Blood of the Earth (Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book Four)

by David A. Wells

  She landed behind her troops and dismounted, giving Kallistos the haunch of a cow from the feed cart before mounting up on her horse and riding to the head of the army. She pushed the army on until sunset, then called a halt. She spent an hour or so walking among her soldiers, offering encouragement and listening to their stories. Most of these men had seen battle on Ruatha, many were seasoned warriors, but all were nervous about the coming fight. Zuhl’s soldiers were fearsome and they were defending from a secure position. Tomorrow would be the beginning of a battle that would probably last for days. Many would die.

  She went to her tent, tired from her day of scouting the battlefield. She had received reports and reviewed maps of the area, but she also wanted to see the terrain, the enemy positions, and the fortifications for herself. She remembered one of her father’s lessons: Accurate information about the enemy and battlefield is the first step to victory.

  That she would destroy the enemy was a certainty; she outnumbered them two to one. She was less certain if she would defeat them before the ships were completed and she was concerned about the losses she would take. From a human perspective, each life lost was an unspeakable tragedy, but she didn’t have the luxury of such considerations.

  She was worried that the battle for the shipyards would diminish her force strength enough so that the next engagement with the regrouping raiding legions would cripple her army. She knew there would be many more battles before this war was won or lost, and she would need to preserve as many of her soldiers as possible so they could stand and fight in the battles to come.

  She hated it that these were her concerns. So many would die. So many families would suffer the terrible loss she had grappled with since Darius was murdered. She consoled herself with the knowledge that many more would be lost if she failed, and so she vowed to herself that she would not fail—no matter the cost.

  ***

  Anatoly woke her just before dawn. He wore his armor, his broad-bladed battle-axe strapped across his back and his short sword at his side.

  “The army’s started moving,” he said quietly. “General Markos estimates we’ll reach the enemy by noon.”

  After strapping on her leather armor, her quiver, and the Thinblade, she picked up her bow and left the tent. Captain Sava was standing just outside with several of his dragon-plate-clad Strikers in a loose cordon around her tent.

  They followed her to the mess tent, constantly vigilant. After a quick breakfast, she went to the stables and mounted her horse. Anatoly shadowed her without question or conversation. He was mentally preparing for the battle to come. He often said that he fought best when he was in a foul mood. From the frown he wore, Abigail suspected he was nursing his anger. She left him to it as she reviewed her plan of attack yet again.

  Dawn broke over a clear sky. There was a chill in the air and the wind was still, as if the world was waiting expectantly for the events of the day to unfold.

  She’d gone over every angle of attack, every capability at her disposal, every weakness, every terrain feature and come up with the best strategy she could. She’d listened to the counsel of her generals, the Sky Knights, wizards, and witches. Now her plan would be put to the test and she was certain of only one thing: It would not survive contact with the enemy.

  Once the fighting began, she would have to be flexible, seizing opportunities as they presented themselves and defending against threats as they became apparent.

  By midmorning, she could see the enemy encampment in the distance. It was a large camp, sprawling away from the sea in a haphazard arrangement of tents, hastily constructed buildings and towers, all surrounded by a berm wall and trench. She heard the alarm bell toll in the distance, alerting the enemy of her approach.

  By noon, they were nearing the outer berm. It looked quite a bit taller from this angle than it did from the air. She stopped on a little hill and surveyed the scene. Her army spread out around her in all directions.

  “General Markos, move the infantry and archers into position,” she commanded. “Commander Corina, send out the scout riders and prepare the attack wings for launch on my order. Make contact with Admiral Tybalt and Prince Torin. Tell them to attack at will. General Kern, deploy the cavalry on the southern flank and await orders.”

  Her commanders saluted and left to carry out her instructions, leaving Abigail with Anatoly, Conner, Magda, Wizard Sark, Mage Dax, and Knight Raja. Captain Sava’s Strikers surrounded them as the soldiers began moving into position.

  Abigail expected the enemy to react … but they didn’t. Instead, they held their position inside the berm wall and waited as their slaves worked furiously to load the lumber necessary to complete the construction of the remaining ships.

  She waited with the outward appearance of patience, though she was anything but patient within. The battle would begin on her command, but she had to wait for her men to move into position first. It was a painstaking hour before the infantry had advanced to within a hundred feet of the berm wall and formed a shield line. Behind them were several rows of pikemen backed up by another ten ranks of infantry. Next came row after row of archers armed with longbows. Abigail had been careful to ensure that they had plenty of arrows—her plan depended on it. A heavy rope soaked in oil was laid out before each rank.

  Once all was in place, she double-checked everyone’s position and nodded to herself. It was time. She withdrew the arrow from her quiver, yellow feathers standing out in stark contrast to the grey-and-white fletching on most of her other arrows. She nocked the arrow and drew, aiming into the sky. When she released it into the air, a piercing shriek rose into the clear sky, alerting all for miles around that the battle had begun.

  Things moved slowly at first. The ropes before each rank of archers were ignited, providing a source of flame for their arrows. As one, they nocked an arrow, touched it to the rope and raised the flaming point toward the sky. The first volley lifted into the air trailing smoke and embers in its wake. Before it reached the apex of its trajectory, a second volley was away.

  Abigail meant to kill the enemy with flame and arrows. If she could destroy them without ever crossing blades, then so much the better. It didn’t matter how they died, only that they did. Another volley of arrows rose into the air as the first volley ripped into the enemy encampment. Horns blew in warning. Shouting rose above the screams.

  The enemy’s few ballistae and catapults began to fire into Abigail’s army. The weapons were powerful but they were too few to cause significant damage—unless you happened to be the unfortunate man who got hit with a small boulder or large spear-sized ballista bolt.

  After ten volleys of arrows, the attack wings flew overhead in formation, heading for the ships still berthed in the shipyard. Fifty Sky Knights joined the battle, armed with firepots and tasked with burning the shipyards and Zuhl’s ships before they could launch.

  The enemy didn’t appear to be putting up much of a fight, which was fine with Abigail. As she watched the arrows rain down on them and the fires begin to build, she started to get the feeling that it was all too easy.

  That’s when she saw the dragon.

  Chapter 29

  Alexander took Isabel by the shoulders and peered into her piercing green eyes with his magical vision. Her colors had changed. There was still a slight taint but the growing, festering darkness in her colors that had been keeping him up at night was gone.

  “What about the darkness?” he asked.

  “It’s gone,” Isabel whispered. “Dear Maker, Alexander, I didn’t realize how much it had worked its way into me until just now. Azugorath’s magic must not be able to reach into the Wizard’s Den.”

  “Makes sense,” Alexander said. “Shivini wouldn’t have remained trapped if there was a connection between the outside world and a Wizard’s Den.”

  “What happens when you open the door?” Isabel asked.

  “I don’t know,” Alexander said, “but I suspect the wraith queen will be attracted to the taint infe
cting your magic.”

  “I didn’t even realize how loud the voices were,” Isabel said. “I’ve been trying so hard to ignore them. Now that they’re gone …”

  Alexander waited as she stared off into the distance, lost in thought.

  “I don’t think I can resist for much longer,” Isabel said. “I’m terrified that I’m going to betray you.”

  “I don’t believe that you will ever betray me,” Alexander said. “I know your soul. If Azugorath influences you to act against me, it won’t be you making that choice.”

  “But what if I hurt you? Or worse?” Isabel said.

  “You won’t,” Alexander said. “I’ll see the danger before you succumb to the wraith queen’s will. If worse comes to worse, we can always use the Wizard’s Den to shield you.”

  “I’m not sure that would be wise,” Jack said, “at least not until you have a chance to empty this place out and refurnish it.”

  Alexander looked at the bard and then at the bookshelf he was staring at intently. It was a finely crafted cherrywood case with glass doors. The books within were all magical tomes, but the thing that made Alexander’s blood run cold were the dark colors emanating from most of the volumes.

  They were books of necromancy.

  Alexander carefully looked around the rest of the room. A number of other items radiated colors that indicated magic.

  “You might be right,” he said. “There are quite a few magical things in here and there’s no telling what any of them do. If Malachi left that smoke demon in here, he might have left other deadly things, as well. Let’s not touch anything over there.” He motioned toward the desk and bookshelves. “The table and chairs look safe enough.”

  Hector opened the door on the wall opposite the entrance and wandered out onto a balcony. “Curious,” he said.

  Alexander joined him. The balcony was about ten feet wide, jutting six feet from the doorway with a four-foot-high wall. It opened into a luminous fog that was neither warm nor cold. With a frown, Alexander went to the hearth and found a piece of charred wood. Stepping up to the railing, he tossed the wood into the fog. It fell out of sight without a sound. Everyone waited for several moments for any hint of noise but there was nothing.

  “I think I need to talk with the sovereigns about this place,” Alexander said, returning to the main room, “especially Malachi.”

  “Any idea how long we need to stay in here?” Jack asked.

  “At least several hours,” Chloe said. “Selaphiel tore the world open. He and the demons will be drawn into the aether and then to the netherworld and the realm of light. The rift will heal naturally within a few hours but it isn’t safe until then.”

  “Do you think he managed to banish Jinzeri?” Isabel asked.

  “Probably,” Chloe said. “A rift to the aether draws creatures from the light or dark into it. Without the Wizard’s Den to take refuge in, I would have been drawn in as well.”

  “If that’s true, then Rankosi is all that’s left,” Alexander said, turning to Isabel. “I’ve been thinking about that. Phane said the shades would be banished if you were killed.”

  Isabel nodded. Alexander could see the flare of guilt in her colors. She still blamed herself for freeing them into the world.

  “I wonder if it works the other way around, too,” he said. “If we get rid of all three shades, maybe the passage to the netherworld within your mind will close.”

  She blinked a few times as the possibility sank in. “Do you really think?”

  Alexander shrugged. “We can hope. I’m not sure if Phane was telling the truth about that, though. He may have just been trying to dupe me into killing you,” Alexander said, drawing her into his arms. “He’s obviously never been in love.”

  “That will be his undoing,” Isabel said with a gentle smile as she looked into his eyes.

  “That would be fitting,” Alexander said, letting her go with a wink. “While we wait, I think I should try to get some answers.”

  He went to the hearth and found a cold piece of charred wood. After surveying the room for a moment, he pushed the table out of the center and started drawing a magic circle on the stone floor.

  “Do you think your clairvoyance will work in here?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, but I doubt I can see anything outside the Wizard’s Den,” Alexander said. Once he finished with the circle, he took a cushion off one of the chairs and placed it in the center.

  “I’m going to have a chat with Malachi,” he said. “The rest of you should try to get some rest. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

  Chloe floated over and landed on his knee as he sat down and closed his eyes.

  “I will watch over you while you’re away, My Love.”

  “Thank you, Little One.”

  He touched the Stone and abruptly found himself in the Reishi Council Chamber. He took his seat and fixed Malachi with a hard look.

  “Why was there a demon in the Wizard’s Den?” he asked.

  Malachi scowled. “How could you have bested such a beast? You should be dead.”

  “I didn’t best it. Selaphiel did,” Alexander said. “The Wizard’s Den opened while we were talking to him.”

  Malachi spat in disgust, shaking his head. “Pure dumb luck,” he said.

  “Why was it in there?” Alexander asked again.

  “I was afraid Phane might kill me,” Malachi said with a shrug.

  “How lonely your last years must have been, my son,” Demetrius said. “You are such a disappointment. Had you obeyed the Old law and taught your son right from wrong, you would’ve had nothing to fear.”

  “Bah,” Malachi said to his father.

  “What else did you leave in there for Phane?” Alexander asked.

  “Everything,” Malachi said.

  “Is there anything else in the Wizard’s Den that’s deadly?” Alexander asked.

  “Yes,” Malachi said with a contemptuous smile.

  Alexander glared at him as he formulated his next question. “Are there any magical items within the Wizard’s Den that are designed to harm those who use them?”

  “Yes,” Malachi said, his smile turning to a sneer.

  “Which items?”

  “The book on the top shelf, third from the right,” Malachi said. “Also the onyx sphere on the desk.”

  “What does the book do?”

  “If you read a single word of it, your soul will be instantly drawn through the book into the netherworld,” Malachi said.

  “And the onyx sphere?”

  “If you gaze into it, your mind will become lost in the firmament,” Malachi said.

  Alexander nodded, appraising the Sixth Sovereign. “Did you really hate your son so much?”

  “Not at all, but his ambitions were obvious,” Malachi said. “He murdered all of my other children to ensure that he would inherit the Stone. Such ambition is rarely patient.”

  “Which book contains a banishing spell?” Alexander asked.

  “Second shelf from the top, fourth book from the left,” Malachi said.

  “Is that the only one?”

  “Of course not,” Malachi said.

  And so it went for nearly an hour. Alexander asked Malachi a string of questions, narrowing his focus with each until he had a clear picture of the items of danger and importance within the Wizard’s Den. He was still not confident that he’d uncovered all of the danger hidden within the magical room by its previous occupant, but he had a better idea of the contents.

  Many of the spellbooks detailed the process for summoning specific demons—their appetites and desires, powers and proclivities, weaknesses and temperaments. Each demon was carefully catalogued so that Malachi could summon just the right creature for the task at hand with full knowledge of what it would take to bring the demon forth from the netherworld, what it would take to bind it to service, and what unique abilities it possessed.

  Several books contained different versions of banishing spells: some that
relied on the realm of light to drive a demon into the aether and then into the netherworld, others that opened a rift in the fabric of the world of time and substance much the same as Selaphiel had, and still others that opened a portal directly to the netherworld that would allow passage in only one direction.

  Others tomes contained painstaking records of careful research conducted into the netherworld by Malachi Reishi over the many years of his life. Whatever else he was, he was not stupid. He took the pursuit of knowledge very seriously, and his tomes represented the definitive body of research into the netherworld. No one before or since had explored the darkness as thoroughly as Malachi had. While Alexander was wary of the corrupting influence of such knowledge, he had high hopes that Kelvin and his wizards could use the information to develop new ways of fighting creatures from the netherworld.

  A few books contained spells that relied on dark magic but did not involve summoning. One spell caused the one touched to age twenty or more years in the space of seconds, another could bring a recently deceased person back to life for an hour or so, during which time they were bound to serve the caster of the spell. Malachi suggested that this spell was the most effective tool of interrogation he had ever devised.

  Several spells were designed strictly for killing. One projected a shaft of darkness that would enshroud the target in a black haze that consumed his life force over a period of several seconds. Another sent a wave of dark force at the enemy that desiccated his body as it passed through him, leaving nothing but a dried husk that crumbled into dust moments later.

  One tome in particular gave Alexander chills. It described the process for transforming a living person into an undead creature, still possessed of all knowledge and memory, yet dead and lifeless … an animated corpse that was impossible to kill because it was already dead. Malachi had been researching a perverse form of immortality and he’d been nearly ready to attempt the spell. Had he succeeded, the world surely would have fallen under his dominion and would probably still be under his boot.