Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3)

by Gregory Mattix

  Here goes. He gripped the wings on the egg. When he pressed forward, the entire helm moved, and the fan grew to a loud droning sound. The air skiff shot forward like a horse roughly given the spurs.

  The skiff left the boathouse swiftly behind and sailed out over open sky. Ferret let out an excited whoop, while Kulnor looked as though he was about to be ill. Taren couldn’t help but smile at the rush of exhilaration.

  Chapter 39

  Sianna’s entire world was pain. She had been jolted and battered and bruised by the stone prison then knocked unconscious for some unknown time, only to be woken by a shriek of pain near her ear that brought her back to the nightmare.

  A sword slid out of flesh a few inches away, dripping blood as it retracted, revealing Nesnys’s shining eyes and grinning maw of shark teeth through a gap in the stone.

  “Little queen. Nice of you to stay with me. Ready to tell me where Taren is?”

  Sianna tried to speak but couldn’t. Instead, she coughed and spat some blood. Her tongue ached and felt swollen where she’d no doubt bitten it during their terrifying plunge. She was fortunate that her tumble had been cushioned somewhat by the slim form of the unfortunate Queen Shalaera between her and the rocky wall.

  Nesnys moved away, and Sianna breathed a momentary sigh of relief.

  Groans and curses came from around her, albeit weakly. The pressure had lessened, whether from people crushed to pulp or not, she didn’t know. But she couldn’t yet move—she knew that.

  “We must escape, Your Majesty.” A voice nearby—Jahn’s, she thought. “The cage has crumbled on one side. Quickly now, before Nesnys sees us.”

  Sianna tried to reply, but the best she could do was let out a pathetic moan as hands grabbed her by the arms and dragged her free of the crush of bodies. She cried out as a sharp pain erupted in her side. A broken rib, judging from the location.

  She must have blacked out for a moment, for when she next became aware, the gray sky was above her. Snowflakes prickled as they landed on her face.

  “Kav? Rafe? Ah, damn it.” Jahn’s face was streaked with blood, and he looked as though he’d lost a barroom brawl from the amount of bruising. He looked grim but determined. “We need to find you a horse, Your Majesty.”

  “Why would you need a horse?” Nesnys appeared from around the curve of the rock prison, her sword resting casually against her shoulder. “She won’t be going anywhere. The two of us have unfinished business.”

  Jahn drew his sword and interposed himself between Nesnys and Sianna. “You won’t have her, bitch.”

  Nesnys laughed. “Ah, but I think I shall. Step aside or die.”

  Jahn didn’t move.

  “Well, then let us find out the worth of a queen’s man—”

  Her words were cut off by a wild cry and thundering hooves. “Courage and honor!”

  A mounted knight in battered and bloody armor thundered past Jahn’s shoulder, startling the veteran. Nesnys’s eyes widened, then a lance slammed into her, and she was hurled away, disappearing behind a mountain of horseflesh. Sianna had only a glimpse of the knight, but she had seen quite clearly the grimy green ribbon tied to his gauntlet, one she herself had given him a lifetime past.

  “Sir Edwin.” She finally found some words, only to have them dissolve into a strangled sob. Whether she was feeling relief or fear or sorrow, she couldn’t say.

  “Aye. He pays the price to buy your escape. Seems he has some stones after all.” Jahn knelt and started to lift her in his arms when a shadow fell over them.

  A huge figure in soot-black plate armor with glowing runes loomed over them, a contingent of Nebaran soldiers at his back. His longsword was dripping blood, and the menacing fiend helm glared down at them.

  Sianna’s faint hope at Sir Edwin’s appearance was crushed like a tender flower underfoot.

  ***

  Elyas cut down the last wounded Ketanian, a dazed man who looked more interested in fleeing than fighting, but Elyas’s reach was long and his armor hungry for more slaughter.

  Just ahead, Nesnys walked around the boulder and was momentarily blocked from view on the other side. Moving closer, Elyas saw the boulder was actually a sphere of rock with slots in it like some type of cage. The gray stone was stained dark with dripping blood, and bits of gore clung to the rough edges. A number of bodies were packed within—dead or wounded he didn’t know.

  “With me, men. The warlord summons us.” He didn’t wait for his soldiers as he strode forward, alert for any challenge, but none came.

  He was even with the rock cage when someone shouted a battle cry. Hooves thundered, and Nesnys cried out in pain and fury. She was thrown backward violently, a lance piercing her shoulder as a knight rode her down. The attacker released the lance and turned his horse then drew his sword.

  Elyas’s first instinct was to protect his mistress, but she rose under her own power, clearly enraged. He knew better than to interfere when she was in such a mood.

  Nesnys grimaced and switched her sword to her other hand as the knight faced her with drawn sword. She cleaved through the lance shaft easily with Willbreaker, leaving a few inches jutting from her shoulder, and cast the remainder aside.

  Elyas looked toward where Nesnys had been and saw a number of wounded figures crawling from the side of the cage where the rock had broken away, leaving an avenue of escape.

  “The commanders,” he said as realization struck. “Come, we shall remove this army’s head from its shoulders. The body will then die shortly after.” He waved to the score or more men following him. Colonel Bertram stood among them, his surcoat covered in blood, but all of it looked to be the enemy’s.

  Elyas came upon the enemy command group as a man was attempting to lift a woman from the ground. The man froze at seeing him, leaving the woman where she lay and straightening up slowly. Elyas leveled his sword at the warrior, but the woman’s green eyes grew wide at his appearance.

  Elyas opened his mouth to issue some meaningless challenge before he cut the man down, but he paused, speechless. The face was bruised and bloodied, but he recognized the square-jawed features and fair hair turning to gray.

  “Glin?” he asked, sword wavering slightly in his grasp. His last sight of his friend had been as he was cut down on the battlefield just before Nesnys had slain King Clement and defeated Elyas in a duel months earlier.

  His eyes flicked to the others on the ground, and he recognized a raven-haired woman lying nearby, unconscious or dead from the look of her. This woman he also recognized, although he remembered her with a bow in hand—lethal, another warrior he had admired. Kavia.

  The green-eyed woman was also familiar though placing her took him longer—Sianna Atreus, Queen of Ketania. He had met her before at the gates of Carran.

  “Glin is dead,” the man said harshly, taking advantage of Elyas’s hesitation to draw steel.

  “Dead… So you’re Jahn, then.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Aye, how do you know me?”

  Elyas didn’t answer, his gaze returning to Sianna. Even pale and bruised and bloodied as she was, he could see the slight resemblance to Dorian in her features—Dorian, his friend whom he had known as Harlan, who had urged Elyas not to accept Nesnys’s offer and had died in the arena. He had wished nothing more than for his sister to remember he’d never given up on her. Dorian had died as a warrior and died well—bowed perhaps, but unbroken.

  The Soulforge armor raged at Elyas, driving spikes of pain into his head, wanting ever more blood.

  Fight it! The remnant urged him. Spare their lives—it’s what Dorian would have wanted. These were your comrades in arms at one time.

  Elyas’s sword wavered and lowered slightly. Nesnys was distracted by the knight, her influence gone for the moment. I can do this… do something right for a change.

  “Cut them down, men!” Colonel Bertram hollered, sensing something amiss. “Show no mercy.”

  Bertram moved forward to murder the unresisting queen, and
Jahn shifted to meet the immediate threat.

  No, I won’t allow them slain.

  “Halt!” Elyas raised his hand.

  Bertram glanced at him only for an instant. “The general isn’t himself. We have orders to kill the enemy commanders.” He moved forward, reaching out to push Elyas’s restraining arm aside.

  Elyas seized Bertram’s hand in his gauntleted fist and squeezed. Bones crackled like dried twigs as he crushed Bertram’s hand, eliciting a shriek. Elyas silenced the man with a punch in the jaw hard enough that Bertram flew off his feet into the arms of his men, eyes rolling up as he fell unconscious.

  “Get them out of here, Jahn,” Elyas said harshly, a turmoil of emotions roiling inside. His sword trembled in his hand, and his head felt as if it would split apart. “Hurry—go!” He gritted his teeth against the helm’s pain and turned away. “Back off,” he ordered his men, who did so, eyes wide with fear.

  ***

  Sianna watched the standoff warily, her wits sharpening from fear. Taren’s cousin, Elyas.

  She sensed his confusion and hesitation, as did the Nebaran officer who tried to overrule him. When Elyas lashed out to stay the officer’s hand, relief swelled in Sianna’s breast so strongly it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

  “Get them out of here, Jahn,” Elyas growled. “Hurry—go!”

  Jahn sheathed his sword and lifted Sianna in his arms, turning to carry her to safety.

  “Elyas,” she called.

  He froze, glancing back, though his face was hidden behind the hideous helm.

  “Thank you.”

  Then she was being borne swiftly away. She glimpsed Nesnys standing over Sir Edwin’s prone form, poised to deliver a fatal stroke. Then Sianna was carried out of sight through a copse of trees, her protector running as best he was able.

  Tears ran from her eyes at Sir Edwin’s regained courage. In the end, when it mattered most, he died as a true knight.

  Jahn carried her to a group of the reserve forces, formerly commanded by Sir Edwin. The men looked surprised at their appearance.

  “Protect the queen,” Jahn ordered.

  “You must see if Sir Rafe is all right,” Sianna insisted. “Bring him to safety. Lord Lanthas and Kavia too, along with any others you can save.” She met Jahn’s eyes, nodding her approval. She knew he had feelings for the barbarian woman.

  “Aye. I need a dozen men with me. I’ll be right back, Your Majesty.” Jahn ran off with the dozen men, while the rest of the reserve, nearly a hundred fighters, surrounded her protectively.

  She expected Nesnys to come for her at any moment, but long minutes passed. Jahn and the others eventually returned, and she let out a sigh of relief. Kavia and Rafe were both unconscious and wounded but alive. Lord Lanthas had been run through by Nesnys, one of her random victims in the cage, and was in grave condition, as were a number of others.

  Nardual was limping along under his own power but, other than that, seemed fairly well off. He gave a startlingly realistic bird trill, and a few moments later, a group of his elven rangers slipped out of the trees and fell in around them. They had arrows to strings, ready for any threat to materialize.

  Sianna managed to gain her feet though everything hurt—her ribs especially, together with a knot on her head. One cheek was lacerated and sticky with blood. She also seemed to have reinjured her ankle that had been broken a couple weeks earlier, although it felt like only a sprain this time.

  Officers scrambled to rally men around them as well as find clerics to tend to the wounded. Scouts were dispatched to gain some idea as to the state of the battle.

  Sianna finally allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking Nesnys might not be coming for her after all. She knew it was selfish, for thousands of men were fighting and dying for her at that very moment, but she was unable to constantly maintain the façade of a strong queen.

  In that moment, she was merely an injured, terrified young woman.

  ***

  Nesnys stood over the fallen knight. His foolish bravery had taken her by surprise with his initial charge, but after that first blow was struck, he proved less of a challenge than she’d hoped. As he wheeled his horse around for a second pass, she parried his follow-up strike then took to the air as his horse barreled past. She dove and struck him from behind, knocking him from the saddle. He lashed out as he tried to get to his feet, but she swatted his clumsy slash aside. She kicked him in the head then shoved him onto his back with her foot. The tip of Willbreaker flipped up his visor so she could watch as the light went out of his eyes.

  “Do I know you?” she asked, for he looked somehow familiar.

  Blood trickled from a split lip, and sweaty blond hair was stuck to his forehead. The knight spat and his eyes went to her wound. “How’s that shoulder feel?”

  Nesnys sneered. “That was well struck, I’ll admit. Nothing that won’t prevent me from slaying your precious queen, however.”

  He growled and struggled to get up, but she pinned him with her foot. Willbreaker opened a shallow cut down his pretty face.

  The knight grimaced but seemed resigned to his fate. He lifted his sword arm and stared at his gauntlet a moment, where a soiled ribbon was tied. He then gave a sigh, and his lips moved, but she didn’t catch what he said.

  Some token of a woman’s favor?

  His gaze returned to her. “Grant me an honorable death, I beg you.”

  “Very well, Sir Knight. I suppose you have earned that much.” She thrust Willbreaker through the softness of his throat.

  The knight choked and convulsed for a moment before going still.

  Nesnys withdrew Willbreaker. She tried to rotate her injured shoulder and hissed at the pain. The wound was deep—the lance tip had gone nearly all the way through the muscle. Until she had enough time to regenerate, her sword arm would be mostly useless.

  Elyas was standing near the stone cage watching her with a group of cowering men. Something had occurred—she sensed his conflicted feelings through their bond but didn’t have time to sort it out.

  “Why are you just standing there? The girl queen and her commanders must die.” She strode toward Elyas, her anger building, but he didn’t reply.

  At that moment, her warding in the Hall of the Artificers alerted her to intruders, a resonance tugging at the back of her mind.

  Taren. So that’s where you’ve skulked off to.

  She took stock of the situation. Taananzu was close to securing the control rod, and she couldn’t allow Taren to meddle with her plans again. If she captured Taren and gained the control rod, the entire war would be meaningless, for that would ensure victory regardless of the outcome here.

  The battle had devolved into a number of chaotic small-unit and individual struggles. Without a clear view, she couldn’t gauge the progress but assumed it could go either way at that point. Working in her favor was the fact that the mortal commanders were eliminated—or close enough so as to no longer be a factor. Morale would falter once the defending troops realized they were on their own.

  But the same held true of her own forces. She didn’t trust any of her commanders save Elyas enough to win the day, and she needed him with her.

  “We must go,” she snapped. “Who do you trust to assume command?”

  Elyas was silent a long moment, and she thought he hadn’t heard her. “Colonel Bertram,” he finally said, nodding toward an unconscious man with a purpling face, supported by a pair of soldiers.

  “Rouse him and explain to him he must win the battle or face my wrath.”

  While Elyas attempted to rouse the colonel, Nesnys went to check on Sianna, only to find the queen gone. She snarled a curse. Again, seems I must deal with her later.

  She angrily wrenched the lance tip from her shoulder and tossed it aside, the fire of the pain grounding her. Ichor bled from the wound, but it would heal in time.

  “Hold, fiend!” The voice rang out with authority, and all heads nearby turned to see the dwarven paladin que
en approaching with a group of hardy warriors about her. “Face me!”

  Order was being reestablished in the ranks of her foes, not only by the dwarven contingent, but off to her right, a number of humans and elves were reforming their lines.

  Nesnys could sense the paladin’s virtue, the strength of her faith, as well as the warhammer’s nature—puissant enchantments specifically targeted against her kind, those of infernal blood. She frowned, conflicted, one part of her desiring to cross blades with the warrior, another realizing the dwarf would prove a dangerous foe.

  And then there was the inconvenient fact that time wouldn’t allow for such a contest.

  “Come,” she snapped at Elyas. Giving the order grated on her nerves, but she couldn’t deal with the dwarven queen now. “Another time, paladin.”

  The dazed colonel seemed to have regained his wits and began issuing orders, though he cast a dark glance at Elyas. Bertram seemed to realize they were about to be surrounded behind enemy lines and commanded his men to fall back and regroup.

  Nesnys reluctantly cast her teleportation spell, and she and Elyas abandoned the field.

  Chapter 40

  Taren quickly got the hang of operating the mistral skiff. When he pulled back on the helm, the craft slowed dramatically, though it still glided forward like a boat in the water. When he swiveled the egg-shaped controller, the skiff turned in that direction. The wings on the helm also rotated: if he tilted them forward, the skiff nosed downward, but if he swiveled them back, the craft’s nose rose into the air.

  “Where do I go to reach the Refuge?” he called back to G-77.

  “Follow bearing east by northeast, forty-five-degree ascent,” the factotum said helpfully.

  Taren had no idea which direction was which, but ascent he recognized and angled the craft upward. “Which way is east by northeast?”