by Greg Curtis
Soon the main street of the small town was littered with black clad bodies, and Edouard would have guessed that a hundred and fifty had fallen. But that didn't matter half as much as the fact that at the far end of the town he could see at least another fifty of them fleeing. Out of range of the muskets but still running fast. The battle was ending.
“Edouard!”
Fergis shouted at him and as Edouard looked across he could see him calling his magic and knew why. The rock gnomes were out of range of the muskets but not their fireballs. Better yet they were all bunched together, fleeing the town as a troop. There could be no better target.
Immediately he joined him and together they started hurling fireballs into their midst as fast as they could. And while they might both only be sparks, the inferno they created between them was surely worthy of a flame. Certainly as he watched the rock gnomes in their black veils catch fire and run screaming he guessed that not many would escape. They might not all die, but they would spend a long time under the care of their physicians. If they had physicians.
In time it was done. The battle was won. And although he stood there behind a tree, trying to catch sight of any enemy he could find, there weren't any. There was no one shooting either. There was only silence and a very long street filled with black clad bodies.
Still, he stood there for the longest time, his musket ready as he hunted for the enemy, and the others did likewise. It was only when the people of the town started wandering out of their houses or from behind whatever shelter they'd found that he let his weapon slump knowing there was no one left to shoot.
But there was still a problem. The guns had fallen silent. Both theirs and those of the rock gnomes. And the people had stopped screaming. That was good. But as the people emerged from their refuges there were new sounds. The sounds of people calling out for loved ones, of women crying and children panicking. The battle was ended but as with any fight there were casualties. Innocents caught up in the shooting.
To add to their misery Breakwater was in a bad way. Many of the buildings had been burnt out. Most of them had holes in them from the gun fire. A few had been completely destroyed. Breakwater would not be able to be a home to them for a long time to come.
But there was a worse problem. They had killed and injured between them maybe two hundred of the enemy. But there had been at least three hundred blockading the town. Which meant that there were still at least another hundred of the enemy out there. And even if the people somehow managed to survive in their town and try to restore their homes and their lives to how they had been, more rock gnomes would come. And when the reinforcements came it wouldn't just be a few hundred that entered the town. It might be a few thousand.
The people could not stay there any longer. And they couldn't leave. Not by the roads. Not when there were still enemy soldiers out there waiting for them.
Breakwater had to be abandoned.
“My Lady.” Edouard turned to face Kyriel who was standing beside him with a musket raised and ready as she searched for enemies. “How many people can you send through your portal and how quickly?”
She stared back at him, her expression thoughtful as she understood the question. “Enough.”
And that he knew had to be the answer.
“People!” Edouard stepped out from behind the tree and yelled as loudly as he could at the towns people. He had to yell it a few more times to get their attention and even then not all were listening. They had more important things to do than listen to a lord.
“Gather your things, food and valuables. Whatever you can carry. Gather up your loved ones and any wounded and head to the fort. Walk up the road towards me. Listen to my voice, and when you get near close your eyes and walk towards me.” If it had worked for Simon he figured, it would work for them. And he didn't want Kyriel to let the ward go. Not when there were still enemies out there and it had taken the best part of an hour for her to set it in the first place.
Evidently some of the people were listening to him. Only a few at first as they had more urgent things to do. But those who listened told others and one by one and in small family groups they began approaching him, and when they'd reached him and made it through the ward, he sent them on up the hill to the fort. There he knew others would be waiting for them. Janus was probably busy, overburdened with the wounded, while the handmaidens had to escort the refugees through the portal as quickly as they could.
Where they were sending them to he didn't know. He wondered about it off and on as the long hours of the day marched on. But in the end he was sure of only two things. The first being that they couldn't stay. Not in Breakwater. Not now. And the second that few of them would be returning even if and when they won the war.
They might have won the battle but in doing so they had still lost the town. Maybe forever.
Chapter Forty Five
“Hold still!”
Kyriel was far from gentle as she tended to his cheek, daubing it with a damp cloth, and it hurt. He would rather she left him alone. But she seemed unwilling to do so, and there was no one else. Janus was busy with his other patients, and he had several. Half a dozen of his guests had taken injuries in the battle, some of them serious, something he gathered the handmaidens believed to be his fault. They called him reckless. They called him a lot worse when they thought he couldn't hear them. But he didn't blame them.
Maybe it was his fault. Though he hadn't asked the others to stand with him. They had made that choice for themselves. And in his view it had been a good choice. Reckless maybe, but also brave and the right thing to do.
The people of Breakwater had been saved. Or most of them had anyway. That was what mattered. They weren't in chains any longer. They weren't being dragged off as slaves to labour for the rock gnomes. In fact many hundreds of them were now scattered across the nearby cities, making new homes and new lives for themselves. That was important. Compared with that the scratch on his cheek was unimportant, though it would be nice if the wound would finally heal over and the stitches could be removed. After three days of this it would have been very nice.
“I am holding still!”
“Then stop talking! Every time you open your mouth the wound tears a little bit. It's going to scar.”
“So?”
Scar? What did he care about another scar? Had she not seen his back he wondered? Even now it still cracked and bled from time to time despite Janus' care. Compared to that the scratch on his cheek was nothing.
“So you'll scare the children and frighten the ladies away.”
Edouard snorted in disbelief. Neither of those things was ever going to matter. He was a third son. Marriage and children were never to be his. Not at least marriage to anyone he might actually want to marry. He had long ago reconciled himself to that. The occasional liaison with a woman of the night was his lot in life, and those women did not care if a man had a few scars. Only that he had a few coins.
“I am the third son and fourth child of the House of Barris. A house that's now all but a pariah among the Court. Even my father couldn't find a match for me that would help the House.”
“Then you're free to marry who you want. Even more reason not to let yourself be disfigured.” She smiled at him for some reason.
“I am never free.” Edouard answered her simply, wondering why it should even matter. To her anyway. But it did matter he gathered as he got a frustrated groan and a stamp of the foot for an answer.
Edouard didn't know how to respond to that so he let her carry on with her work, cleaning the wound again and applying more salve that in theory should stop the bleeding and finally close the wound. If there was one thing he was learning about Kyriel it was that there was little point in arguing. She did not listen.
Instead he let his thoughts turn to the coming battles. He knew from Marcus that there were more planned. Big ones. War was coming. The army was more or less assembled just outside Bitter Crest, and he was busy drilling them. Preparing them for what
was coming. In a few more days they would march. They would begin the long and difficult task of taking back their home. And after the battle of the previous days Edouard had made the decision that he would march with them. Breakwater was his home. And Breakwater was part of Therion.
Besides, there was little more that he could do here. There was little more to learn of the enemy. Not by him. He had given what he knew to the others and that knowledge had now been spread further. Others could carry on the research if it needed to be done. For the moment he was needed as a spark. Thus far they had two or three sparks of wind – hired for what he guessed were exorbitant amounts of gold – who could disenchant the armoured wind demons. But the ancient writings spoke of fire dog demons encased in armour that had been the heart of the Cabal wizards' armies. A spark of wind could do nothing against them. Only a spark of fire could. Edouard was sure they were coming. So he would march.
Of course he'd decided, he might do it in a rather better set of armour than most soldiers were given, which was why he'd spent most of the morning crafting one. A lightweight construction made of the best steel plates he could craft, overlaid and articulated so that he could move freely. When it was done he would have the best armour around, and since he would paint it black, it would hopefully not be too obvious as to what it was. With a jacket over it people might even imagine it was an ordinary vest. That way he would not look like a common soldier.
“There!” Kyriel announced herself satisfied with her work as she laid a fresh bandage over his cheek. “That should hold even you together for a bit. As long as you don't get yourself shot again.”
“Thank you. I'll do my best.” He got up from the chair she'd forced him into and headed off for the stairs and the basement. He had work to do. But before he got more than a couple of steps Kyriel stopped him.
“You're planning on marching with your brother to war.”
It wasn't a question. It was more of an accusation and he wondered why. He had committed no crime. No further crime anyway.
“Yes. Of course. It is my place.” He turned back to face her, wondering why she was even asking. It should have been obvious when he was crafting himself a set of armour to wear.
“It is not your place! You are a scholar, an inventor and a mage. Your place is here, studying these ancient enemies and finding ways to defeat them. You are also now the second son of the Count, and you have duties. You cannot risk your life in this reckless way. The Count could lose both his heirs.” She sounded upset for some reason.
“The research that I can do is done. Others can take it further as and when they need to do so. And as far as the house is concerned I may now be the second son by blood but I am still the third child. Innosen will make a fine Count in time should things come to that. He is a good man and Leona has a good head for the business to guide him should he need it. Father has held him back from the war for that very reason. Nothing has changed for me in that regard. I'm still quietly useless.”
And why he wondered, was she even saying these things? This was none of her business. Besides, he would have thought she would have been happy to have the house to herself for a while. She could work on her shrine and not have to worry about whatever new trouble he was dreaming up.
“You're wounded!” She tried again.
“But I'm recovering.”
And he was, slowly. Janus' skill was great enough to overcome even the foolish attempt he'd done at healing himself. His back still hurt – it might never fully recover – and he had to be careful how he twisted and turned, but he was a lot stronger now. The handmaiden though clearly wasn’t convinced.
“Not well enough! You know that. Janus keeps telling you. You should go to the Mother for a proper healing. She has the power that mere mortals do not.”
“Never!”
Edouard snapped a little at her, and immediately felt guilty for it. Maybe he shouldn't have been so abrupt with her, but the one thing Edouard was never going to do was visit the hamadryad or any of the other powers. Not again. He had had more than enough of them. Just being near them was like asking a dry twig to stand too close to a raging bonfire. There was too great a chance he could be destroyed simply by accident. But that was hard to explain to others without the spark. Those who could not see the powers for what they were. Something far beyond mortal.
“By all that's holy! It's like speaking to a child!”
Kyriel allowed a little annoyance to show in her voice and Edouard wondered why. Usually she didn't let her irritation out. She settled for criticising him endlessly while the irritation at whatever foolish thing he'd said or done remained on her face. But before he could ask she stamped her foot and marched off into the kitchen, leaving him standing there like a fool.
Could she actually like him? Was this all about something of that nature? He wondered as he watched her vanish. It almost felt as though she did. Except that that would have gone against everything else she had ever indicated. Although he had noticed her around more than before. He sometimes caught her smiling too, an expression that looked a lot better on her face than her normal stern disapproval. And he had to admit she was fair. Extremely fair.
But it would be a disaster.
Edouard knew that. He knew it with every ounce of knowledge he had. To be criticised by her morning, noon and night. Constantly found wanting and told off for his errant ways. That would be torment. And above all else he wanted to never, ever have anything to do with her precious Honoured Mother again. The woman was a handmaiden. Always. They all were. Even the ones who had supposedly left Tyrel's service to marry. Their leaving after all was just part of some complex plan of the hamadryad that he wanted no part of.
Yet despite all that she was pretty. Pretty enough that it made him think twice. It might almost be worth it he thought. Almost.
After she'd left he headed for the stairs and his workshop. He had armour to finish crafting and a war to prepare for. But still when he returned to his work his thoughts kept wandering back to her.
It would be a mistake to even suggest such a thing. It would be the worst disaster of his life. But still she was clever and witty. A proper woman whose company he enjoyed above all others. Well read too, though she hid it. Capable on the battlefield – perhaps even more so than he was. Actually almost certainly. And she was unashamedly pretty.
By the Seven! Maybe he had some of his father's and his brother's bad traits too when it came to women. The inability to know what would be a good match. After all his father was on his seventh wife and Marcus was consorting with a demoness. What would make him believe he was any wiser than they?
Chapter Forty Six
Bitter Crest had changed a lot since the last time Edouard had been there. And that had only been six months before. But the others had told him what to expect, so he supposed he shouldn't have been so surprised.
They had told him it was overcrowded. And yet he somehow hadn't quite understood what they meant. That the streets were so full of people that there was no room for carriages anymore. That you couldn't walk more than a couple of paces without someone jostling you. And that the noise from so many people talking all at once was almost unbearable. Bitter Crest was normally a busy little city, full of noise and bustle but never like this.
The other thing that he noticed as he walked through the city was the stench. His family had mentioned the smell, and yet he hadn't understood it. But from his first breath in Bitter Crest he did. It was the heady odour of raw sewage floating through the streets, unwashed bodies, stale ale and the sickly sweet perfume that people wore to hide the odour and rotting refuse that was no longer being carried away.
The city was coming apart at the seams like a poorly fashioned suit.
Of course now that the nearby towns and villages had been emptying out before the rock gnomes started rounding up people and taking them away to become slaves, the city had quadrupled in size. The panic throughout Therion had spread faster than a wildfire once the news of the attac
ks had been passed on, and now most of south east Therion was pressed into the tiny city if they hadn't moved further on. At a guess more than a hundred thousand people had to be calling it home, and the city had only ever been built for thirty thousand.
Two thirds of those people lived in tents and make shift shelters surrounding the city, and spent their days trying to find work or trade things to get a little food and essential items. And most of them were stuck here for the moment, torn between the hope that the war would end and they could return home in time, and the fear that they couldn't and would have to leave for other towns and cities. It could not have been an easy time for them. And he understood that the cities of Farring Cross were in similar shape. When Theria had fallen the numbers of refugees had only been a few tens of thousands. They could almost cope with that. But when the rest of the realm had started being emptied out those numbers had grown exponentially.