From Under the Mountain

by Cait Spivey

  She doubted the horn, with its aspirations to glory, had ever before been carried into battle.

  Guerline raised it now to her lips and blew as she’d been taught. A warm and resonant note filled the air, and the columns cheered. Guerline sounded the horn again to more cheers and shouts. She buckled the horn back in its place, brought her horse around, and with that, the march began.

  When the sun’s light faded into heavy grey dusk, the witches conjured floating torches to surround the columns and light their way.

  “Won’t that draw enemies to us?” Guerline asked warily.

  “Human enemies, yes,” Morgana answered. “Underworld beasts fear all light.”

  “Let us hope they are still willing to fight us by the light of day,” Desmond said.

  “If their master orders it, they will fight,” Kanika said.

  Silence fell again and Guerline bit her lip. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for the dead creatures’ loyalty or not. Fighting during the day would be their most important, if not only, advantage.

  The young empress dozed off a number of times, but each time, she woke with a start only to find that she had not veered off course. Indeed, her horse did not seem to need direction from her at all.

  “The shapeshifters are leading them,” Desmond said after observing her confusion.

  “Why aren’t the horses afraid?” Guerline asked. She’d expected them to shy from the massive predators.

  Desmond shrugged. “Animals recognize authority. They also recognize danger. There is no danger, so they are not afraid.”

  After that, Guerline felt freer to drift to sleep. She had rested most of the day in preparation for the night march, but her anxiety was sapping her strength. Better to take the opportunity to sleep, and sleep she did.

  They stopped at morning light. Guerline swung herself down from her horse’s back and winced at the stiffness in her legs. She wasn’t used to riding so long, nor to riding in armor. Beside her, Desmond stretched and groaned with satisfaction. He beamed at her, his grin crinkling his golden skin.

  “Doing all right, Empress?” he asked.

  “Cease your smirking before I have you beheaded.”

  Desmond laughed, and Guerline allowed herself a small smile.

  “Where are we?” she said.

  “We’re just shy of the Dragon Road. See that town over there? That’s Ravinea.”

  “But that . . . that’s not possible. That means we’re halfway there. There’s no way we could have traveled that distance in a single night!”

  “No way without magic,” Desmond said.

  Guerline raised an eyebrow at him. “Wouldn’t we have . . . noticed?”

  He grinned. “Well, not you. You slept all night.”

  She laughed and shoved him. He chuckled, then nodded to the three shapeshifters. They were in their massive animal forms, sitting quietly and watching the humans and witches. Occasionally, they glanced at each other, as if they were having a conversation. Desmond’s point was made. Witch magic she might notice working; but the magic of the shapeshifters was a strange new thing. She might not notice something so strong after all, not if they didn’t want her to.

  “We’re a day and a half’s ride from the mountains now,” Desmond said. “We’ll continue unaided from here, so we can get there at daybreak tomorrow.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  A few hours’ rest, then on to our deaths.

  When Guerline woke in her saddle the next morning, the sun was bright in the sky and the Zaide Mountains were so close she had to crane her head back to see where the peaks disappeared into the clouds. She could see Petra’s Bay on their right and knew that it was time. She brought out the horn once more and signaled for a halt. Three more short blasts and the columns broke apart as the witches and guardsmen rearranged themselves for battle.

  Guerline looked up at the sky, though she knew she would not see the dragons. They had flown ahead in the night and were already hidden among the crags. They were to be the reserve force, to come out if things began to go badly for the crown. With any luck, the dragons would not need to get involved; but Guerline was not so optimistic.

  An impatient growl pulled her back to the ground.

  “We must go and begin the spell now,” said Lisyne, human for the time being.

  Olivia trotted over to Desmond and leaned half out of her saddle to embrace him. Guerline saw the tension and twitching in Desmond’s hands as he held his mother and, like a blow to the gut, she realized that mother and son did not expect to see each other again in this life. Morgana and Aradia similarly clasped hands, making their goodbyes now.

  You fool, Guerline. Of course she had known that they might die, but she had not connected that knowledge to these people. These people were eternal to her. Aside from Desmond, they had lived dozens of lifetimes before she was born, before her parents were born. How could such people die?

  Lost in these thoughts, she didn’t notice the movements of the others until she was lifted from her saddle and passed into the arms of the Kavanagh sisters. Their armor clinked together as the three of them surrounded her and embraced her. Though she couldn’t feel the warmth of their skin, she felt their love and their support like a wave sweeping over her. It was too much to bear. Guerline wept and clutched at them, her gauntleted fingers slipping over their armor.

  They said nothing, and when they released her, Desmond helped her back onto her horse. Tirosyne and Seryne, still tiger and fox, came and pressed her hand with their snouts. Then Lisyne led the shapeshifters and the sisters off to the cairn where they would begin the spell.

  Her face wet with tears, Guerline took her standard from its bearer and raised it. Desmond handed her a small white energy coil and spoke a word she didn’t recognize over it. Whatever it was, she tucked it into her gorget and rode to the end of the line, showing her standard. She spoke as she rode back, and her voice carried across the field:

  “My friends, we ride against an evil so terrible that it has no name. Yes, we tremble with fear—but we also tremble with fury. We tremble with rage at what this thing has done. Our hands and hearts ache to destroy it. My people, the time has come! Today will be the end of evil, and our purpose will be fulfilled! Ride!” She rode back to the center, handed her standard off and drew her sword.

  “Ride!” she said again.

  “We ride!” the legion roared behind her.

  “Ride!” she said once more, spurring her horse forward.

  And they rode.

  “Quickly now,” Lisyne said over the shouts of the soldiers behind them.

  The six of them formed a circle at the crest of the hill, alternating shapeshifter and witch. Lisyne took her stance and looked each witch in the eye.

  “Your chant is this:

  Dark, dark, into the pit

  Seal it away, seal it away

  Dark, dark, bury it deep

  Seal it away, seal it away

  “We will be saying something different. Do not mind it,” Lisyne said. “Stand still and do not move, but let your energy flow freely.”

  The Kavanaghs nodded, closed their eyes, and held their palms face up. They began to chant slowly. Light crackled in their palms: blue, green, and red. Lisyne watched, then met the eyes of Tirosyne and Seryne, now human. As one, they stepped out and began to dance. They chanted in a language unknown in Arido for a thousand years—guttural, brief, and consonant. They wheeled their arms and stomped their feet and flung their torsos from side to side. This was a traditional shapeshifter casting, and they danced around the witches.

  A ball of light crackled into life in the center of the circle. It pulled from the witches’ light and grew bigger as the shifters danced. The chanting grew faster and the light roared into a column, shooting into the sky.

  Now, it will come, thought Lisyne.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  After Guerline’s speech and subsequent ride into the pass, it was difficult to stop, hold the line, and a
ctually wait for the enemy. Desmond could feel the tension in the line and in himself, and he was anxious to relieve it. Guerline was immovable. Something had changed in her during her goodbye with his mother and aunts. It was almost as if she’d decided to shut everyone out until after the battle, when she would welcome back anyone who was still alive with open arms.

  Perhaps that was the best way.

  A roar and a great light rose up behind him, but he didn’t look back. He knew it meant the spell had begun, and soon the enemy would be pouring out of the Citadel looming over them. Instead, he looked at the lower gate of the black Thiymen castle. Something flashed to his left and he saw Kanika on the other side of Guerline. Her palms were face up, her eyes closed, and she was chanting. White light bounced between her hands, writhing and shifting and growing in size. Finally, she uttered the finishing word and pushed the light out from her. It swept across the empty field. Desmond squinted at the brightness. When it faded, he saw that the field was not so empty after all. Here and there dead monsters crept slowly toward them. They did not seem to realize they were no longer invisible.

  “Guerline,” Desmond said, keeping his eyes on the creatures. “I must tell you. I—”

  “No,” she said quietly. “Tell me when this is over.”

  He nodded and blinked the tears from his eyes.

  “Draw!” Guerline roared.

  Those soldiers who had not yet drawn their swords did so and the mountains echoed with the scrape of steel on scabbard.

  “Remember your anatomy,” Kanika said softly. “Cut under the jaw and above the shoulder, and you will render the beasts helpless.”

  With the swords and shields now glinting in the sunlight, the creatures hesitated. The mountain rumbled. In answer, the hell-hounds and devil-cats began to scream.

  Then they charged.

  Desmond spurred Keno to jump in front of Guerline and her horse. She was quicker to react than he and they almost collided. He heard her shout his name in indignation, but he didn’t really care. Monsters poured out of hidden places in the rock to join their comrades in the pass. There were more hell-hounds, more devil-cats, and many other kinds of horrors. Some were simply larger versions of normal menaces, like snakes and spiders; others were terrible blendings of many creatures. There was a thing with the head of a boar and the body of a horse. Another had wings like an eagle and a long, serpentine body with thousands of scaly legs. He couldn’t tell where its eyes were, but he hacked at it wherever he could reach it.

  Their magical armaments seemed to give the creatures pause, and for that Desmond was grateful. Even the human soldiers who did not have spelled armor were holding their own, and Desmond wondered if someone was casting protection spells on them. He felled a devil-cat and took the moment to glance behind him, where indeed he saw a group of Sitosen witches far behind the line with their palms spread wide.

  The line moved steadily forward, hacking and slashing at the evil things. Yana and her archers used flaming arrows to blast through the rotting wings of those creatures that had them, sending them crashing into their comrades on the ground and igniting them. Maddox and the vanguard came barreling down the hill to the left, and Sir Bertrand swung his flank to meet that line. The beasts were slowly being driven to the water.

  A series of twangs, as from bow strings, sounded behind him. He heard shouts of pain from the back, and then screams from the front. He looked back. The Sitosen witches who were warding had been shot down with arrows. The men and women at the front were now vulnerable to the beasts.

  “Witches!” he shouted, scanning the sky frantically. “Thiymen is in the sky! Archers!”

  But he looked up on Mon Zeferin and saw that half of Sir Yana’s force had already been shot down. The remaining archers were no longer shooting. They crouched and held their shields over their heads.

  “Kanika!” Guerline cried.

  But Sitosen had already tied their sails to their hands and launched into the sky. Though the Thiymen witches were invisible to Desmond and the other humans, it seemed the Sitosen witches could see them. They didn’t hesitate to loose their arrows. Black-clad witches fluttered into visibility as they toppled from the sky.

  There was a huge thunder clap and a crack of lightning. Desmond hacked once, twice, three times at the neck of a hell-hound until the head fell off with a sickening splintering sound. He looked up and saw black clouds coming from the Citadel, pouring over them and dimming the sunlight.

  “There are demons on the battlements! They’re casting the clouds!” Kanika screamed.

  “Can we reach them?” Guerline demanded.

  Desmond glanced at her and did a double take. The action of the battle seemed to slow down around him as he took her in: mounted on her horse, glittering sword in hand, her purple armor half covered in rotted black blood and pieces of dead flesh. She had a scratch on her cheek that was bleeding freely and her eyes were wide—but not with fear. She looked almost crazed, eyes flicking this way and that as she looked for another enemy.

  Who is this woman? Can this really be Guerline?

  “Not with arrows!” Kanika shouted, pulling Desmond out of his thoughts.

  Guerline wheeled her horse around. “Aalish!”

  She rode back through the line to where the Adenen captain was, overseeing the battalions as half of them lent energy to the spellcasters on the seal and the other half prepared magical catapults to launch stones at the undead beasts. Desmond couldn’t hear what she said, but saw a hundred Adenen witches take to the sky and surround the battlements. The ominous dark clouds began to disperse as the demons’ casting was interrupted by the attack. The sun beat down again.

  The monsters of the underworld continued to crawl out of the mountains. Some were small and able to sneak through the legs of the soldiers and make their way into the ranks, chewing off legs and dragging men and women down. Others were huge, slapping guards from their horses and crushing them beneath massive feet. More than one soldier lost their weapon, stuck in the calcified bone of some hell-hound. Desmond hauled one such man up from the ground and pushed him toward the back of the line.

  “Go, go, get out of here!” he shouted at the stunned man.

  He looked back to the front and realized that he was far behind the line himself. Guerline was at the very front, small at this distance. Her silver crown caught the sunlight and the light from the roaring column of magic behind them. Her sword flashed as she brought it down on the arm of the hairy humanoid thing that was reaching for her. Her horse twisted away from the creature and brought Guerline in a circle. Desmond spurred Keno and tried to push forward, though it was difficult to get through the mass of bodies between him and the empress.

  “Hurry, Keno. I must get back to her!” Desmond said.

  Keno screamed and a path slowly opened up for him through the ranks. They began to move forward, Desmond never taking his eyes off Guerline. He was watching when her horse reared. It seemed like Guerline would be able to hang on—

  Until something behind her pulled her down from her horse’s back.

  “Guerline!” Desmond shouted.

  Guerline felt deaf. The sounds of battle grew and grew until they were too loud, too close for her to register and she simply shut them out. Her ears rang with empty noise. She felt herself shouting and screaming at her enemy, watched as the beasts shrieked back at her, saw her sword cut through bone and sinew, but heard no sound. Where was Desmond? Where was Kanika? Her guard had dissolved, but she hardly took notice. There was a devil-cat in front of her, and she needed to kill it.

  The beasts recoiled from her at first, and she knew it was because of the magic in her armor. They screamed with fury when they could not approach her. They surrounded her but couldn’t overwhelm her, couldn’t come too close for too long. All they could manage were desperate swipes, and she was well prepared to strike back at them. Her entire world was the enemy and her sword arm.

  She cut off an arm without looking to see what creature it
belonged to. Her horse screamed and wheeled around. She cursed as she tried to get him back under control. He reared up and she gripped him with her knees, scrambling to gain a better hold on the reins.

  Then something pulled her from behind.

  She fell to the ground and wheezed, the breath knocked out of her by the fall. She blinked furiously as her horse kicked up dust around her, and something wet seeped through her armor at the elbow. She looked down and realized that she had landed in a pool of blood—fresh, red blood. It was the blood of her people, not the blood of the enemy. She snarled and pushed herself up, holding her sword before her with both hands and looking wildly for something to kill.

  “Gods, look at you. You’re like an animal.”

  Guerline whirled around and brought her sword down on whatever was behind her. Her blow was blocked by another sword, which was the first thing that gave her pause. The beasts of the underworld didn’t carry swords. Was this a demon? Her eyes slowly came into focus on the enemy she faced, and when they did, she gasped.

  “Alcander,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  “Are you surprised? I must admit that I was,” Alcander said.

  He parried her sword and pushed it away, taking a few steps back. He seemed larger than he had been when he was alive. He was bare-chested, dressed only in a pair of trousers. He wasn’t even wearing boots, but then, Guerline supposed the dead didn’t need boots. For he was most certainly dead. His skin had a sallow yellowish-green tinge, mottled here and there with dark purple bruises. The whites of his eyes were yellow and dried blood was caked around his mouth. His red-gold hair, the same color as hers, was loose and long, matted with what looked like dirt and more blood into an outrageous mane around his head. His throat was torn open, skin and muscle hanging in ragged strips around his exposed spine. And there, at his left shoulder . . .they’d found the arm that should have been there in the Orchid Vale, where he died. It was all that was left of him. Around the empty socket were strange rocky growths, spiking out from his flesh. He lifted his sword, a great black thing, and grinned at her.