by C. M. Gray
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Chapter 26
The Faces of Chaos
Quint stared up at the huge wall of sand that towered over the city. The hissing storm was hypnotising, almost beyond comprehension, swirling in an angry flickering tempest that he knew was held at bay by magic alone. He choked the feelings of dread and awe back as they threatened to overwhelm him and forced himself to look on. Monstrously huge, tortured faces of captured souls were swelling and writhing, mouths agape in silent screams pushing out, fighting against the surface of the storm high above him, straining for their moment of release, the time when they could fall upon the defenders in the tiny city.
'We need Loras,' shouted Mahra above the noise. She clutched at Quint's arm. 'Do you think the shield will hold if all that sand comes down?'
Quint didn't answer. What could he say? He didn't know where Loras was or how long the shield would hold when, not if, half the desert dropped onto it. He glanced about and noticed that the Sultan's Magicians had stopped their work and were also gawking, transfixed by the horrific sight. He realised that this was way beyond anything the Dhurbars could deal with. Where was Loras? He might be their only hope, but even The Griffin couldn't fly through a storm like this, whatever they were going to do, it would have to be done without Loras.
Drawing back on his bow, trembling with tension, Quint sighted down the wooden shaft of an arrow and aimed at the small figure of the Emperor, still standing in front of the city walls driving more and more power from the crystal out into the storm. Targeting his shot slightly higher and to the right to compensate for the wind, Quint loosed his arrow, praying to the Source that his aim was true and that the Emperor would fall, that through some trick of the Source, he might be vulnerable while he wove his spell and that this whole nightmare would be extinguished as the Emperor died. He could picture it all in his mind willing the arrow on, but then watched in despair as the arrow was plucked from its flight to disappear, twisting and turning up into the crackling red centre. There really was nothing they could do, the storm continued to grow.
At mid-day, as the sun rose to its zenith, the storm also reached its height and the Emperor, Djinn Tsai, dropped his magical hold. Released at last, the souls flew out from the storm cloud and over the city, drawing with them their heavy cloak of sand. Within a heartbeat, the screaming, hissing howl that had filled the air all day suddenly stopped and with little warning day became night as the sand enveloped the shield. The incredible silence that followed was broken, scant moments later as first one and then the sound of thousands of the cities occupants wailing in fear filled the air. For just a few instants, high above the city, the shield held, groaning and flickering with blue streaks of order energy. Quint reached out in the darkness and found what he thought must be Mahra. 'Light one of those glow globe things… quickly.' He heard her murmur the spell and a globe appeared, but it was for nothing as the shield suddenly collapsed and a good part of the desert fell almost silently down upon the city, the mass landing with a heavy 'whoomp.' The screaming abruptly ceased, and then moments later returned with renewed passion.
Quint struggled to bend his legs, he didn't know how much sand was on top of him, but he had been knocked down and buried alive, and he couldn't breathe. Managing to turn a little, he got a slightly better position and made a gap between his body and the ground, found he had a little movement and tried to heave himself up, but then a small cascade of sand filled the gap and he was back where he started - he felt the rise of panic welling up inside him. With a huge effort and no little desperation, he gathered his will, swallowed down the horror of his situation and tried to draw his legs up under him, it happened very slowly… too slowly. Lack of air was already taking its toll on him. Flashes of light filled his eyes, sounds of crunching, shifting sand filled his senses and he felt his throat contract and heave as it sought to draw in air. Unbidden his mouth opened and sand ran in to fill it, panic consumed him, but this time it gave him the burst of raw energy he needed, and he heaved, pushing his legs down in a one-time only, no second chances effort to get up and out… and moved. As he felt the sand shift a hand grabbed the shoulder of his jerkin and pulled and then the bright desert sun filled his senses, and he was gasping, sucking in air and then coughing, spitting sand and retching as someone pounded his back.
'Come on Quint, get yourself together, we need you, they're attacking!' It was Pardigan. Quint rubbed at his eyes and glanced around. Mahra lay unconscious next to him while Pardigan was leaning over the wall, firing his bow at someone the other side. Quint shook his head and pulled his feet the final way out of the sand and looked over the wall. The sight that greeted him didn't make him wish he was still buried, but it almost did.
The city wall now had sand banked against it, almost reaching to the top, allowing much easier access for the invaders. He gazed out over the desert and saw thousands, a great tide of invaders running in. The first to arrive were already below, pulling themselves up the steep slope, digging their hands into the loose sand to find purchase and heave themselves higher while behind them, swarmed the wraiths, fading slowly from sight as they became invisible.
The shield obviously wasn't in place, rocks and arrows were landing all around, and the screaming of battle was once again deafening. Quint glanced over to where the Emperor had been spinning his magic and saw him being helped away, a sad little man obviously exhausted. It looked like he could hardly stand, and then, for Quint, there was no more time. A bearded face peered up over the wall, hands reached up, and the warrior dragged himself over.
The Soul Eater warrior was huge. His skin hot and glistening with sweat from the heat of the day and the exertion of clambering up the bank of sand. He was at least twice the size of Quint, heavily muscled and ready to fight. Eyes blazing hatred, the warrior lifted a huge double-headed axe and bellowed into Quint's face as he brought it down, 'Yaaaahhh!' The stink of his breath was the first thing to hit Quint and then came the axe, hissing through the air.
Not quite the easy victim the warrior had expected, Quint allowed his talent to guide him, drew his blade, stepped into the swing and then moved to the side before stabbing out, all in one fluid movement. He watched as if far removed as his sword disappeared through the warriors beard and then felt it reach the stubborn resistance of his neck, the muscles contracting and the cartilage and sinews reluctantly parting with each and every vibration of the contact registering through the blade and up along his arm. Shock registered on the man's face as he dropped his axe and wrapped his hands about the blade. He sank to his knees and lay gurgling at Quint's feet, twitching as his lifeblood pumped onto the sand of the city wall. Quint had no time to dwell upon what he had done because two more warriors had just clambered over the top of the wall. They glanced around and then advanced on what they thought to be just a young unprepared boy, failing to notice the significance of their fallen comrade at this boy's feet. These two carried short stabbing spears that they twisted and spun the moment they stepped down onto the walkway.
Quint glanced about to gauge his situation. Ten paces to his left; Pardigan was also locked in battle with a sword in his right hand and a knife in his left. Pardigan could see the wraiths, and he had several dead around him, Quint could also hear him shouting burn, burn as he sent out bolts of charged energy, directing it through the knife while the sword danced, stabbing and slashing, forcing both visible and invisible attackers back.
Waiting for the right moment, Quint saw the stabbing spear of the warrior on his right change from its spinning motion into a thrusting jab, and he caught it, pulled the man towards him to spoil his centre of balance and bring him into the path of the other, and then watched as their carefully orchestrated attack fell apart. Releasing the spear, he lashed out with his foot in a sweeping roundhouse kick and felt it connect with a satisfying thump into the unbalanced warrior's head. Regaining his stance, he slashed his sword across the others exposed neck, and both fell to the sand where a Dhurbar fighter leapt upon
them, killing them both swiftly with a long curved blade. More Dhurbars were arriving having freed themselves from the sand, and the battle became bloody and brutal as the attackers were forced back over the wall and down the sandbank. From behind them, the city echoed with the sounds of cries and shrieks as the wraiths attacked the civilian population once more, bringing a fear for their families to those on the wall, many turned and ran back into the city to protect their loved ones.
Quint crossed to Pardigan and shouted over the sounds of screaming and clashing steel.
'Where's Mahra?'
Pardigan was pulling his knife free from a corpse at his feet but glanced to his side. 'She went after two that got past us into the city; she'll be back. Oh Source, here they come again.' As he stood up at the wall, an arrow hit him in the shoulder spinning him round before falling to the floor. The mail shirt he was wearing beneath his jerkin had stopped the arrow, but he was hurt. 'Auugh! Source… that burns, he exclaimed, flexing his arm and wincing as the bruising made it stiffen, and then the grimace turned to a smile as Mahra loped up onto the walkway again, her tongue lolling from the side of her mouth. She transformed from panther into girl and Quint couldn't help but look to see if her tongue would still be hanging out, it wasn't. Seeing that Pardigan was hurt she ran over and started to heal him, laying her hands on his shoulder and ignoring another group of warriors that were coming over the wall behind her. Quint leapt forward to protect his friends and the battle continued amid the dust and heat of the fierce desert sun.
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Magician Falk was exhausted. The thought of propelling the balloon any more, pushing the peddles around and around was, quite frankly, distressing. He wasn't really sure how he had managed to push them around for this many turns of the glass. It had been an awfully long night of battling changing winds and defending again and again against the dragon. A colossal sandstorm had sprung up sometime after daybreak, coming from nowhere, and had sent him back some distance, spinning and jolting his fragile craft, forcing him off course once again, further away into the desert - the dragon had followed.
He was rather proud of his latest incantation of defence. Created out of desperation, necessity and pure magical genius, he concluded, this one was a blue glowing energy form, the same as various others he had created, but shaped as a mirror image of the dragon. As the real dragon had returned, beating its huge wings to gain altitude, it was angry, bellowing out fire and roaring in a most terrifying manner. He had cast the magic but slipped at the last moment as the balloon was buffeted by the wind and rather than sending the illusion close to the dragon as he had previously done, he had sent it way off target. Luckily, the dragon had been incensed that there was another of its kind close to its intended meal and had turned to pursue it as the rival disappeared towards the distant mountains. The ruse had allowed him time to recuperate a little and take a more methodical approach in reaching the beleaguered city. For almost three turns of the glass, he had peddled steadily, his leg muscles burning while he listened to the thrum, thrum, thrum of the huge propeller turning behind him. He had been taking a little rest, nibbling on dry crackers and the last of the cheese, when he noticed that, unfortunately, the dragon was back.
Quickly moving to the side of the balloon, he gazed down at the city far below him. He hadn't realised how high the balloon had risen, it must have been silently drifting up on the warm air currents of the early day. It was impossible to see what was happening down there, he was far too high to make out any detail. But the sky was clear, no sign of any sandstorms, and there didn't appear to be any crosswinds. He pondered the situation for a moment. The dropping bag could be steered and as long as he landed within the walls of the city he should be safe enough. With one last glance across to where the dragon was circling, Magician Falk clambered up to take a precarious perch on the side of the basket. It creaked and swayed as he stepped up and positioned himself gripping tightly to the corner rope, wobbling precariously before finding the right balance. Glancing down between his knees, he took a deep breath and regarded the target far below. He silently reassured himself that the dropping bag was completely safe because that annoying little spy person had confirmed that. With a last silent prayer to the Source, he slowly pitched forward… and fell.
The rush of air was immediate and alarming, his brain screaming at him that this wasn't a normal sensible thing to do, and now he was falling, very, very fast. It was only once he was falling that he realised that he hadn't tied the rope onto the side of the basket so that the dropping bag could be pulled free.
'Aaaaaaahhhhhhh.' Plummeting towards the desert and quickly blinded by tears from the rush of air, Magician Falk frantically grabbed at the empty air behind his pack in search of the rope. Firstly with his left hand and then with his right but there was nothing to grab. If he could get the rope he could pull it, and the bag would emerge, but he couldn't find it. 'Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh.' Screaming didn't do any good of course but it did make him feel better. Of course, he realised as he was falling then the rope must surely be trailing behind, which would be up. He reached up and twisted which made him spin alarmingly, but the rope wrapped around him and he fumbled his fingers along it until it tightened on the back of the pack. Now holding the rope, he had to steady the rate he was spinning before he could pull it. He flung out his arms feeling the air pushing against his body, which helped him slow then correct the awful spin. He'd done this more upon some instinct rather than any knowledge that this might be the right thing to do, but quite quickly he stopped turning altogether and was able to tug on the rope. The first sign of success was the sound of flapping material and then the sudden jolt of the bag filling with air and the abrupt reduction in the rate of his descent to a gentle floating. His heart beating loudly in his ears, he glanced up to see the bag, flapping at its edges but open with the ropes all holding him in place, taught and creaking, but strong - he smiled.
'Oh, thank the Source. Thank you, thank you and thank you three times, that was terrifying, but I live to tell the tale, or perhaps never to tell the tale, we shall see. Magicians are not meant to fall from a balloon, that's for certain.' He rubbed at his watery eyes and blinked, trying to bring some clarity to his vision. Between his dangling feet he could make out the blurry shape of the city, it was still some distance below, and he could tell he was drifting slightly towards the part that had, what looked to be, a full scale battle raging. Reaching up with his left hand, he tugged on the ropes and to his delight the dropping bag responded by turning in that direction, back towards the city, 'Splendid, splendid!' he chortled, now thoroughly enjoying this new experience. He reached up with his right hand and tugged the ropes to that side, and the dropping bag turned in a lazy arc allowing him to get a better view of the whole situation below - and then he glanced up just in time to see the dragon, blue ferocious and very, very angry, rushing in, claws extended to snatch the dropping bag out of the sky.
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Chapter 27
A Ship of the Desert
Pardigan place-shifted behind a female warrior just as she was bringing her sword down in a blow that would have cut him in two if he had remained standing there. The sword struck the hard stone of the walkway, and she gasped with shock, her head darting from side to side, trying to work out what had just happened and where her easy victim had gone. With a smile, Pardigan stepped forward, reached out and muttered 'Burn' sending a strong electrical charge into her sword - she dropped it with a yell. 'Oooowww'
'Here I am, you missed me. It isn't nice to go chopping other people up, please don't try it again.' She glared at him, slowly crouched down and, without letting her gaze fall from his eyes, groped around in the sand for her fallen sword. What she didn't see, was Elisop moving stealthily in behind to hit her over the back of the head with a cooking pan. 'Dong!' The sound echoed around the low buildings behind the wall as she crumpled to the ground.
The two of them struggled to pick up the fallen woman, move her around and then tip her ove
r the side back into the desert. 'Over she goes,' muttered Pardigan. They leaned out and watched her roll down the sandbank to join a pile of similarly unconscious, yet still living, Soul Eater warriors. 'I don't think that one was going to eat our souls either,' remarked Pardigan slapping hands with Elisop. 'And of course it's another soul that won't end up in that crystal thing.' He glanced about for their next victim, but there seemed to be fewer and fewer, tired, sweating and gasping warriors trying to get up the sandbank.
They sat on the wall with their legs dangling over the edge and tried to make out what was happening. It was clear that the storm had made a mess of the Soul Eater camp as well as the city. The tents and buildings were all gone, swept away in the whirling wind, sand and crazy moving desert. The elephants had all disappeared, not just the big one either, Pardigan couldn't see any now. There was a scattering of people milling about, two dogs fighting over something in the distance and a small group of people gathered some distance away, out of range of the bows, surrounded by a protective ring of warriors.
'Must be the Emperor and his advisors in the middle there,' said Elisop. 'Nasty little man wasn't he? He was all waving arms and horrid red eyes. I wonder what they're doing. I think that crystal thing is in there with them, that's almost exactly where it was before the storm.'
'He's getting more power, sucking souls out of the crystal so he can attack again,' muttered Pardigan. He glanced about to see where the others were. 'Quint! Quint we think the Emperor is…' But he didn't get to finish as the big blue and yellow dragon soared over their heads, the downward beat of its leathery wings buffeting them so much that both he and Elisop were pitched forward off the wall and sent tumbling down the sandbank. 'Whaaaaa!'
Quickly scrabbling back up the loose sand, Pardigan reached the top, placed a hand up onto the wall and hauled himself over. When he turned back, the dragon was passing back over the Emperor's group, the warriors all gazing up as it circled above them before turning away towards the distant mountains - it was dragging something behind it, all ropes and cloth.