“Chimera!” shouted one of the knights, only fuelling the panic in the air.
Though the refugees from the battle numbered a few hundred, all of them knew the legendary power of such creatures, and so also knew what the odds were. None of the warriors fled, but their faces went pale.
Rathien brandished his sword defiantly, shaking off the crushing dread that had suddenly clamped on to his heart.
“Warriors of Caledor!” he cried, bracing to meet the challenge. “Fear no darkness! Remember your oaths!”
The knights responded first. They kicked their rebellious steeds up the slope, raising their shields and holding their swords point-forward. The ragged line of cavalry surged forward, picking up momentum just as the chimera dropped out of the air and crashed down among them.
Rathien rode with them, gritting his teeth, driving his terrified horse into close range and aiming his sword for the monster’s shaggy neck. A shadow passed across him as the wings thrust down again, wafting a cloud of nauseating filth over him, but he held his course, straight into the maw of the approaching creature of Chaos.
In front of him, a rider was smashed aside by a heavy swipe from the creature’s barbed foreleg. Another was lashed from the saddle by the snaking tail. One of the three heads swung round, and huge jaws clamped over the helmet of a third rider, muffling his screams as the teeth tore through the plate and into the flesh beneath.
“Asuryan!” roared Rathien, angling the blade to strike just below the chimera’s central head.
He never even saw the claw come round. It whipped across from the left, fast as a crossbow bolt, catching him full on the left shoulder.
Rathien was thrown from the saddle. He flew several feet through the air before cracking heavily into a wall of rock. His head snapped back against it, and his sword dropped from his hands.
For a moment, everything was lost in a whirl of disorientation. Through blurred vision, he saw the chimera stamp down on his stricken horse, crushing the beast’s ribcage with almost unconscious disdain before wheeling round to take on the press of warriors rushing into the assault.
It prowled on four legs like a colossal panther, though it was capable of rearing up and slashing out viciously with its forelegs. When it did this, the mighty wings flared above it, fanning the stink of death and causing the soldiers to gag and choke. The chimera shook off every attempt to land a blow, crushing any move to get close enough in to bring blades to bear. A few arrows bounced from its iron-hard hide, launched from further down the trail by rows of kneeling archers. The missiles did no damage at all, and with every kick or lash of its massive limbs another one of Rathien’s troops died.
Rathien staggered back to his feet, shaking his head to clear it, watching the butchery unfold with growing horror. He saw the monster pull apart a rider with a shake of one set of jaws even while its foreclaws ripped open the chest of another. Its third head attacked, jawline splayed wide, and a column of white-hot flame jetted out, engulfing the front rank of footsoldiers. The victims fell back screaming, tearing at their eyes and rolling on the ground to try to douse the agonising flames that ran over them like burning oil.
Despite it all, the Caledorians kept on coming. The knights, most of whom had been thrown from their horses, charged at the beast on foot, trying to find some way to stab at its flanks with their longswords. The footsoldiers did likewise, though their light armour made them easy pickings. Even some of the archers closed in, edging up the track and trying to give their arrows a better chance of punching through the beast’s thick hide.
It would make no difference. As clearly as blood on snow, Rathien saw that the attacks were doomed. The chimera was dragging them down in droves. Already, the ground beneath its feet was slick with gore and the monster’s heavy claws trampled the bodies of the slain into the gravel of the track.
They were all going to die.
Rathien knew then that he had failed, and failed utterly. There would be no redemption from this, and no returning to Caledor.
A pall of utter darkness descended over him. He balled his fists and cried aloud with rage. The fear left him, replaced by a dreadful, savage fury. Even in the heart of a hundred battlefields, he had never been consumed by such raw anger and frustration. It was as if the Winds of Magic, the powerful gales he had felt growing for so long, bad sunk into his very soul, animating it with a coruscating frenzy of grief.
He took a single stride towards the beast. Ahead of him, he could see his sword lying in the dirt where it had fallen. He ignored it. He felt power throbbing in his palms, power the like of which he hadn’t felt since learning the secrets of fire magic in Hoeth as a youth.
It was coming back. After all those years, the power was coming back.
“Beast of darkness!” he roared.
His voice echoed across the narrow way, rebounding from the high cliffs of granite above. Even amid all the slaughter, one of the chimera’s three heads turned to face him. For a moment, a pair of jewel-red eyes glared straight at him. There was nothing but bestial hatred in those eyes, a hatred for every other living entity that walked the earth. No desire existed in that ruined visage but to slay, to destroy, to maim and to consume.
The eyes blazed, and black lips pulled back from blood-slick fangs. The chimera sensed the magic building up within Rathien, and knew what danger it was in. With a savage growl, the creature shook off the warriors clustered around it and lunged towards the real threat. As it pounced, its wings thrust out and down powerfully, hurling the mass of muscle, flesh and bone towards Rathien with the force of a massed cavalry charge. All three heads screamed with hatred, leaving long strands of saliva hanging in the air behind.
Rathien held his ground, and thrust both hands out before him.
“Calamann ya noresh aqshy!” he cried, feeling the power within him surge to the surface like water boiling over in a cauldron.
Streamers of fire, angry and spitting, burst from his open palms. The twin columns of roaring flame crashed into the oncoming chimera, stopping it dead and running across the corrupted flesh like quicksilver.
The creature bellowed in pain and fury. The rock broke under it as it flailed and writhed, trying desperately to regain its feet.
Rathien remained unmoving, his arms extended, his legs braced. He could feel the throb of magic swelling up within him, roaring and boiling in a seething morass before spilling out of his physical form and slamming into the beast before him.
He heard himself crying words of power, words that he had thought he had forgotten years ago. The blazing pillars of conflagration grew ever more devastating, tearing into the hide of the monster and burrowing deep into the black flesh beneath.
The chimera made one last attempt to get to him. It reared up, claws raking. Ebony fluid cascaded down its broken withers, boiling and steaming as it coursed through the curtains of fire. With a huge lunge, it pounced, reaching out to grasp Rathien in its foreclaws, goaded by its insatiable need to kill even in the midst of its agony.
Still Rathien didn’t move. He stood as rigid as the statues of the Phoenix King, waiting for the impact. He channelled more power, shuddering as the flames discharged from his body, struggling to remain conscious as he became the conduit for such terrifying force.
The chimera plunged through it all, screaming and roaring. It stalked through the flames, reaching out with its hooked claws and straining its long necks to bite.
It almost made it. For a fearful moment, Rathien was only inches away from the horror’s jaws. He stared into the closest set of eyes, facing off with the beast, gazing defiantly into the reflective orbs.
The torrent of fire never let up. It thundered out of him, making the air shimmer and shake, consuming its target in rolling bursts of rose-red immolation.
Then, with a howl of anguish that made the earth tremble, the chimera crashed to the ground. Its scorched flanks shuddered. Its charred wings cracked. It struggled on for a while, rolling back and forth, trying to summon the
strength to rise again, but the vital energy had been seared from it.
With a final cry of release, Rathien cut off the deluge. The flames guttered out. He staggered forward, suddenly faint.
The chimera still burned. It was locked in its final agonies, and made no effort to rise. The screams of ferocity were replaced with mewls of pain. Its tail still thrashed back and forth, though now the movements were spasmodic and erratic.
Wearily, Rathien limped over to where his sword had fallen. He was exhausted, more than he could ever remember being before, and blood ran down the palms of his hands. He stooped to retrieve his blade and dragged himself closer to the burning body of the monster.
All around him, Caledorians were getting to their feet, or warily edging closer, all of them watching their prince with awe on their faces.
Rathien stood over the smouldering body of the chimera. Even slumped in the throes of death, it still dominated all around it.
One of the three heads still moved. As Rathien lifted his blade high, turning it so the point faced directly down, a single pair of eyes fixed him with a glare of distilled malice.
Then the sword plunged, stabbing deep into the neck and carrying through. A hot gout of black blood gushed up, splashing over Rathien’s face and neck. The chimera’s corpse shuddered for a few seconds, twitching madly, then slumped into stillness.
Rathien felt the sting of the blood against his flesh. He didn’t wipe it away, but stayed locked in position, both hands on the hilt of his sword. Deep within him, the magic was still pulsing away. He knew he had unleashed something of tremendous power. Even then, even while the chimera’s corpse still smoked and trembled, he felt a twinge of unease, and the questions returned.
Why do I feel this? Why now?
For a few moments more, he stayed in position. For a few moments more, he gazed down at the beast he’d slain.
Then, crippled by fatigue and blood-loss, he fell to his knees. He swayed for a moment, fighting against the dark, then toppled over on to the cold stone and knew no more.
Night fell in Lothern. The boats rocked gently on the oil-dark water, and lamps glowed softly in the shadows. The hubbub of the day passed into the peace of the dusk. For all its long decline, the city was still beautiful when the starlight fell upon it.
Anlia walked casually down the empty street. The air was warm and she enjoyed the brush of the sea-breeze against her face. The smell of salt and spices was everywhere, and it calmed her.
She knew she should not have left Valaris’ tower to wander the streets alone. He had given her strict instructions to remain hidden while he made preparations for the voyage south. Anaphelox had counselled against it too, just as he was wont to.
Everyone was always telling her what to do. They always had done, and she had always ignored it.
She rounded a corner, walking away from the harbourside and heading towards the cluster of elegant towers that marked the beginning of the loremasters’ district. The light from the lamps began to fade and the shadows pooled around her like wells. The faint sound of voices faded as she left the sparsely populated quays behind.
Anlia felt vindicated. For so long, she had felt the weight of tragedy on her shoulders. Now, at last, an opportunity for redemption had come and she had seized it with both hands. Valaris, to his credit, had seen the chance too. The journey ahead, she was sure, would be the beginning of her return to greatness. It would be the fulfilment of the potential which so many, herself included, thought she’d squandered on that fateful night in Hoeth.
She strolled past the pale stone base of a soaring citadel, admiring the handiwork over the lintel. Her mood was benign.
Watch out!
The voice entered her mind suddenly and fiercely, breaking her stream of thought. She shrunk back immediately, hugging the near wall.
A bolt of piercing silver light whistled out of the gloom and slammed into the ground at her feet, fizzing and smoking as it tumbled past her.
Her heart leapt. She froze, staring at trail of magical discharge. For a moment, she had no idea what to do. Her hands started shaking.
Run, you fool!
She broke into a halting scamper, turning and heading back in the direction of the busier quayside. For the first time, she realised just how unnaturally quiet the streets around her were.
Twenty yards ahead of her, the silhouette of a robed figure dropped down on to the ground. She saw a hand shoot out, glowing silver.
She veered away just as a second bolt hissed past her.
Go left. Then straight on. Hurry!
She followed the instruction, nearly stumbling on the cobbles as she changed direction. She’d known there was danger in Lothern, but such an immediate attack was unexpected. How had they known she was there?
She sprinted down a long, wide road. On either side, huge buildings rose up into the night air. From behind her she could hear the soft padding of rapid footfalls.
Acting on instinct, she suddenly swerved right. Another orb of iridescent energy shot past her and vanished, spinning, into the shadows.
Her breathing became ragged. The vice of panic rose up in her gullet. She had to think. Who was this? Who had sent him? Could she fight him?
The street ended in a narrow, enclosed courtyard. Walls rose up on the three sides before her, shutting her in. There were no lit windows, and the ivory sheen of the stars cast little light.
Keep running. There is a way out on your left.
“Why am I running?” she protested. “Why am I always running?”
She skidded to a halt in the centre of the courtyard and whirled round. She felt the prick of magic start on her palms.
No! Keep running!
“Not anymore,” she said out loud, summoning the first slivers of power.
A black-robed figure entered the courtyard. His head was bare, and Anlia saw a look of pure hatred warp his features. Without breaking stride, the mage drew his hand into a fist and unleashed a roaring blaze of argent fire.
Anlia crossed her arms and summoned a warding shield. The blast detonated across it, knocking her a pace backwards but failing to penetrate. Still running towards her, her attacker drew a glittering blade that shimmered and shifted in the starlight, and came straight for her.
She raised her hand.
“Malaren teras!” she cried, and her whole body blazed with light.
Two shimmering outlines appeared by her side, rippling into existence at her command. They had the form of loping wolves, though their fur shone with an unearthly glimmer and their eyes glittered like diamonds. They leapt at the mage, snarling in fractured, echoing voices.
Anlia fell back, content to let her magic-summoned beasts do the work for her.
Fool!
The wolves went for her attacker’s throat, jaws gaping. As they struck, they exploded into a kaleidoscope of splintered light, then span wildly out of existence. Anlia stared stupidly for a second, shocked by their destruction.
Her assailant thrust aside the remnants of the conjured wolves and pulled his blade back to strike. As he closed in, she suddenly sensed the full extent of his power. He had been warded, and powerfully.
Slipping and tripping as she twisted to escape, she cursed herself for her stupidity. Of course he would have been protected. Without her staff, without time to prepare a proper counter-spell, she doubted she’d be able to break it.
A hand grabbed at her cloak, hauling her back. She saw starlight flash from the edge of the rippling blade. She blurted out fresh words of power, knowing it was too late, knowing that they would do nothing.
Then, suddenly, the courtyard was bathed in a violent burst of blood-red light. There was a roaring, like the rushing of a mighty wind, and a cry of terror. The grip of the mage loosened and Anlia felt his body being ripped away. The roaring intensified, reaching a savage crescendo, then blew out.
She whirled round, breathing hard, eyes still wide with shock and fear. The red light faded away. Her pursuer was dead. H
e lay on the floor of the courtyard, his neck broken and the shimmering blade cast uselessly by his side. Blood ran down the front of the black robes, seeping into the material. She noticed the silver amulet around his neck, and felt the power radiating from it.
The device on the amulet was that of Hoeth. She recognised it well enough. One of Pelean’s acolytes, then. Not much older than she was. Even in death, his hatred for her still marred his unseeing visage.
Beside the body stood another figure. An asur lord, he was perhaps a little taller than most, a little leaner too. His face was locked in accusation. There was something very unsettling about his eyes.
“Stupid girl,” he said.
His voice was cultured, but the anger within it was profound.
Anlia, her heart still thumping and her breath short, nodded shakily.
“I know,” she said, burning with shame. “I’m sorry.”
The asur took a step towards her and reached out for her face. He took her chin in slender fingers and forced her to look at him. The grasp was uncomfortably tight.
“Do you understand what’s at stake here? Do you even realise what has been done for you?”
Anlia couldn’t look away from his eyes. She felt tears start and struggled to quell them.
“I do. By the gods, I know. I will learn from this.”
“Do so,” said the asur stranger, and the harshness in his voice remained fervent. “I wish you to succeed, Anlia. I wish you to do great things. But if you make it impossible for me to help you, then I will leave you to the mercy of those that wish you dead.”
His face came closer.
“And believe me, if they take you, then death will be the least of your concerns.”
CHAPTER FIVE
[Storm of Magic 02] - Dragonmage Page 4