed her as a shield. Tett saw that and cried out, launching himself at the mage, clearly shocked to be attacked by a dwarf. He gestured at him. Renara heard the keying word of the spell, knowing it would kill him.
No, she mentally cried and suddenly found she could move. She swung her silver tray up. The spell bounced against it and the mage fell back, dead.
“Oh.”
“You all right?” Tett asked.
“Me? You are an idiot!”
He blinked as only Lady Janielle’s personal guard, the statues and Spiro, who suddenly reappeared were able to move in the hall.
The tall statue walked about the hall, “I hate the décor.”
“You do?” Farrel said.
“I had such lovely tapestries… and, of course, a lot of statues,” the statue said, walking up to Janielle. He sniffed her. “Hmm, nice.” He touched her.
She blinked, trembling. “What’s going on?”
“That’s what I would like to know,” the statue said.
She stared, “Who are you?”
“Lord Sharniel Tane,” he replied, frowning. “Who are you?”
“She’s the heir to Hayden,” Ethran said.
“No, she’s not,” Lord Sharniel replied, sniffing Rathian. “Yuck, now this fellow is Haydenese.”
“What?” Janielle muttered.
Spiro said, “Uh, Milord Tane, are you certain?”
The statue turned to him, “Absolutely.”
Farrel said, “He’s really Lord Tane?”
Spiro nodded, “Uh, if you’d touch the edge of that sword to him, I think you can fulfill the old dwarven prophecy.”
“Prophecy?” the statue of Sharniel Tane asked.
“Milord, Highmage Faeryn was rather insistant.”
“In that case, please don’t touch me with Kyrr’s sword,” he replied, shaking his head.
Farrel glanced down at the blade, “Huh, you really are his, then.” She strode over. “I trust Spiro.”
The statue of the lost lord frowned, “Cathartan.”
“Lord Kyrr is my ancestor.”
He held out his arm and she lightly touched him with the blade, fearing an explosion.
There wasn’t. The stone sparkled, cloth appeared, dust flecked off, exposing skin and hair. He drew breath as he had not in century. “Well, just how long have I been stone?”
Rathian bowed, “Almost four hundred years.”
“Four…” He turned to Spiro. “Then we succeeded.”
“No, Milord, they failed.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What happened is unclear,” Spiro replied, “we have only legend claiming that in failure there was hope… and that you would return.”
“Grandfather and father spent years ridding the city of your statues.”
“Ridding?”
Renara said, “We’ve been hiding statues for centuries.”
“Worshipping statues,” Tett added.
“What is happening?” Lord Tane asked.
“The city is under attack,” Spiro said, “by Haydenese who think they serve justice.”
“Archmage Kolter murdered my mother,” Janielle said, “and somehow convinced my father to betray the Empire. He justly rots in the Empress’s dungeon.”
“Civil war? What of the Highmage?”
“Newly raised… He’s human,” Spiro said.
“Human?”
“My husband,” Farrel said.
“You’re what?” Rathian and Janielle echoed.
“He’s Cathartan?”
“By Bond,” Farrel replied, “and married to the Empress.”
Lord Tane laughed, “Her Majesty barely got Faeryn to the processional. I would meet this one.”
“First we’ll need to deal with the invaders.”
“Have not the dwarven army taken the field?”
“Dwarven slaves are all my people have been here since your absence, Milord,” Spiro said. “Many of my people have fled this place to start new lives in the Imperial City, the Northern Border, or Llewellyn.”
“This cannot be true…” he looked around. “I shall set matters to rights. Apparently, my grief went on too long. I should have married.” He glared at the courtiers trapped in the lethargy spell. “You can hear me… I never abdicated. T
he stone knows me. If you betray the stone and our people, the dwarves who helped build this very city and so much more, the stone will claim you for its own.”
He knelt and placed his hands on the floor. The palace suddenly quaked.
Chapter 48 - Playing a Deadly Game
Greth paced the walls of the Consecrated’s Tower as the sun set. The guards cringed back, not knowing what to make of him. The inner gate to the Consecrated’s courtyard opened and Casber rode out on the unicorn with Raven perched behind him.
The Legionnaire escort hurried to their mounts as Greth leaped from the wall to the ground, “You certainly took your time… and what are you wearing?”
Casber sighed, aggrieved, “I got my clothes rather wet and they complained I needed a scented bath, and, oh, never mind.”
“Scented bath?”
Raven, in her beast form, looked chagrined.
“So, we go back to the Citadel,” Greth said.
The unicorn snorted and shook her head.
“Uh, no,” Casber said, “we’re going to the Northern Wall.” He looked at their Legionnaires, “Oh, you are all staying here. We have it on good authority that the Tower is going to need a permanent detachment… Just never set foot beyond the inner gate.”
Never set foot beyond the gate. They felt practically in their bones. I will deal with any unwelcome visitors. Greth and the Legionnaires all looked back at the Tower and gaped as a pair of ghostly eyes hovered above the gate, gazing at them.
“Um, we best go now,” Casber said, wanting to be as far from the guardian of this place as he could get, those eyes continuing to watch them.
“Yeah,” Greth muttered, knowing the Legionnaires would be unlikely to even ignore that haunting admonition.
#
“General, I’m sorry, the province is ours, but Kolter has escaped.”
Winterhil kicked over a table, “He has not escaped. He’s gone to Tane with every man he could spare.”
“General!” one of his pages shouted, running into the lord’s abandoned study.
“What now?”
The youth was pale, “Bodies… so many bodies.”
“What bodies?”
“Women and children… their throats have been slashed.”
Winterhil muttered, “Sacrifices to the Dark One. Haydenese fools. Come, we ride to Tane and I pray we get to Thomi and the Riani force he now leads.”
#
The Haydenese troops fell into the river that shouldn’t have been there. Crying out, the men and their mounts struggled to swim across as their officers rallied what was left of their forces, knowing they must not let mage-wrought ghosts and demons delay them.
Said demons led the charge against the rear elements of the remaining Haydenese, ghostly glowing arrows streaming from them, and a battlecry that sounded like, “Lawson!”
Thomi’s battle steed paused to spin and kick out at two Haydenese swordsmen charging what seemed to be a human rider in the charge. They went down with a cry. A screaming soldier went flying as Walsh reached out and threw him out of their path.
“Well, that’s rather helpful,” Lord Rian shouted as he rode up beside them.
“Oh, Walsh is full of surprises.”
‘Thomi, what do you think you are doing?’
He blinked, “Uh, hi, Amira. How are you?”
Three of Lawson’s bodyguard wives went screaming past.
‘Thomi, what are they doing?’
“I, uh, think it’s a troll wedding ritual, or, maybe, a Cathartan one,” he replied aloud.
Lord Rian gave Thomi a look as Walsh explained, “Wife… calling.”
‘Thomi, don’t be getting any ideas…”
“Of course not, dear,” he replied as Haydenese began throwing down their arms.
‘Good, now turn that army of yours west before Kolter’s other army flanks you.’
Thomi reined in his battle steed, “Lawson!”
#
:George?:
“I see it,” he replied as the satellite data overlay not just his vision, but Se’and’s.
Revit said, ‘It could be worse.’
‘How?’ Terus said.
‘Kolter could have more than five thousand men with him.’
‘That’s a cheery thought,’ Ri replied.
The node went, Beep.
“Time to play another round of the game,” George said.
He began reviewing the options, frowned, seeing one, and chose it.
#
In the capital, the Empress was staring at the map, “What’s Winterhil doing in Hayden when Kolter’s clearly about to cross the Tanish border?”
Terhun winced as Lord Lyai had one the scryers draw the river’s new bend. Another was drawing keeps where none had been. “And where did this Fifth Legion come from?” the Empress demanded.
Lonny looked over the Empress’s shoulder, “Has anyone noticed the Fifth Legion is about to get hammered. Find Lady Esperanza and have her warn—”
The warder serving the Empress cleared his throat and said in a gravelly voice, “Message has been received.”
That drew looks.
“You can scry?” Terhun asked.
“No, Master Terhun.”
“Then how did they receive the message?”
“Hold, please…” the warder said before his voice changed to an all too familiar one, “I am sorry, but that is classified.”
“Je’orj?” the Empress rasped.
“I am Staff.”
“Can we speak with Je’orj?” Terhun asked.
“Not at the moment, he is playing the game now.”
“Game? What are you talking about?” the Empress rasped.
I will report further shortly. Staff out.”
“Fine, now what’s going on?” the Empress demanded.
#
Hmm, what’s this? George thought.
The topographic map of the Empire was laid out. Farms and villages covered the areas closest to the Capital radiating out from the Aqwaine River, which no longer flowed straight to Tane.
Kolter’s army was heading to the keep he had raised, the relatively unguarded keep since Thomi and Lord Rian had taken most of their forces south, only a detachment was left, holding the Haydenese prisoners they had trapped nearby.
All I need to do is… well, using that will block Kolter’s force. Of course, if I place it right there, it’ll do a lot worse. The question is: what does the icon for ‘active’ mean?
Kolter looked grim as he rode at the head of his reserve army as General Winterhil found himself in charge of Hayden Castle and far too many dead, sacrificed to the Demonlord.
George chose the spot, winced, hitting “continue.”
“Je’orj!” heard Se’and scream, wondering if he had gone a tad too far.
#
The ground quaked, knocking riders from their mounts for thirty leagues. Lawson’s eyes widened as his battle steed twisted beneath them as soldiers and Legionnaires cried out all around them.
As they tumbled with him, Yel’ane screamed.
Le’ann rasped as they rolled to a quavering stop, “Move your hand or lose it, Milord.”
“Um.”
Yel’ane moved her foot, “Uh, sorry.”
Re’ut muttered, trying to extricate herself, “Lawson, that’s, um, not you foot.”
His cheek twitched, “No, it isn’t.”
Re’ut’s curse was one that Lawson was not quite sure was anatomically possible under the circumstances.
He moved, wincing.
Yel’ane’s eyes widened as her cheek twitched, struggling to shove Re’ut out of the way, the earth trembling as their battle steed now danced around them, guarding them. “Yel’ane,” Lawson rasped as the tremor eased.
“Um,” Yel’ane murmured, realizing she was trembling. “I… think… I may be having another… growth spurt.”
“Uh h
uh,” he muttered. “Stay, um, there… for a bit.”
Le’ann glanced at Re’ut, who drew her dagger, “You both stay right there. We’ll… keep watch.”
#
Kolter gaped as the ground erupted. His men screamed. Spires from towers speared through groups of his men, casting them and their mounts high into the air. Fortress walls, roofs, tops of courtyard columns thrust into his Haydenese troops and scores of his elfblooded mages rained down to the ground.
Dirt and stone, grasses and brush filled the air as Kolter found himself on the trembling ground. As the quaking eased, he gaped. The huge fortress’s gate opened and he saw far more coughing men spewing out with the dust cloud. As the dust settled he saw they were in the livery of the Imperial Legion, though, which one was unclear.
Kolter waved his hands in front of his face as he heard cries of “You are our prisoner!”
“Milord,” his troop commander muttered, “where did they come from?”
“I’ve no desire to find out,” he replied, looking about him, knowing he had lost more than half his force. “Grab all the closest mounts; we ride south away from here as fast as we can. Lady Janielle will not escape us. No matter what foul mageries or illusions they raise!”
#
“Where are we?” the Legionnaire commander asked, looking out from the tower, his face coated in dust.
A canteen of water was brought, “Milady, Milord.”
“Thank you,” the archmage said, stifling another cough.
“Well, we’re no longer Underhill, anymore,” his wife said.
“And we appear to have over a thousand Haydenese prisoners,” the commander said. “The question is: how did we get here, Lord Talik?”
“Well, Commander Garvin, I’d hazard a guess that the Highmage Je’orj du Bradlei has something to do with it,” he replied.
#
“Uh, Je’orj?”
He opened his eyes, staring up into Se’and’s face. “Well, that’s what ‘active’ meant.”
“What are you talking about?” she replied.
The warders glanced at each other.
Staff flickered, :Ow.:
George winced, “Sorry.”
Glancing at her anklet, which gave a matching flickering glow, Se’and said, “You raised a citadel?”