“A hot spring, like the one in Winakur,” I told him. “Ishi herself has sat her sacred arse in it and pronounced it good. One of Sartha Wood’s amenities.”
“Really?” he asked, with amused skepticism.
“Really,” I assured him. “She told me herself.”
“You... you met Ishi?”
“And Briga,” I agreed. “And Herus. I told you that,” I reminded him.
“I thought you were speaking metaphorically, or mystically, or . . . or merely clinging to religion in a time of deep crisis! Minalan, as your friend... you were not merely jesting with me? That would be blasphemous to insist, as a joke.”
“What would be a fair token of my veracity? I swear it is true on the Snowflake, which wouldn’t be there without the gods’ assistance. By the Everflame, which is a token of Briga’s blessing. If that’s not sufficient—”
“Of course!” he agreed, hurriedly. “My lord, I did not mean to offend, but any pious man who did not challenge such claims...”
“I understand,” I sighed. “The truth is, the blessings of the gods are not all they’re cracked up to be, sometimes. Most of the time,” I corrected. “While they mean well – usually – they are bound by the natures that we give them. The whole thing is a mess. But occasionally useful,” I said, philosophically.
“You have met the very gods,” he said, shaking his head. “I serve a remarkable master.”
“And I have an ideal vassal,” I said, responding to him in a way he would most appreciate.
We quietly watched the snowy landscape until noon, contemplating without comment. It was worth the time. The wide clearings, gardens, and orchards of the Sartha Wood compound demonstrated what a few centuries of careful Alka Alon cultivation and aesthetic could do to a small spot.
I’d seen several examples of Alka Alon settlements, now, from grand Anthatiel before its fall and delightful Carneduin to the simple tree homes they employed in the Wilderlands. Every one was different, but shared a captivating aesthetic that compelled such thoughts. Even on the eve of winter the magnificence of the ruins, the tower, the cultivated lands and those left “wild” conspired to intrigue and entertain the eye.
I conjured a luncheon of fresh bread, cheese, sausage and mulled spiced wine for us from a hoxter pocket, where they were just as hot as when they’d been placed there. I’d eaten enough cold rations in the field in my day to appreciate the indulgence.
We were nearly done with our lunch when Cei’s sharp eyes noticed a disturbance across the compound. He called my attention to it just as I drained the dregs of the wine.
“Who are they,” he asked, “and why do they seemed so determined to get inside?”
I tried to see what was going on, but the tree line and the sudden appearance of our old friend the earth elemental was blocking the view. Even with magesight I couldn’t tell who was trying to enter. But a cloud of dust and snow demonstrated that someone was making a valiant effort.
“That is a very good question, Cei,” I agreed. “I convinced the Alkan Council to grant Lilastien’s parole for a decade, and relax her prison... but I didn’t think they would move so quickly. But now she has callers. That disturbs me. Let’s go.”
Descending the mound proved much easier and quicker than climbing it, and ten minutes later we were more than halfway across the compound, headed toward the ruckus. I hung spells as I walked. I wasn’t dealing with nearly as much power as I’d had with my Witchsphere, but it was sufficient for the ruckus.
And ruckus it was. A number of human and Alkan servants were starting to gather, some of them lightly armed, when we arrived at the site of the incursion. The intruders were having far less luck with the elemental than we had, I was gratified to see. Unfortunately, the back of the elemental was pretty much all I could see.
“What is happening?” I asked one of the human castellans, for lack of a more descriptive title. The man paused and shook his head.
“It’s the bloody Enshadowed! ” he gasped, as he caught his breath and leaned on his spear. “They found out the outer defenses were down, and they attacked!”
Sire Cei went into military mode at once. “What are their numbers and disposition?” he demanded.
“At least a dozen, with some gurvani attendants, but there might be more in the woods,” the man admitted. “We’ve roused the Tower and they are arming, but there are few weapons here,” he said, bitterly. “Not more than a few spears and swords our ancestors brought... and we have little knowledge in their use.”
“You also have the Spellmonger,” I told him, “and I have been feeling pensive for days. I would consider it a boon if you allowed me to defend.”
He looked startled. “My lord, you are a guest, here! I—”
“A guest defending my helpless wife,” I pointed out. “And as a guest, at least under Narasi tradition and the Book of Luin regarding such things, I have the right to elect to defend my host. Even an obligation, depending upon which priests you believe.” It wasn’t an opportune moment to discuss the intricacies of the Peace of Wenshar after the Luinite Heresies, but regardless of which interpretation you believed, I felt like hitting something very, very hard, right now.
Particularly if it was an Enshadowed. The ancient faction of an ancient, discredited ideology – or something like that – had taken a personal interest in me and my family, as far back as my original visit here. We had information that suggested the Enshadowed had aided the gurvani in creating Shereul in the first place, as a means of freeing Korbal from his prison... which meant that they were the authors of the war.
Though Alya had stabbed one in the back to save my life, we had done nothing else to arouse their ire... yet one of their agents had the temerity, a year back, to try to purchase outright my son, Minalyan, for study. Since then they had been behind most of the devious moves we’d recently dealt with, from the summertime raids in the Wilderlands to the recruitment of Lady Mask to the betrayal of Isily to the infiltration of Enultramar by powerful undead.
If I had to pick a worthy subject for venting my anger, the Enshadowed were ideal.
“These are the same who invaded Sevendor, tried to slay your family, and stole the gems from your tower?” Sire Cei asked.
“In fact they are,” I nodded. I had almost forgotten that.
“Then as your castellan, my lord, it occurs to me that I, too, have a dispute with these fellows,” he pointed out. “I would be remiss if I allowed my master to strike a blow that it was my duty to throw.”
“I can’t very well have that on my conscience,” I clucked. “I’ve always valued your reputation more than my own. Very well,” I sighed, summoning Blizzard to my hand. “We shall answer them together.”
I turned back to the nervous farmer who was holding a spear in earnest for the first time in his life.
“Do you know where Dargarin makes his lair?” The question took the man by surprise.
“Yes, my lord,” he agreed, uneasily.
“As he’s likely out of a job, at the moment,” I reasoned, “bear him this message: his friend the Spellmonger has a lucrative position for him and his comrades but only if they respond quickly and forcefully,” I told him. “Explain the situation to him, then return.”
“I should not wait for an answer, my lord?” he asked, confused.
“He will either respond, or he will not,” I explained. “Go!”
“The defenses are failing, Minalan,” Cei murmured to me, nodding toward the earth elemental. He was correct: some songmaster among the Enshadowed found a weakness, and the animated pile of dirt was starting to lose cohesion. In a moment, their force would be able to pass by.
“Get the non-combatants back to the tower,” I suggested, loudly, as I began preparing spells. “All those who wish to defend, form a line,” I ordered. A loose band of a few dozen, mostly human and Alkan, with a few gurvani mixed in, formed a rough line across the path behind me. Sire Cei shed his mantle and taking some practice swings with his w
arhammer.
We were just in our places when the elemental failed for the final time. As the hill of dirt collapsed it revealed a line of Alka Alon warriors... the Enshadowed. About two dozen of them, geared for war.
By that I don’t mean they were bearing the little bows and stone-tipped poisoned arrows I usually associated with the Alka Alon. Those, I’d learned, were how the rustic Avalanti fought most of the time. The Enshadowed were from another kindred, the Versaroti – a clan devoted to obscure magics, secret knowledge, and technical craftsmanship. The same kindred as Haruthel and Aeratas. When the Versaroti go to war, they commit.
Despite their dedication to racial purity – whatever that means – the Enshadowed before us were not so fanatical that they gave up their military advantages. Each wore a transgenically enchanted guise developed, I assumed, for combat. More than twice as tall as their natural forms, the Alka Alon who stared at me were solid and powerfully-built, clad in tight-fitting armor and bearing long, hilt-less swords.
“Can I help you gentles?” I asked, politely, leaning on Blizzard.
“Stand aside!” demanded the dirt-stained leader, who had apparently taken the brunt of the earth-elemental’s wrath.
“Do you really need a bath that badly?” I asked, sympathetically. “The hot springs are technically closed for the season, but as it is the eve of Yule I’m certain that Lady Lilastien—”
“Stand aside or I will cut your heart out and feed it to that traitor!” bellowed the Alkan, as his fellows formed up on their guards around them.
“That kind of rudeness is likely to lose you your place in line, my friend,” I said, shaking my head sadly. “And I daresay you do need a bath the most out of all of you.”
“ Kill him ,” the leader ordered to a young female Alkan. She nodded and threw a songspell in my direction. My defenses activated the moment she cast it, however, and I was able to concoct a counterspell before she was aware it hadn’t taken effect.
Then I blasted her with a bolt of frigid air combined with magical power that gave her feet an instant case of intense frostbite. She cried out at the unexpected attack and stumbled.
The leader looked at me sharply, with new respect. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Lady Lilastien’s bath attendant,” I said, enjoying the scene perversely. I didn’t often have an opportunity to taunt the haughty Alka Alon to their faces. “My name is Minalan the Spellmonger,” I added. “This is my friend Sire Cei the Dragonslayer. We’re here to keep the Lady from being disturbed. And to ensure an orderly bathing process,” I added. Most Alkans hate humani flippancy, I’ve noticed. But my name sparked some recognition in the Alkan’s eyes.
“ You are the Spellmonger!” he restated. “Then we are doubly fortunate. I am Voherinas, and I won the right to lead this expedition to finally punish the rebel for her collaboration with you filthy animals!” The irony of saying that while he was covered in dirt was delicious, but I didn’t have a chance to turn it into a taunt. “Slaying you, personally, will be an unexpected boon!”
“One you will find hard to collect,” I informed him. “Every time you Enshadowed cross paths with me, you end up the poorer for it. Turn back, now, and we shall spare your lives. This is the only chance I will give you,” I added, confidently.
Once I would have been anxious to face even one Alkan warrior, particularly in these powerful-looking guises; now I was counting the foe and wishing they had sent more. Fourteen Alka Alon warriors were in the clearing in front of us. Clearly Voherinas felt that was sufficient to overwhelm the defenses.
“We will not be obstructed from our vengeance!” the Alkan woman, still clutching her legs, spat at me from the ground. “I have waited three hundred years to avenge my kin, and I will wait no longer!”
“We are prepared to assault the tower and slay everything within it!” called another, threateningly. “We are ready to face the rebels – why would we let one humani wizard and a rabble of sentries delay us?”
“Because this wizard enjoys the company of men with nicknames like ‘the Dragonslayer,’” I pointed out, as Cei stretched out his warhammer toward them. “And you know how stupid we humani are,” I added. “We just don’t know when we’re beaten.”
“Then let this be a lesson for all your stinking folk!” Voherinas said angrily, raising his slender sword and giving the command to charge.
That’s what I was waiting for.
The banter, the taunting, all of it had been mere preparation. The fact is, the frustration I felt about my situation had boiled over like a cauldron full of dirty laundry. I had spent so much time thinking and plotting and planning, being patient and trying to out-think my enemies that my body and soul were primed for action like a cocked crossbow. The moment I saw that sword come out and heard the command for action, I felt all of that drop away.
I had Blizzard in my hand, a strong friend beside me, and enemies in front of me who wanted me dead. It was like a Yule gift from the gods.
One of the largest Alkan warriors moved to engage Sire Cei, who grunted, swung his warhammer... and struck the foe square in the chest, killing him instantly.
Not just killing him, but sending his blood and entrails showering over his comrades. That had to be discouraging.
For my part, I summoned the long spearhead on Blizzard’s tip and parried Voherinas’ slender blade of steel before I activated my bank of warmagic spells. As time seemed to slow around me, I saw opportunities for mayhem looming like ripe fruit.
I could wait on Voherinas, I decided. Instead of impaling him then and there, I used the butt of my spear to smack him hard behind one knee, sending him sprawling. The Alkan who was charging in behind him got the point of the spear in his chest while I selected the next target – a fellow with two slender swords advancing on my right, stepping over the Alkan woman. He got an incendiary fireball in his face for his troubles, courtesy of my left hand. It was unlikely to kill him, but he’d spend the next ten seconds trying to extinguish his burning hair, so it effectively kept him from attacking.
But that wasn’t all the trouble in my view. The next line of Enshadowed was charging me, slowly. I pivoted my hips, re-adjusted my footwork, and levered the body of the impaled Alkan between us. Then I pushed savagely on the spear, until the eighteen-inch steel tip ripped through his back... and I began firing bolts of thaumaturgically energized plasma from it. Since I had a twitching and dying Enshadowed warrior obscuring my view it was hard to see what effect the blasts had.
When you are fighting a foe who outnumbers you that badly, a good warmage will use his own enemies’ numbers against them. The Alka Alon were in their combat forms, well-armed, and from the beating my defenses were taking they were well-versed in offensive magic.
But their numbers were actually a disadvantage in this fight. They had to worry about hitting friend or foe in the fight, while I just had to be aware of what Sire Cei was doing (which was, I noted, sending another Alkan warrior flying across the clearing when his warhammer didn’t connect quite well enough to obliterate him). More, the spells they were throwing were uncoordinated – plenty of them were dangerous, but the amount of magic and the variety of songspells were crossing purposes.
That’s not to say they didn’t have an effect. I realized just how much as my warmagic augmentation fell, and I was suddenly fighting without the benefit of studying every move my enemies made. The three charging to engage me directly sped up, and I was fighting hand-to-hand.
That was fine with me. The Enshadowed had a reputation for being masterminds, not combat veterans. Their slender steel swords were razor sharp, but they did not use them with the flawless grace I was expecting from the Alka Alon. Even with their powerful magic and their larger, stronger forms they did not have the experience fighting the way I did – or Sire Cei, for that matter, who still took pride in the hours of training he managed to put in daily, despite his schedule.
These were a band of Alka Alon songmasters who had put on armor and ta
ken up swords. Sire Cei was a Wilderlands knight who had been practicing with a wooden sword since he was six years old. He’d fought in wars, tournaments, and dozens of skirmishes, not to mention a few sieges.
And there was that one time with the dragon. He knew the craft of war and the song of battle better than they knew their own names.
I wasn’t entirely unskilled, myself.
I figured – correctly – that the combat forms the Enshadowed had chosen were novel to them. Being bigger and more powerful had to seem a huge advantage over their punier natural forms. But it came at a penalty: one thing I’d noted about transgenic enchantments was that it took a while for an Alkan to adjust to the difference in balance and center-of-gravity. While these weren’t the humani-forms I was used to seeing now, they were almost as large, and broader in the chest. Those who lingered in those forms for a long time, like Onranion or Ithalia, eventually adjusted to them, I’d seen.
The Enshadowed, on the other hand, were still a little shaky on their feet. Their combat forms were novel, like donning new armor, and it made a difference in their fighting. Their legs were longer than they were used to. So I tripped them.
It’s a stupid little stumbling cantrip we used back at the academy to make other kids stumble – no more than a flash of misplaced certainty about your next step – but apparently, the might songmasters of the Enshadowed were unprepared for it. Two of them tripped disastrously as they plowed into me, their swords flailing. I stepped out of their way, banishing the spearpoint that bound Blizzard in the body of its last victim, and used the butt of the spear to crush one Alkan throat while Sire Cei helpfully crushed the skull of another in spectacularly bloody form.
In seconds the odds had gone from fourteen to two, to six to two. While not every victim was dead, they were out of the fight. Voherinas was desperately struggling to his feet, while the motley militia behind us on the trail moved cautiously up to support us.
The third Alkan I faced, the one who hadn’t stumbled, was doing a passable job of continuing to attack but as decent as his swordplay was it was still slow and clumsy. I knocked his blade out of position with Blizzard and then blasted him in the face with a bolt of force I usually use for blowing down castle gates. The Enshadowed behind him, who were still running into the fray, were also affected.
The Spellmonger's Yule: A Spellmonger Series Short Story Page 12