Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 03] - The Ancient Legacy(V1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  A number of guards on duty along the citadel's outer curtain nodded when he passed by. Some patted him on the back or uttered words of encouragement, despite the somber mood.

  Mathew looked out across the valley at the enemy camp-fires and a shiver went up his spine; tomorrow was not going to be an easy day. To his surprise, he found Teanna and Akin were also there, talking. Not wishing to intrude, he was about to go back the other way when they saw him and waved him over.

  "I didn't mean to interrupt," he explained as he ap­proached.

  "You didn't," Akin said. "I was just heading back to see that everything is in order with my men. I'll see you tomorrow, Mat."

  He gave Mathew's shoulder a squeeze arid said good night but only got a few feet before Teanna hurried after him and kissed him on the cheek.

  "He's a sweet man," she said when she returned "You and he have many of the same qualities."

  "He's a good man. I've known him forever."

  Teanna smiled and looked out at the valley. "So many," she said softly.

  Mathew rested his forearms on the wall. "There are."

  "I got word earlier that my father and our army will be here tomorrow," she said.

  "That should help," Mathew said.

  In truth, he was hoping that Eldar and his people would be late. He missed Lara terribly, but the last place he wanted her was in Balengrath.

  "But you don't think it will, do you?" Teanna asked.

  "I honestly don't know. The two of us can slow the en­emy down, at least. But I'm puzzled as to why Shakira hasn't shown her face yet."

  Teanna shook her head. "We'll have to conserve our power," she told him. "I've been so tired all week."

  They started walking and eventually found themselves back at the keep. Despite the late hour, people were still coming and going.

  "Oh, look," Teanna said, "Eric's talking to someone down there."

  Mathew couldn't make out who it was in the pale moonlight. It gave the courtyard a silver cast.

  "I spoke with Siward Thomas the other day," she said, changing the subject.

  "Did you?"

  "He's not what I expected."

  That's the understatement of the year, Mathew thought, though he kept the observation to himself. "No, he's not. If anyone can help win this battle, it's him."

  "Mmm."

  "It's getting late," Mathew said. "I should probably turn in for the night."

  "I'll walk down with you."

  Eric was still in the courtyard, talking, when they reached the bottom of the steps. He saw them and nodded.

  Mathew was in no mood to start another conversation, so he waved back and said good night to Teanna.

  "I'd better go and say something to him or his feelings will be hurt," Teanna said. Good night, Mathew.

  He was about halfway across the keep when Teanna screamed his name.

  Mathew spun around and saw Teanna and Eric stand­ing about fifty yards away. She had her arm extended to­ward him. A moment later something whizzed by his ear. To his horror, Eric drew his sword and brought it down across Teanna's arm, severing her hand from her body.

  Teanna shrieked and went reeling backward, blood spurting from the wound as Eric reached down, picked up the severed hand, and pulled the ring off its finger.

  The whole thing happened in seconds.' Recovering from his shock, Mathew ran toward her, intending to help.

  "Behind you!" gasped Teanna.

  He. barely had time to react as a man rushed at_him from the shadows, brandishing a sword above his head. Anger surging in Mathew's chest, as he realized what was happening. The man with the sword stopped and grabbed his head. A moment later he fell to the ground, dead, blood draining from his ears.

  When Mathew looked toward Teanna again he saw Eric smash her rose gold ring under the heel of his boot. The princess was down on her knees, rocking back and forth in agony. Blood was everywhere. .

  Eric's voice carried to him. "This is how our family deals with traitors," he heard him say. "You should never have sided with them."

  Somewhere in the keep people were shouting. Mathew was aware of it as he began walking again toward Eric, his pace neither slow nor fast. It did not quicken as he watched Eric's sword go up and heard him say, "Goodbye, cousin."

  The sword never came down. It merely disappeared from Eric's hand. Startled, he turned then to see Mathew standing a feet away.

  "Still alive, Lewin?" he sneered. "I must really learn to pay my people—"

  Those were Eric Duren's last words. A white light ap-

  peared out of nowhere, enveloping him. In the last sec­onds that he lived, he screamed, but the sound ended abruptly as the light disappeared. Somewhere in the dis­tance a chime faded away.

  Armand, Delain, and Father Thomas came running.

  "What did you do with my brother?" Armand demanded.

  Mathew stared at him for several seconds, slowly then glanced up at the moon before turning his back on him and stooping down to help Teanna.

  58

  Stewart Vale

  She lay there unconscious, her life ebbing away as the blood pumped out of her arm.

  "Someone send for a doctor!" Mathew shouted.

  "We've got to find a way to stop that blood or she'll die in minutes," said Father Thomas.

  "How?" Mathew asked.

  "The arteries must be closed and the wound cauterized. Here and here." Father Thomas pointed to show him.

  Mathew stared directly at the major artery in the mid­dle of Teanna's wrist and concentrated. A moment later there was a sizzling sound and she let out a small moan. He repeated the procedure with the other artery as the doctor arrived.

  "Oh, dear God," he said, taking one look at Teanna. "Someone get a stretcher. Let's get her inside."

  To the astonishment of everyone, Mathew produced one, out of thin air, then he, Father Thomas, and Delain lifted Teanna up and placed her on it. Her head moved back and forth and her face was deathly pale.

  As they started back toward the main building, Armand began to say something threatening toward him. Appar­ently he thought better of it after seeing the look on Mathew's face, spun on his heel, and headed in the oppo­site direction.

  The first explosion hit them as they were passing the citadel's rear gate. The only warning Mathew had was the faintest tingling sensation, but it gave him no time to react.

  A tremendous blast of hot air lifted Father Thomas and him off the ground throwing them backward fifteen feet. Instinctively, he placed a shield over himself, the priest, and Teanna. The second explosion destroyed the door along with a substantial portion of the Citadel's inner wall. More explosions could be heard at the outer curtain of Balengrath.

  "To arms!" Delain yelled, drawing his sword. "We are under attack. Defend the castle."

  Chaos broke loose in the yard. Orlocks rushed in through the opening where a gate had been blown open as die survivors tried to rally.

  "Elgarians to me!" Delain shouted. Father Thomas struggled to his knees and felt someone grab him under the elbow.

  "Are you all right?" Mathew asked. The priest was bleeding from a gash on the forehead. "Yes ... I think so. What happened?" "Shakira's here. Can you get Teanna to safety?" Father Thomas blinked to clear his vision. "Yes," he said. Mathew stopped a soldier who was running by. "You, help Father Thomas get the princess inside."

  The doctor was dead, lying a few feet from them; Teanna was next to him. Her head was no longer moving. Near the middle of the keep, Delain had gathered a con­tingent of soldiers who were locked in combat with the Orlocks. Mathew saw Armand and his Alor Satarans rush­ing back toward them. All along the wall their men had fi­nally recovered their wits and were firing down into the keep, killing the creatures right and left. But their efforts weren't making much of a difference. For every Orlock that fell, two more seemed to take its place. Somewhere out on the valley floor trumpets were blowing. The attack had begun.

  Despite the madness around him, Mathew for
ced him­self to survey the situation. Two Orlocks carrying pikes focused on him and charged. They only got a few feet before being hurled backward into the wall. One fell uncon­scious; the other's neck was broken. Mathew turned away. He saw that Father Thomas and the soldier were nearly back at the castle with Teanna. He waited until they were inside before turning back to the courtyard. There was no sign of Shakira, but he sensed that she was close.

  His first inclination was to draw on the ring and destroy the Orlocks in the keep, but it was better to conserve his power until he needed it most. Out in the valley the Al­liance's cannons had finally begun to answer. -

  At least our commanders weren't caught sleeping, he thought.

  More explosions at the outer wall pulled his attention away. He had no idea what was going on out there, but it was time to see. Drawing his sword, he started for the gate. Near the entrance to the main house, Darias Val was engaged with two Orlocks. The Bajani's blade moved in a blur, killing the first creature, which fell screaming. Val went down a moment later with a sword in his side from its companion. How Mathew covered the last twenty yards, he was never quite certain. Val had lost his sword and was struggling to get to his feet when he crashed headlong into the Orlock. Before the creature could re­cover, Mathew plunged his dagger into the Orlock's heart.

  "Thank you, my friend," said Val. The Bajani was lying on his side, trying to sit up.

  "Stay where you are," Mathew said, restraining him. He signaled to two of Val's aides. "Have your men cleanse the wound as soon as possible. The infection will kill as surely as the blade."

  Val nodded weakly and motioned to his men, who lifted him up and carried him inside.

  Mathew looked to the courtyard again. Soldiers of the Alliance were holding their own and actually appeared to be gaining ground against the creatures. At the far end of

  the complex he saw Armand and his people were involved in a fierce struggle in front of a small stone building. The armory.

  Whatever he thought of the man, Mathew had to con­cede that he was a valiant fighter. When they made eye contact, Armand broke away from the fight and came run­ning across the yard to him.

  "My brother betrayed us," he said. "One of my men saw him talking to Shakira earlier." '"What?"

  "There's a tunnel under the citadel that comes out at the base of the hills. That's how the creatures got in. We need you; they're trying to take the armory." Out of distrust, Mathew hesitated. "I have good cause not to like you, Lewin," said Ar­mand. "But if I ever come at you, it will be to your face and not behind your back."

  "All right," Mathew said, and the two ran across the yard. They were stopped by a soldier.

  "My lord," he said to Armand. "James of Mirdan has ar­rived and is attacking the enemy's rear guard, and the Sen-nians are in the outer bailey trying to break through to us." "Good," Armand replied. "Tell Colonel Ranier I need two more squads of men out here."

  The armory was a two-story building stacked with weapons. Crossbows hung on the walls, and every manner of pike, halberd, spear, sword, and axe that Mathew had ever seen were stored in row after row of barrels. Eric and Armand had obviously anticipated this battle for some time. As far as he could tell, there was only one room, its interior lit by a series of gas lamps.

  Why the Orlocks were interested in the armory made no sense to him. Surely they had an ample store of their own weapons. Then he noticed the wooden kegs lined up along the back wall. Stacked one on top of another, they were at least four deep and rose nearly to the ceiling. A residue of black powder on the floor left no question about what their contents contained.

  Mathew's eyes widened and his heart nearly skipped a beat. The fools had no idea what they were dealing with. Alor Satar might well have cannons now, but their lack of experience with black powder was obvious. The nearest keg was no more than three feet from a gas lamp. One spark would blow the armory and half the citadel into the next province. Even a stray spark from walking on the floor or a dropped sword could do it. He remembered the les­sons that Felize had learned. In the beginning, they had lost two ships and a score of men before they started mak­ing the sailors who handled black powder wear felt slip­pers around it.

  Even as the danger dawned on him, a contingent of crea­tures rushed through the rear gate, carrying torches. The nearest Orlock heaved his torch at a window near the front of the building, shattering it. A second torch followed it.

  "Get your men out!" Mathew snapped.

  Through the windows he could see that the Orlocks had surrounded the building and were throwing torches at it. A crash at the back of the room caught his attention. A single torch had just landed at the base of a powder keg. Without hesitating, he shoved Armand out of the door.

  Father Thomas was at the bottom of the steps of the main house when he saw it happen. The building blew to pieces. Miraculously, none of the debris struck anyone in the courtyard. Incredibly, the fragments of stone shot outward and hit an invisible wall. The priest squinted through the smoke in disbelief. The armory was gone, but the air where it had stood seemed to be moving. On the other side of it he could see that an entire section of the citadel's outer wall was gone. One lone figure stood there.

  He recognized Mathew and started running. The mov­ing air had dissipated by the time the priest reached him.

  Of the armory, only a shallow depression in the ground and its foundation still remained.

  Mathew walked unsteadily toward Father Thomas. "I couldn't get the shield around the entire building in time," he said.

  Father Thomas caught him as his knees gave way.

  The fighting continued in the courtyard, though the Or­locks appeared to be falling back. Armand joined them.

  "Are you all right?" he asked Mathew.

  Mathew nodded.

  "I owe you my life," Armand said stiffly. "You have my gratitude."

  "It was nothing," Mathew mumbled.

  "Nothing?" Armand said drawing himself up.

  Mathew made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Haven't you people ever heard of humor? You're wel­come."

  It took several seconds before Armand's face softened. "I'll remember to laugh when this is over. We're going to need you at the outer curtain. The Vargothans will attack there now that the wall is destroyed. Are you strong enough to fight?"

  Mathew closed his eyes, then opened them. "Yes, I think so."

  The battle continued through the night. When the sun rose the next morning, the valley floor was a sea of Orlocks and the black and silver cloaks of Vargoth. Mathew was physically and mentally exhausted. He went from place to place helping where he could, each use of the ring draining him further. One thing had become clear to him during this time. Despite their valiant efforts, the Alliance was losing ground. Clearly, Shakira was willing to sacrifice thousands of her people in order to weaken him, and her plan was working.

  In the meantime, Gawl led three successive charges against the enemy's flank. The last forcing the Vargothans to regroup. Throughout the night catapults and cannons on both sides of the valley kept up a steady stream of fire. Mathew watched the Sennians' final charge from his van­tage point on the wall. Twice Gawl was unhorsed, and twice the giant fought his way to his feet, his broadsword cleaving death in all directions. It was an incredible thing to see. Each time, Mathew held his breath, fearing the worst, yet Gawl each time emerged and remounted. At the opposite end of the valley, James and his Mirdanites continued to fight their hearts out.

  It was close to midday when Father Thomas, Delain, and Armand came to see him. He was sitting with his back to the wall, drinking a bottle of water.

  "Our center will not hold against another enemy ad­vance, my son."

  "What do you want me to do?" Mathew asked. His voice sounded thick even to him.

  "We must find a way to stop their momentum," said Armand.

  Mathew looked at each of them in turn and could see the truth in their faces. If the Vargothans broke through, they would overrun the citade
l and that would be the end of it. He still had a vivid picture in his mind of what the Guardian had shown him, but could not yet bring himself to consider it. There had to be another way.

  "All right" he finally said. He took Delain's offered hand and let the prince pull him up. "How much time do we have?" he asked.

  "Not much," Delain told him. "They've been massing for an attack for the last hour."

  Shakira won't even have to raise a finger, he thought. Mathew leaned on the battlement and stared out at the valley. The Vargothan and Orlock armies stretched across all two miles of it and all the way back to the Roeselar River. Apparently, James and his people had still not been able get across.

  He watched the enemy formations on the field for nearly a minute before Delain prompted him again.

  "Mathew."

  Mathew started but didn't turn around. "When is the best time to attack, Father?" he asked the priest.

  Father Thomas didn't reply immediately, not because the question was a difficult one; on the contrary, it was el­ementary. The answer had more meaning to him and Mathew than to Delain or Armand.

  "When your opponent is preparing to attack you," Fa­ther Thomas said. It was one of the first fencing lessons he had taught Mathew.

  Armand and Delain appeared puzzled.

  "We need him to help defend against the next attack," said Armand.

  Mathew nodded, still looking out over the field. "The enemy will eventually get through, won't they?"

  "Eventually," Delain replied.

  "Then let them defend against us," Mathew said, his voice little more than a whisper.

  What none of them could see was that the Roeselar River had begun to rise. For several minutes the change was not apparent, but it was becoming rapidly so. On the far bank, James Genet looked up from the conversation he was having with his commanders and stared at the river in disbelief. Four years ago at Ardon Field he had seen firsthand what Mathew Lewin could do, but still this was difficult to accept. His mouth dropped open as a wall of water sixty feet high rose out of the river and came crashing down on the Vargothan rear guard, flooding the end of the valley. A minute later the waters began to re­cede.