Kavia, the raven-haired archer from one of the northern plains tribes, stepped up to the edge of the precipice, her recurve bow in hand. Jahn had assigned the formidable woman to Sianna’s protective detail before the previous battle. “I think I can reach them from here,” Kavia said.
She loosed an orange-fletched arrow down at the skirmish near the base of the bluff. Sianna couldn’t hear the cry, but a Nebaran soldier toppled from the saddle. As soon as the Nebaran fell, Kavia was nocking, drawing, and loosing in smooth, mechanical motions, her arm a blur as she launched three or four arrows into the air before the first even struck.
Her arrows had a devastating effect, hollowing out the core of the Nebaran skirmishers and felling several of their mages. Edwin and the rest of the reserve quickly shattered the formation and made short work mopping up the remainder. A glowing beam of magic lanced up toward Sianna and the others in a last-ditch effort to strike them, but Queen Shalaera raised a hand almost disdainfully, and the beam deflected away harmlessly, sparking as it struck her conjured protective magic.
“If that’s the most we have to worry about from them, this will be a dull afternoon,” the sorceress said.
Just then, the ground shuddered beneath their feet. A courier cried out and fell over the side of the bluff. Kavia lost her balance and would have fallen as well had Jahn not leaped forward to grab her by the waist and haul her away from the precipice. Sianna looked around nervously, her eyes meeting those of Shalaera. The elf queen’s black cherry-colored eyes narrowed in annoyance or perhaps concern, and she raised her hands, chanting a spell.
Her words abruptly choked off, and she reeled forward into Sianna’s arms. Something hard impacted Sianna’s chest and screeched against her breastplate. She was horrified to see a spear tip jutting from Shalaera’s chest, blood slicking it. Strange runes were carved upon the steel. Shalaera’s mouth opened in a surprised O, and a gout of hot blood spewed onto Sianna’s cheek as the elf choked and died. Sianna cried out for aid, looking over to see Father Wilhelm on his knees screaming in pain, a similar spear tip having erupted from his belly, and entangled in coils of entrails. More cries sounded, and others fell around her, mages and clerics alike struck down from the unknown source of those rune-covered spears.
Sianna wiped Shalaera’s blood from her face then could only stare, horrified, as Nesnys descended from the air like some terrible specter of death, ebon wings beating slowly to keep the fiend aloft. She loosed a final spear, and a willowy elven priestess was thrown backward, impaled, but her fall was arrested as the spear bit into the stony ground and held her propped in place, dying, an arm length of spear jutting from her back. Blood ran down the shaft in slow motion, Sianna unable to tear her eyes away from the awful sight.
Nesnys barked words in the fell speech that hurt the ears, and the trembling ground intensified violently.
Sianna cried out in alarm as the earth gave way beneath her, melting away like warm molasses. She fell in slow motion, the dead weight of Shalaera still in her arms. A large armored figure barged into her, knocking her aside, and in the chaos, a blow to the head made her vision blur for a moment. Everything became lost in the confusion of panicked jostling, screaming, and grinding of rock. Desperate blows rocked her as the others struggled futilely to escape, then came a horrifying pressure as if being buried alive.
When she regained her senses, she found herself crushed into a mass of squirming bodies around her. The rocky ground was cracking and deforming. Sianna struggled to get free of Shalaera’s body draped atop her. Panic formed as she realized the crush of bodies was compressing her chest and causing difficulty in drawing breath. She squirmed and shoved then had a moment of respite and was able to fill her lungs with blessed air. But she could only watch helplessly as thick pillars of stone thrust upward from the ground and arched overhead, curling inward and melding together like a cage. The image of lying on the belly of some massive, overturned spider filled her frightened mind.
Hysterical people around her fought to free themselves, but they had nowhere to go. Sianna could smell sweat and blood in the confined space, and a sharp blow struck her hard in the back. Someone cried out for help, but she doubted any was forthcoming. She too instinctively fought to get free of the press although she knew it was useless. They were trapped inside a spherical cage of stone, with only narrow slots between the bars to allow light and air. Someone heaved mightily, shifting bodies aside, and she was slammed up against the stone bars, tearing open a gash on her cheek.
“Stop it!” Sianna cried. “Stop fighting each other—we’ll just end up hurting ourselves. That’s what she wants!”
The jostling slowly stilled as her words sank in.
A shadow fell over Sianna then as the light from outside was blocked, and a moment later, Nesnys’s silver eye was peering inside the cage, inches from Sianna’s face, a wicked smile on her lips.
“Look what I’ve caught. A pleasure to see you again, Your Majesty.”
With difficulty, Sianna resisted the urge to try to gouge out Nesnys’s eyes, remembering what had happened to her finger during their previous meeting. Sticking any extremities out through the slot of their prison seemed a very poor idea. “To the Abyss with you,” she snapped instead.
The mocking smile broadened, displaying Nesnys’s maw, filled with triangular shark teeth. “I much prefer it here on your plane, little queen. Where’s Taren?”
Sianna remained silent, not wanting to alert the fiend to his whereabouts, thinking surprise was likely Taren and his group’s only advantage.
“Tell me, or I kill someone at random.”
Nesnys drew away from the bars of the cage, then the tip of her sword burst through an inch from Sianna’s nose and thudded into flesh. Someone shrieked in pain and bucked wildly. A moment later, the blade retracted with a shing as it scraped against the stone bars. Dark blood dripped onto the ground from the fiend’s sword.
“Where’s Taren?” Nesnys repeated. Her boots crunched gravel as she circled the cage.
When no reply was forthcoming, the sword shot in to pierce flesh once more, eliciting another cry of pain.
“Whoever tells me where the mage is shall be spared,” Nesnys said, retracting her sword again. “We can do this all day, but I fear your frail mortal forms won’t hold up that long.”
It took every ounce of Sianna’s will to keep her composure. Sol help us.
Chapter 36
“Rise and shine.”
Taren cracked his eyelids and saw Aninyel’s grinning face looking down at him. He yawned and sat up. Judging from the rosy color of the light outside the window, dusk was approaching.
“Gods, how long did I sleep?” Holding the gate open for the army’s passage early that morning had exhausted him greatly.
“Most of the day.” Aninyel shrugged and held out a mug of tea for him. “Drink up. This will help you recover.”
“Thanks.” He took a sip of the herbal tea, the same she had brewed for him the last time he’d woken to find her by his bedside. “You’ll have to teach me how to brew this.”
“Easy enough. Take some dried gold-leaf fern, blood-moss extract, and crushed-up yarrow root. And some mint helps improve the taste. Mix together, steep, and enjoy.”
Taren filed that to memory for future use as he took a much longer sip. “I suppose everyone is waiting on me?”
“Well, we can’t go without our leader,” she said cheerily. “Do you want to wait till morning?”
“I think we’ve waited long enough. Perhaps too long.” He hated the thought of giving Nesnys more time for her plotting, potentially even discovering the location of the control rod while they waited. He suspected that, with her recent defeat, she would be anything but idle, more desperate now to seek a victory however she could.
“Shall I round up the others?” Aninyel asked.
“Please. We can depart from right here.”
After she left the room, he said a quick prayer to Sabyl that they would be
able to thwart Nesnys’s plans and also that Sianna would be victorious. By necessity, farewells that morning had been swift and impersonal, a formal occasion prior to the army’s departure. Instead, Taren preferred to think back on his private audience with the queen the prior day. He smiled at the memory. Sianna had looked so beautiful and in private had been as casual and down-to-earth as he remembered during their travels together in the Llantry Woods. In those moments, it was easy to forget she was the queen and he could never hope to be more than a subject to her, a friend at best.
A knock sounded at his door. Mira entered, carrying her pack.
“Are you feeling up to leaving so soon?” she asked.
“I am. I’d rather get on with it. Perhaps we will be able to distract Nesnys, drawing her attention away from the battle and giving Sianna a better chance of victory.” Taren finished the tea and set the cup aside, already feeling more rejuvenated. He stretched then looked out the window, wondering if that was the last time he’d ever see Carran.
“If we draw her away, then she’ll be intent on us,” Mira pointed out.
“True.” He gave her a brief smile and pulled on his boots. “I like our chances of besting her more than the army’s. We almost took her down during the last encounter.”
Mira frowned as she watched him lace his boots. “I think her arrogance got the better of her, and she underestimated us. She won’t make that mistake again.”
He nodded. “You’re probably right. I value your wisdom as much as your friendship, Mira.”
She smiled, clearly touched.
The others arrived shortly after, all of them gathering in Taren’s chamber: Creel and Ferret, Aninyel and Kulnor, Mira and himself. Each looked quite formidable, some more nervous than others, but all were determined to see their quest through. I couldn’t ask for a better group of friends and comrades in arms to stand beside me.
“Well, my friends, say your prayers to whichever gods you favor. We’ll need their aid if we’re to pull this risky gamble off.”
The others agreed, Kulnor even offering up a short prayer aloud to Reiktir on behalf of all of them.
Once Kulnor finished, Taren shouldered his pack. Upon receiving nods of readiness, he drew upon earth magic and formed a gate to the Hall of the Artificers. The center of the room became a flat plane of darkness in the shape of a door limned in fire.
Creel and Ferret went through first, followed by Aninyel and Kulnor. Taren took a deep breath and nodded to Mira, then they stepped through into the Hall of the Artificers.
Taren sensed a subtle shift of magic the moment he set foot in the hall, more than two months after his first visit there. The sensation felt like the delicate threads of a spiderweb were disturbed—a magical warding that would sound an alarm, he assumed.
We’d better get through that portal before the spider appears to see what her web has caught. Mira’s sobering reminder came to mind, that Nesnys wouldn’t underestimate them a second time.
The gate faded out of existence when Taren released the spell holding it open. The Hall of the Artificers was as he remembered it: dark and gloomy, smelling of rust and ruin, and lit only by rows of orange crystals set along the walls. It was silent save for the sounds of the group and distant dripping of water.
“We’ve got company,” Kulnor warned.
Indistinct shadows suddenly moved as a rank of automatons stepped forward from the gloom as one, their motions synchronized like soldiers on parade. A second line advanced from the opposite side of the hall, their numbers extending into the darkness. With his second sight, Taren glimpsed at least fifty of the constructs.
They attacked with not a word of challenge given, silent but for clanking feet and ticks and clunks and whirs of their clockwork parts. With their numbers, the multiplied sounds were quite loud in the silence of the hall.
But Taren was prepared for the automatons, having decided on the most effective way of stopping them. If he removed the magic animating them, they would be naught but suits of armor.
They ignored him as they attacked, apparently as blind to his presence as Ferret was because he was wearing his father’s ring, but his friends weren’t lucky enough to escape their attention.
Mira knocked down the nearest by kicking its legs out from under it. Another reached for her, but she ducked and grabbed its arm then used its momentum to toss it over her hip. It clanged loudly when it struck the ground.
Taren reached out with his senses and plucked at the enchantments animating the two fallen automatons. An astoundingly complex, layered knot of spells bound them, hinting at the genius mind who had created the machines. But all he needed was one loose end to pull on, and like a poorly knitted garment, it unraveled when he tugged on the thread.
The lights went out of their eyes—first one, then the other, and the magic of their essence filled Taren.
Ferret grappled with a construct nearby, the two of them sliding across the stone floor as they alternately shoved and pulled at each other, their arms locked together, each seeking some advantage.
Taren reached out and drained the magic from Ferret’s opponent as well, and it froze into a useless suit of armor.
“Did you do that, Taren?” she asked, surprised.
“I did.”
“Good. Do it faster—we can’t hold this many off for long.” Ferret hefted the inanimate construct overhead and heaved it into the attacking swarm, knocking two of them down that had been harrying Creel.
She’s right. This takes too long. Time is our enemy—Nesnys could arrive with reinforcements at any moment.
“Follow me!” he called. “We must press on through.”
Taren formed a wedge of force before him and started forward, Mira right behind him. Automatons ignored him but keyed in on Mira. His wall of force shoved them aside, and he pushed it farther ahead, clearing a path amid the small army of constructs. Aninyel and Kulnor disengaged and fell in behind him, then Ferret and Creel. Taren broke into a run once he was accustomed to maintaining the spell.
Automatons battered fruitlessly at the invisible wall. Those that stood in their way were thrown aside. The initial fifty seemed to be the extent of their numbers, judging from what he could sense around them. After a few minutes of running, they traversed the great hall and reached the narrow corridor that cut through to the portal room. The door was wedged open already, and they raced inside.
Dozens of constructs pounded after them, their footfalls like metal thunder in the echoing halls.
Creel kicked the wedge out and tried to pull the door shut, but their pursuers were already on him. He cursed when one wrenched the door from his grasp and threw it wide. Another construct seized his arm and slung him hard into the wall. When he rebounded, the construct cocked its arm back and punched him in the face. Creel’s head rocked back from the blow, and blood flew from his mouth. He staggered back, cursed and spat blood, then ran his sword into his foe’s metal innards. Metal shrieked, but he didn’t do enough damage to disable it.
The automaton’s fist came back to strike again, but before it could unleash another mighty blow, Ferret slammed into it. The three combatants collided against the wall in a tangle of bodies, and somehow Creel squirmed free. Two more constructs cleared the door, immediately latching onto Ferret, but she fought like a wildcat in the close confines of the doorway, holding on to the frame with one hand while kicking and bashing her opponents with her free arm.
Taren threw up a wall of force across the doorway, barring any more attackers from entering, but the three remained. Ferret’s opponents overpowered her, so she lost her grip on the door. Working in concert, the three automatons slammed her repeatedly against the wall. Creel and Kulnor managed to wrestle one of the attackers free while Mira and Aninyel ineffectually tried to pull another off Ferret as Taren unraveled their spells. Moments later, all three foes collapsed into inanimate heaps of armor.
The remaining automatons pounded at the barrier while the companions caught their breath
s.
“Everyone all right?” Taren asked.
Creel spat out some more blood along with a tooth and nodded.
“Ferret?”
“Aye. Let’s just get out of this damned place.” She looked at a space off to Taren’s right as she spoke, and he realized she couldn’t see him again.
He slipped off the ring momentarily, and her head swiveled to face him.
“We set off some type of warding when we arrived, so Nesnys is undoubtedly aware of our presence,” Taren told them. “We’d better leave at once.”
The others agreed, and they proceeded unmolested to the portal room. When he inserted his ring into the orb atop the control obelisk, the Abyssal-iron portal rings began to gyrate and spin wildly while the others watched spellbound. He turned the orb to the Kaejax Outpost position, and the rings slammed home with a resounding ka-shing.
Blue fire limned the rings, and a pool of pitch formed at the center, the void between planes. An icy chill wafted off the portal’s inky surface.
Without delay, they stepped through.
Chapter 37
“Where’s Taren?” Nesnys asked again.
When no response was forthcoming, she plunged Willbreaker through the bars, piercing deep into soft flesh again. A man cried out in pain, one of the officers, she guessed, and blood spattered when she retracted her sword.
“She’ll kill us all in here,” someone moaned. “Just like spearing fish in a barrel.”
“Where’s the elf sorceress?” another asked. “Can’t she magick us out?”
“Dead,” came the reply, Sianna’s voice from the sound of it. “Are there any magic users still alive in here with us?”
None that can save you, Nesnys thought with glee. She leaned casually against the stone bars of the cage, watching the battle progress below and listening to her prisoners, allowing their terror to build.
Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3) Page 31