“It is always my concern. Will you at least sit and eat with me?”
“Of course. I do need to consult the Codex. Did Raijaun bring a rucksack with him?”
“It’s in the chamber with a few other things I tasked some of the palace staff to secure for me before we fled North Haven.”
“Good. I will be in the other room if you need me.”
Miranda watched Azerick walk away ignorant of the fact that he took a piece of her heart with him just as he always did when he left her alone. Soon, there would be nothing left to take and nothing to fill the void where it once beat. With a heavy, dejected sigh, Miranda focused her attention on the pots covering the top of the iron stove set near the middle of the tent.
Azerick found the rucksack propped against the alchemy set he had bought so many years ago in Southport. His mind traveled back to those simpler times when all he had to worry about was avoiding slavers, thugs, and starvation on the streets. The fact Miranda knew how much it meant to him and ensured that it avoided destruction warmed his heart. He turned back toward the entrance flap, his heart urging him to tell his wife how much her simple consideration meant to him, but the weight of the Codex cradled in his hand was an anchor chained to a ship called duty, and it held him fast. He sat at the small desk against the tent wall and opened the Codex.
The smell of food wafting through the tent eventually pulled him away from his studies. He stepped from the antechamber and into the main pavilion. Miranda sat at the table, a half-eaten meal long gone cold scattered about the porcelain plate before her.
“I see dinner is ready,” Azerick said as he sat down at the table.
“Over an hour ago.”
“You should have called me in.”
“I did, three times. I fixed Raijaun a large plate. He is feeling much better already, or at least he’s pretending to.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry,” Azerick said. “I must have been lost in my research.”
“My husband is dead isn’t he?”
Azerick stared at the plate of cold food. “I don’t know if I would say dead. Gone might be more appropriate.”
“Is he ever coming back?”
“I don’t know. You must hate me.”
“I hate a lot of things these days, but not you. Never you. I think I finally understand. I kept trying to make you my Azerick, the one who was kind and compassionate, but you’re not him. You are the savior of our world, and I cannot hate him either for he does what he must do for the sake of us all. What hurts me so much is that I did not stop mourning until I thought you had come back. Now that I understand you never did return, I am mourning your death all over again. I do not mean to sound selfish or put the burden of my sorrow on your shoulders. I know you have more than your share to bear already. I just wanted you to know that I understand.”
“I want you to do whatever it takes to ease your pain and get past your mourning. I’m sorry I could not come back.”
“I know you are, and I know it hurts you too. I know this sounds awful, but it makes me feel a little better knowing that it does. It makes me feel like a little bit of you did make it back, and I am grateful for it. At least I finally get the chance to say goodbye.”
Azerick searched for words of comfort, but they were lost to him just like the possibility of returning to the life he once shared with Miranda.
“I must attend to something important.”
Azerick stood and walked from the tent without looking back. He had no desire to see the pain he inflicted upon his wife yet again. Miranda sat in resolute silence. She had no more tears left to shed. That well of anguish was now dry.
“Goodbye,” she whispered as the tent flap brushed closed.
Azerick stalked across the massive camp with his eyes cast toward the ground. It was dark, but even with the hood of his cloak pulled over his head, several people recognized him and called out a greeting. The sorcerer ignored their salutations and the occasional questions begging to know what was going to happen next. They did not really want to know the answer to that question anyway. If forced to answer, he would do so honestly and say that most of them were going to die in the days to come. Better to let them cling to the small bit of hope they earned through their relative victories in the cities.
They all thought they understood what they faced; saw the massive preparations made within the valleys and the enormous army waiting for the Scions and their minions. They simply could not comprehend the vastness of the horde approaching. The Scions had so far engaged them with a certain amount of reserve, but that would change here. They knew the humans had nowhere else to run, knew that the bulk of humanity was gathered here in the valley and in a few key cities in Sumara. Now they could concentrate their full power on a single battlefront, and he had made it possible for them to do so.
Daebian told him he could not win this war. His son’s words had cut him deep. Not just because of the betrayal he felt, but because deep him his heart, he knew Daebian was right. Daebian mocked his shortsightedness, but Azerick was not as blind as his son thought. Klaraxis’ memories were his to explore for several years, and within those memories were hundreds of battles. He knew how to calculate rate of attrition by gauging the numbers of opposing forces and their strengths and weaknesses. Azerick had years to study the Scions and their army and knew the forces at his disposal. He knew it was not enough, but he also understood fate and knew that nothing was certain in this world or any other. The actions of a being with freewill could unravel the strongest of prophesies and alter the course of the future forever. It was why he fought so hard despite knowing they would fail. Omnipotence was an illusion, and the real outcome of this war would be decided on what none of them could foresee.
It took over half an hour of brisk walking to reach the nearest edge of the camp, but still Azerick continued to distance himself from the tent city. Half a mile from the perimeter, he found a massive boulder jutting from the ground like a colossal grey tooth. The shaft of his arcanum door handle sank into the stone as if it were wet clay. A slight twist and pull opened a perfect doorway in the solid rock.
Azerick stepped into the cavernous chamber of his old laboratory. The Source pool cast the entire room in silver light and created no need for any other source of illumination. The sorcerer knelt beside the pool and simply luxuriated in the aura of power it radiated. Focusing on the task at hand, Azerick reached into the well with invisible arcane hands and scooped out a measure of pure Source. The magical element floated over the pool as a perfect liquid sphere until he coaxed it into a flat disc the size of a dinner plate. Azerick then leeched the pure element of the Source from the disc until the plate took on the solidity of arcanum. Able to now physically handle the object, Azerick set it aside and created three more identical arcanum platters.
He carried his priceless treasure up the stairs and out of the tower. As usual, Ancalon’s gigantic, serpentine body was wrapped around the tower but left the doorway unobstructed. The Father of Dragons’ head hove into view as Azerick emerged.
“You have crafted the discs I see. Your retreat was successful then?” the dragon asked in a voice like a thunderstorm.
“Because of you, yes it was.”
“You have relayed the requirements of my assistance to your people, and they have agreed to my terms of allegiance?”
“With great reluctance, they have agreed. No one shall be given leave to persecute the dragons once the war is concluded. However, any dragon causing harm or threatening the people will be dealt with under the King’s law.”
“This is acceptable. Let us see to our task.”
Azerick set the arcanum plates on the ground. Ancalon set a single talon over the first one and began to etch its surface. The nearly indestructible metal took the intricate design as easily as a wax tablet. Despite the tiny size of the disc compared to the dragon’s colossal body, the design he carved into the face of it was astounding. Azerick knew from practice how perfect a rune carving had to be
in order to hold power, and Ancalon’s was far beyond anything he could possibly hope to replicate. Adding to the fact that the disc was little more than a small coin to the dragon made it something of a god-like achievement. Ancalon repeated his etchings upon each disc without the slightest variation in their design. Not even a stamp could reproduce the images with such an exacting level of detail.
“It is done. You know what you must do with them.”
“I do,” Azerick said with a nod.
“Even with my help, the Scions have the power to resist your trap. They must be weakened or the trap sprung during a moment of chaos, or they will certainly break free.”
“I understand. Once we force them to come to our world in their full physical embodiment, I hope to have the power to shake them enough for this to succeed. I simply do not see another way for the races to survive otherwise.”
“I wish you success, for all our people’s sake.”
***
Daebian’s armada flew over the teaming horde of ravagers loping through the forests and across the open valleys, killing and destroying everything in their path. Behind his ships, large, glowing slashes in the veil between worlds were still evident even this far away as even more creatures poured through the rifts to add to their already impossible numbers. Scores of dragons flew alongside his armada, rising, diving, and circling in their desire to cause destruction and agitated by their masters’ magical domination. Black smoke from the burning cities and countryside marred the horizon and cast the entire sky into a depressing grey haze. Blacker specks within the miasma hinted at even more dragons arriving to heed their masters’ call. The moment Daebian had been dreading finally arrived when his crew went stock-still and the dragons ceased their wild flight and hung in the air like toys dangling from a giant mobile.
“Your father has returned and taken to the field.”
“So I saw.”
“Your plan to destroy the gates failed. You failed…again.”
Daebian felt a giant hand crush him to the deck of the ship. His skin burned as if a red-hot iron branded his flesh in a dozen different places. He forced himself not to give into his urge and grab at his sword. If Zyn discovered what he hid within the soulblade, he would kill him without hesitation. He wasn’t certain the Scion was not going to do that now.
“M-master, the rift allowing them to escape your wrath could not have been my father’s construction.”
“It was not. It would appear as though an old acquaintance has sought to turn against us. He will be punished in due time. That does not change the fact that both cities managed to evacuate their wretched populations. You said your plan would destroy the gates. They did not.”
“My plan did work! The destruction of the two gates at Brelland would have been disastrous for our enemy there had the rift not appeared. Brightridge’s people got away because they were warned, and your creatures did not move swiftly enough. I cannot be held responsible for their failure.”
“You will be held responsible for whatever I deem you responsible for! However, I still find you useful, so I will spare your life once again.” Daebian felt the pressure bearing down on him vanish but the agony remained. “We know where your father and the bulk of the vile races are now. He does us a favor by not forcing us to ferret them out of every dank hole into which they might crawl to find refuge. He has made the purge much easier for us in his pathetic attempt at defense. He will seek to draw us into this world in hopes of taking the battle to us just as the Guardians and the elven wizards did in the past. When he does, you will kill him, and we shall both have what we most desire.”
“Your will be done, master. I exist only to serve you.”
“You speak the truest thing you have ever uttered in your life despite whether or not you truly believe it.”
The world returned to life and assaulted his senses with the feel, sound, and smells that had vanished with the Scion’s presence. A gust of wind slapped at his face and a hand touched him lightly on the shoulder.”
“He was here again wasn’t he?” Eva asked.
Daebian nodded.
Eva shivered and hugged him from behind. “I can feel it. It’s like I jumped into an icy lake. Was he angry again?”
“He was not pleased they had escaped the city. That’s what he said, but I think they are enjoying the hunt. A dog finds more joy in chasing a rabbit than it does actually catching it. I doubt they are any better.”
“Daebian, are we doing the right thing? Can we really turn against our own kind like this?”
“Would you rather join them? Do you think the outcome would change if we fought with them?”
“I suppose not.”
“The only way to win is to survive, and there is nothing but death down there.”
Eva nodded and wiped a tear from her eye as the ship carried them to the only true resistance the races could muster. Once they were destroyed, there was nothing to stop them.
***
Seeing the entire human army deployed onto the battlefield was an impressive sight to behold. Two hundred-fifty thousand infantry nearly stretched across the entire width of the valley in perfectly square formations of five thousand men each. Their cavalry numbered almost one hundred thousand and was divided into north flanking, center, and south flanking units.
Five hundred of Azerick’s constructs created the bulwark of their frontline to blunt what was sure to be a powerful initial charge. A reserve force numbering half the size of the fielded army stood at the ready to relieve their fellows when they became too fatigued to fight. In most normal battles, armies tended not to fight after darkness, but the Scions and their ravagers would certainly not relent until they crushed their foes. This made the role of the reserve units vital in sustaining the humans’ ability to continue the battle.
Even with such a vast army of horses, swords, spears, and heavy siege weapons, the primary purpose of the men and women placing themselves in the path of death was not to kill but to stop the ravager advance. The true task of slaughtering their enemy was left to the corps of wizards whose arcane power could smite the legions of ravagers by the hundreds or even thousands. The soldiers were the shields, the wizards the swords, but all would spill more blood than the waters of a spring snow melt before the war was over.
All eyes stared intently westward at the dark shapes circling and streaking across the sky. Those with spyglasses could make out the sleek, flying ships gliding toward them, heralding the impending arrival of the greatest threat to humanity and the races since the near-genocidal conclusion of the Great Revolution. Even the last of the refugees fleeing for the caverns cast fearful glances over their shoulders as they struggled to hasten their pace. These were the infirm and those too injured to evacuate until there was simply no more time to give them to recover.
Jarvin, his key leaders, and advisors crowded the war room. The King and his military commanders bent over the map tacked down to the large table and moved the brass and tin figures placed upon it as their scouts arrived with updated reports. Azerick was absent, but Raijaun towered over everyone in the room and stood beside Aggie and Headmaster Florent to advise Jarvin of arcane matters.
“Sire, our most recent scout reports put the main body perhaps seven hours from our forward lines, but it is getting increasingly more difficult for our scouts to reach us. The dragons are flying ahead and often pick them off. We received our latest reports only by sending ten riders through the forest to the south. Only three managed to deliver their missives.”
Jarvin made a rumbling in throat and nodded. “At this point, it hardly matters. Order our scouts back to within a mile of our forward-most troops. I’ll not throw away their lives for reports we can do little with.” He turned to the three magic users. “Is there anything to add in regards to our magical preparedness?”
Raijaun spoke. “Our wizards and Sumara’s mages and handful of sorcerers are in place with two groups of reserves ready to lend additional support and defenses. Than
ks to the Source pool, our construct operators are able to control them from upwards of a mile away now instead of the few hundred yards of their previous limitations.”
“A good thing too,” Headmaster Florent chimed in. “I was very concerned with our younger and less talented mages being so close to the frontlines, and I am sure Raijaun’s people were as well.”
Raijaun nodded. “It was indeed a point of significant worry. It would have been far too easy for them to get absorbed into the press of battle if our frontlines buckled by even a moderate measure.”
“Can these iron men truly stem the tide bearing down upon us?”
“No, but such is not their purpose. The ravagers are simply too numerous, but they can break up the horde into many smaller fronts and bleed much of the inertia off before hitting our shield wall. Without them, the ravagers could cut much deeper into our forward ranks and possibly dismantle our army piecemeal if our mages are not able to do enough damage to break them apart.”
“I just wish I had ten thousand more of them. Has Azerick been able to contact anyone from the other races?”
“He was able to speak to Duncan Runecarver last night. The dwarves are in place and ready to strike, but because their numbers are significantly less than ours, they are going to lay in ambush and strike at our enemy’s northern flank at the optimal time. They fear exposing themselves to soon and risk being overwhelmed.”
“It doesn’t give us much information to work with, but at least it’s something. What of the elves?”
“Father was unable to contact the northern elves. His attempt to speak with the abyssal elf representative was blocked by magic he could not penetrate.”
“I don’t know much about either kind and will assume they have chosen to hide—.”
A soldier in riding leathers burst through the hall door cutting off Jarvin’s words. The scout fought to gain his breath as he tried to overcome the obvious exhaustion of a brutal ride.
Still breathing hard, the scout slapped a fist to his chest in salute. “Sire, I have news of happenings to the southeast.”
The Sorcerer's Destiny (The Sorcerer's Path) Page 35