by Joseph Lallo
He had already decided to destroy it. Not for fear of what the Hasians might do with it, but to prevent anyone else going through what Darius had. He bent his head to continue reading. The light was failing now and he could barely see the words.
If the spell worked, you have a new guest in your fortress. Be kind to him, as you have been to me. He’ll be confused and will not understand our world. Teach him what he needs to know, and above all, if he wishes to try the return journey you must let him. I snatched him against his will, a crime for which I shall surely be called to account when I kneel before the God.
Farewell,
Your friend and servant,
Darius.
Keverin rolled the parchment up. He stepped outside and re-locked the door. Walking through the silent fortress, he tried not to dwell on Darius and the screaming. After walking for a time, he thought he could by thinking about the coming battle. Then he had an idea about using the mages.
“I’ll ask Darius what he thinks.”
The screaming came back louder than ever.
On reaching his rooms, he stored the scroll in a velvet bag with some other papers and put them in a hidden drawer in his desk. He crossed the study to open a cabinet. Inside were crystal decanters of wine and some glasses. He hesitated on choosing which one to take, but then he remembered that Darius liked the wine from Talayan.
He took out the decanter, and with a glass in hand proceeded to drink himself insensible. Strangely, it seemed to take a long time. After finishing the wine, he started on a Camorin spirit that those northern people called White Lightning. He managed two glasses before losing consciousness.
Darius...
* * *
8 ~ Attacked
Keverin, lord of Athione and Lord Protector of the West, awoke with a splitting headache and a disgusting taste in his mouth. It tasted like a rat had crawled in during the night and died. He sat up—tried to sit up, but his head felt like it had fallen off and rolled down the rat hole earlier vacated.
“By the God, I’ll never drink again. Never again,” he croaked.
He staggered to his feet and made it to the privy before the inevitable happened. Afterwards he felt a little better and performed his ablutions. He couldn’t let the men see him in such a condition. The enemy could attack at any time, and Darius said... No! He couldn’t think about that. Renard was the senior mage now. He would talk to him first thing.
Quickly donning a clean shirt, he chose a pair of well-worn leather trousers that he sometimes used on the hunt. They were a good choice for what was coming. They were comfortable, but more to the point, the leather was reinforced with lozenges of bone. Just the thing to help turn a boar’s tusks from his flesh... or an arrow in battle.
He buckled on his armour and thrust his sword’s sheath through the sash at his waist next to his father’s poniard. Lastly, he fitted bracers and tried to pull on a pair of reinforced leather gloves, but the bandages interfered. He threw the gauntlets onto a chair and collected his helmet. Looking around to make sure he wouldn’t embarrass himself by forgetting something, he hefted his helm in the crook of his arm and strode out the door.
He marched toward the library quarter where he expected to find Renard. They had a lot to discuss and not much time to do it in. His long strides ate up the distance speedily as he navigated the maze he knew so well. He returned an occasional salute, but he didn’t stop or pay the men much attention. Sentries at important intersections within the citadel were commonplace. The Founders had built the citadel like a maze on purpose to confuse the enemy, and to allow the defenders to outflank him. He thought it a cunning idea that would have worked perfectly but for one thing—magic. Although magic did have limits, finding the way through a maze was unfortunately not one of them.
He marched into what had once been the north quarter of the citadel. Everyone called it the Library Quarter now and was where the mages had chosen to reside. They had followed Darius’ lead in choosing accommodations and had settled close to the library for convenience. Unlike Darius though, they preferred guest suites to a room at the top of a tower.
He paused, looking for Renard’s familiar face or the colourful robe of another mage to direct him, but the place was deserted. He frowned and quickly ducked into the library proper hoping to find them there. The mundane section of the library echoed with emptiness. He quickly crossed the space and entered the hall housing the magical tomes. Both halls were deserted.
He was just about to leave, when he heard Mathius out in the corridor. He quickly retraced his steps, and found the young mage talking to Marcus.
“Where are your brothers?” Keverin called.
Mathius’ face brightened. “I was just explaining to the captain, my lord. Renard called a meeting this morning to witness a scrying of the enemy. The first assault is due at sunrise.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?”
“You needed your rest, my lord,” Marcus said. “I have all in readiness. The mages are building their wards in the west courtyard.”
Keverin came close to an explosion—very close. Marcus should have awoken him to witness the scrying at the very least. He kept his face pleasant with an effort. The captain was right, damn him, and they both knew it. He’d been lying in a stupor when he should have been overseeing the defence. Self-recriminations wouldn’t change anything, certainly not yesterday’s events.
Darius…
He swallowed the howls of grief that threatened to escape, and let his anger go. “Outstanding. Let us go out and see what we can see.”
Striding away and forcing Marcus to hurry to catch him was a petty kind of revenge, but it made him feel better. He slowed when he heard Mathius panting. He shouldn’t include the boy in his annoyance with Marcus.
“Where are the people who were sheltering here?” he said, glancing into empty halls and corridors.
“Some are housed in the lower part of the citadel my lord, but most preferred to find places in East Town,” Marcus said.
He nodded. They would be safer there, out of the line of fire. “Whatever makes them happy is fine. After this is over, I’m going to insist that West Town not be rebuilt. If they don’t like East, I’ll build them a new one somewhere else if that’s what they want. Where’s the sense in having a town in the pass?”
Mathius answered the rhetorical question. “According to the histories, the towns on both sides were settled at different times. East was first, but the traders moved to West Town to take advantage of better prices.”
He sighed. “I know that, but we’ve had precious little trade through the pass in recent times. Now with the Black Isle ruling Bandar, I’m thinking the days of making money from western trade are over. We should rename East as it’s the only one left.”
Upon entering the courtyard, Renard approached and escorted them to join his brothers and explain things. “We have five mages, and they have fifty ready to oppose us. That sounds bad, my lord, and it is, but it’s not an insurmountable problem. We can’t use our magic all day without tiring and making errors, and we all know where they lead. I believe the reason they brought so many sorcerers with them, is that they’ll take turns at assaulting the gates—literally shifting from one group to the next. That way they can keep up a constant attack without exhausting each shift.”
Keverin nodded. Darius had theorised the possibility, was it only yesterday? It seemed an age ago now. “Well reasoned, but what is your solution?”
“We must try to duplicate the effects of their shifts with only five mages. I believe that we have a way to do that. You may not be aware, but maintaining an existing ward is much easier than creating one. With that in mind, each of us has built a ward large enough to cover both towers and the gates in the shape of a straight wall—”
He nodded. That was an obvious choice as Athione was under siege from only one side. He imagined each ward covering the one behind it completely. Each layer would then strengthen the
others at the same time protecting the curtain wall behind.
“—and then one of us will maintain all of the wards together,” Renard explained. “The duty mage should be able to last three candlemarks or so depending upon his strength in the craft before becoming even slightly tired. Another will take his place without dropping the wards, and so on.”
That’s the God be blessed brilliant!
Keverin beamed. “Outstanding! Truly outstanding, Renard. If the wards hold long enough, Gylaren and Purcell might reach us in time.”
“Thank you, my lord. The problem is we can’t attack. The wards work both ways. Even if we could find a location to attack from, my brothers will not be able to sustain it and our defence at the same time.”
He frowned. That hadn’t occurred to him and it should have. Stalemate wouldn’t win the battle. “Hmmm, what of the newcomer?” he said, looking around the courtyard. All the faces were familiar ones.
“Lord?” Renard said, sounding puzzled.
“Surely he could handle a credible offence while you handle defence?” The mages glanced sidelong at each other, but none spoke up. “What is it? I know he arrived safely. He landed on me.”
“She,” Renard said sadly. “She landed on you.”
No! Please don’t let me have killed Darius for nothing!
He paled when he realised what it meant. It was all over. Athione would fall without a strong mage to face down the sorcerers. Darius had known, and had sacrificed himself to achieve exactly that.
It was all over.
Struggling to keep his thoughts from showing, he cast about for inspiration, but the God’s voice was silent within him. “I hadn’t heard. Well then, I can see you’re doing a fine job out here—”
BOOOM!
The wards turned to blue fire as the sound exploded into the courtyard. The air vibrated while the wards hummed and crackled in distress, as they tried to shrug aside the titanic forces unleashed by the attack. The ground had leapt with the shock, and he could still feel the vibration through his boots as the ground shook in sympathy.
He blinked away the afterimage and stared up at the clouds drifting by. He had fallen. Rolling over he saw Marcus and one or two of the mages getting back up. Marcus was saying something, but he couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears.
“WHAT?” Keverin yelled, and pushed to his feet. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU, SHOUT IT MAN!”
“IT’S STARTED, MY LORD!”
I noticed.
Gradually his hearing returned and he was able to question Renard. “How are the wards holding?”
“No damage at all. It’s working—it really is!” Renard said shaking his fists in the air.
He grinned, Renard was almost dancing with joy. “Don’t sound so surprised. You’re a master mage, and a damn good one at that! I need to leave for a while and arrange some matters.”
“Take young Mathius with you, my lord. I can bespeak him if something happens. He can pass things along to you.”
“Good idea. Come along, Mathius.”
Keverin started back to the citadel then stopped when he thought of something. “I won’t be long, Marcus, but keep an eye on things. If it seems advisable, have the men out of harm’s way and under cover. We better get the duty mage put somewhere safe to work as well. If he’s injured the wards will come down, and that’ll be the end of us.”
Marcus saluted. “You can rely on me, my lord.”
“I know I can,” he said and entered the citadel with Mathius in tow.
Booom!
The sound was muted by the walls of the citadel this time, but he still flinched and ducked. He straightened when he realised that Mathius was unconcerned.
“The wards are holding, my lord.”
He nodded and they moved on.
In a strange way, knowing that the newcomer wasn’t going to save Athione was liberating. For the last five years he’d known his time was running out. Now that it was over, the pressure had disappeared. He felt a wonderful sense of release. He would fight hard to take the enemy with him of course, there would be no surrender, but the fate of the kingdom was no longer his concern.
They kept to an easy pace on their way to the women’s quarter, and he found his thoughts turning to the newcomer. Who was she, what would she say and think about her summoning? Despite himself, he found curiosity eating at him. For Darius’ sake, he would try hard not to dislike her—despite her being the cause of his best friend’s death.
“What’s the newcomer like? Did she say anything?”
Mathius blushed scarlet. “She ordered me to reverse the spell I placed on the boots of your guardsmen.”
“I didn’t see. I was busy being mobbed at the time. What did you do?”
“I stuck them to the floor! She must have spoken with your men, because as bold as you please, she ordered me to give them their boots back.”
Keverin bellowed laughter. It was a sound he’d not heard in ages. It felt good to let it out. “So! A bold one at least. What else can you tell me?”
“She’s a child my lord, and very beautiful. She has green eyes and black hair. She looked amazing in that strange garment she wore.”
A child!
How could Darius mistake a child for a sorcerer? He remembered the terrible screaming, and knew what must have happened. His poor friend. Darius must have snatched her in desperation, hoping to get lucky. He prayed the God would understand and not judge him too harshly.
“What was strange about her clothes?”
Mathius blushed again. “There wasn’t much of it. I mean it was so... and she was so... I didn’t know where to look, my lord! It was never meant to be seen outside of a bedchamber.”
He wasn’t as impressed as Mathius evidently was. This girl with her amazing looks was probably as empty headed as those in the town. Oh, they were nice enough in their way, but he wanted more than bedroom games. He’d always wanted someone with wit as well as good looks, but he’d never found her. In a few days, the point would be moot. His father’s choice of bride had influenced him too much, but there it was. Jessica was the most intelligent person he knew, including Darius. His father had confided to him once, that he treasured her intelligence even more than her great beauty. He said that no one ever believed him when he boasted of Jessica’s counsel, and how it was always good.
He was realistic enough to know that he would never find what his father had enjoyed for so long. It was too late for regrets now anyway. If he survived the war, he could always adopt a child to be his heir. Yes, he would do that. It was time that he gave up foolish dreams.
I have my duty; I need nothing else.
* * *
9 ~ Reality
Booom!
Julia awoke with a start and realised she was still in the castle. “Oh my God, this is not happening. Please let it be a dream.”
Booom!
The noise was louder than any thunder she had ever heard. It was coming from very nearby. She looked toward the door. The noise hadn’t come from there, but she could hear people screaming and running by. She got out of bed padded across her bed chamber, and into her sitting room. She opened the door leading outside just in time to snag the arm of a young woman. She was wearing a long dark skirt with a white linen blouse fastened with oval buttons made of wood. She looked terrified.
Booom!
The fortress shook, and the woman tried to run. Julia didn’t let her. “What’s happening?” Something toppled with a crash nearby, and a woman screamed in fright.
“They’re trying to destroy the gate,” the girl said. “Please let me go. I have to hide!”
“Who’s trying to break down our gate—where?”
The woman looked at her in disbelief.
Julia felt like yelling at her. She didn’t belong here, and she didn’t know what the hell was going on! Before she could make a start on that, the women managed to get free. She fled before Julia could ask anythi
ng else.
She closed her door and leaned against it feeling tears threaten. She should have been in the gym by now. Jill would think she’d been kidnapped or something.
“Well I have!”
She tried to think of what to do. Looking about in complete bewilderment, she realised it was all true. She could never have imagined all the details of this place. How did she get here? How would she get out of here? She wandered back into her bedchamber in a daze. Looking about the room her eyes fell upon the huge wardrobe. First things first. She would get dressed and then look for answers. With something to occupy her mind, she felt calm returning.
I can handle this... I think. No, I CAN handle this.
Looking through the selection of gowns, she chose a beautiful green dress of silk. It was embroidered all over and fit her perfectly, though it was more suitable for Napoleon’s Josephine than for a five foot nothing gymnast. Another time she would have enjoyed playing dress up—there were a couple more gowns that had caught her eye, but there was no time for games. Looking in the mirror, she stared at her reflection in stunned delight. The dress shimmered in emerald splendour as she moved. She had never worn anything so beautiful. The dress hugged her shape tightly before flaring over her hips. The low neckline showed the rounded swell of her breasts, and she frowned at how much the dress revealed.
She shrugged; she wasn’t a prude, and had never really worried about how she looked. Her training was more important to her and took up all her time. Besides, when in Rome and all that. Looking in the bottom of the wardrobe she found the slippers that went with the dress. Thank goodness high-heeled shoes weren’t in fashion here. She would have broken her neck wearing heels with a dress like this. They were a bit tight, but she managed. She really needed a half size larger. Checking herself in the mirror one more time, she decided that her short hair didn’t match the dress, but other than that, she looked dressed to kill. It was time to find her victim and get some answers.