by Joseph Lallo
Please! Moooove!
They did a little, she was sure. Concentrating as hard as she could, she made a pushing gesture at the same time as she visualised the stones getting out of her way. Suddenly the resistance vanished, and the stones shot away from the door, ploughing through the soldiers battling nearby. Men screamed, hurled in all directions with crushed and broken bones. She tried to shut out their howls of agony.
With tears welling in her eyes, she scrambled over the rubble to reach the door. Putting her shoulder to it, she heaved it open with a groan of protesting wood. She staggered into the dim interior of the broken tower. Sunlight speared the darkness through great cracks in the walls giving her enough light to see. A guardsman lay groaning, pinned under stones and timbers.
“Help... help... help...” the man was saying weakly.
She tried to move the stones off him, but her magic failed her. Gritting her teeth, she tried to lift a beam that lay crushing his leg, but she wasn’t strong enough.
“...help... hel...” the man gasped and died staring at her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tears spilling over her cheeks. She dashed them away, and looked for a way up.
The tower was broken; the top half utterly smashed. The roof was missing and the walls ended in jagged saw-like teeth. The balcony hung precariously from its brackets. Half of them no longer had a wall to bolt to. She bit her lip and began climbing. The stairs lurched downward, and she screamed in fright, hugging the wall as if her life depended on it.
More timbers and stones fell.
After a moment, she continued her climb until she ran out of stairs. A wide section had fallen; it lay smashed to splinters far below, but the right-hand joist still faithfully clung to its brackets. It connected the last stair to the next balcony, and offered her a way to proceed—if she was willing to chance it.
She edged onto the beam, but stepped back to kick off her shoes. She took a steadying breath, and stepped onto the beam. She tried to pretend this was just another performance, but the sight of the dead guardsman staring at her made it impossible. The wood was split and covered in splinters. She had to fight her reluctance to put her feet down every step. Finally, she reached the balcony, and moments later emerged into the open.
She could see that Marcus was still fighting to hold the enemy out of the citadel. His men had managed to push them back toward the shattered gate, but they hadn’t forced them out of it. Marcus would have to retreat very soon. A second group of soldiers was marching up the road to join the fight against him.
She needed to block the hole in the wall somehow. She needed a ward like the one Renard had made. She’d watched him and the others working magic dozens of times, but Mathius had never let her attempt it. Instead, he’d taught her about fire and the theory behind wards. He insisted they were beyond her or any novice. Theories weren’t enough now, she needed a ward desperately.
She calmed herself as best she could, and tried to remember Renard’s ward matrix. She invoked her mage-sight as Mathius had taught her, and tried to summon up the pattern she remembered. In her head, she saw Renard working upon his creation. He turned toward her and smiled.
Tears welled up as she realised he was probably dead. She dashed them angrily away, and focused upon the thrumming power flowing through her. Renard’s pattern was bright in her memory as she spun out threads of magic in the form of a ward matrix, but it felt wrong. A neon blue light flashed to life. It spread across the gap in the wall like a curtain, but it quickly faded to nothing. She tried again, but nothing happened. There wasn’t even a light this time, and she didn’t know why. She’d used the same pattern both times, and it was right dammit! It didn’t make sense! She was about to try again, but something caught her attention in the courtyard below.
She was too late.
The soldiers she’d seen on the road earlier had arrived to join the battle. Marcus was badly outnumbered, but if he allowed his men to step back, the Hasian General would push even more men into the space he vacated. She cursed and raged at her inability to help, and glared at the endless stream of soldiers marching toward her. The fighting was desperate in the courtyard with close to two thousand legionnaires already inside. There must have been three times that many on the road marching to join them.
“Oh please, what should I do?” she muttered, on the edge of panic. “Someone help me!”
She knew what she had to do. It was the only thing that she could do, but it was evil! Shutting out the voice of her conscience, she threw lightning down into the packed mass of legionnaires.
Craaaack!
The smell of ozone was strong on the breeze, as people and chunks of stone flew through the air. She swallowed sickly, staring at what she’d done. She must have killed hundreds. She wasn’t just a killer; she was a mass murderer!
Marcus took advantage of the blast and pushed the enemy back again, but he didn’t have the numbers to force them completely out of the courtyard. He was fighting hard, and screaming orders at the top of his voice, but although his men tried valiantly to comply, they were vastly out-numbered.
Praying for forgiveness, she drew upon her magic and struck again.
Craaaack!
Sobbing as if her heart were broken, she rained death upon the enemy soldiers, over and over again. Some tried to run, but they couldn’t escape her wrath.
Hearing a noise behind her, she spun to hurl another lightning-bolt, but at the last moment, she recognised Brian leading some of the others with bows. Her hand was glowing and tingling with the need to let the blast go, she turned and let it fly over the pass. Lightning stabbed down and grounded with roar.
Brian gestured to right and left. The bowman quickly found good firing positions, using the broken walls for cover, and started shooting down into the courtyard.
Julia pulled her attention away from them and back to what she had to do. She needed a way to stop any more soldiers reaching the fortress, because she couldn’t fight the ones already here anymore. That was obvious. They were too close to Marcus’ men; she would kill her own side. She chose a new target.
Craaaack! Craaaack!
Streaks of lightning arced across the early morning sky, and slammed repeatedly into the road in front of the advancing men. A crater three yards across was blasted into it, but it was still usable. She concentrated on hitting the road closer to the slope. With luck, she would cause a landslide to bury it and slow the enemy. She drew hard upon her magic, wincing at the thundering roar in her head. She’d never drawn this much before.
CraAAAAacK!
A solid bar of light connected the ground with the sky, leaving her blinking the after-image away. It blasted a massive crater into the ground, erasing the old one, and extending it up the cliff wall as well. The enemy bunched up to cross it, but they were still crossing, albeit slowly. The rock was too strong to break away easily. She could hit it again, but she doubted the result would be any different.
Concentrating on her ward, she tried to close the gap in their shattered wall again. To her amazement, it seemed to work, but as soon as she released it, the ward shimmered and collapsed. She raged at herself. The matrix she used was the same each time, but the results she achieved were different every time! It didn’t make sense. What was she doing wrong? She should have practised more, she should have insisted upon helping Renard; she should have forced Mathius to teach her warding!
Thock! Thock! Thock!
Arrows cascaded onto the tower. She ducked behind the wall, and one of her men dove atop her in an attempt to shield her with his armoured body.
Thunk!
“Arghhh!”
The guard slumped with an arrow through his neck, and fell away from her. He had died to protect her, and she didn’t even know his name. None of the arrows hit her or Brian, but another of the guardsmen was struck in the arm. He scooted down the steps, and out of the fight. Brian tried to return fire with his bow, but more arrows showe
red them.
“Stay down you fool, they have us pinned!” she hissed angrily, when he tried to rise again, and more arrows rained onto the tower. They knew she was up here. They knew where the lightning was coming from.
Brian ducked and snarled his reply. “I can see that my lady! They’re up to something. If they keep our heads down, I can’t stop ’em.”
She shut her eyes and covered her ears to stop the screams. Without looking, she sent lightning down in front of the gate.
Craaaack!
Peeking over the edge, she tried to see what was happening below. More arrows rained down, and she had to duck back. Shaking her head in disbelief, she turned to ask Brian if he had any ideas.
Thunk!
“Oh!” she cried, and blinked stupidly at the arrowhead protruding from her chest. Numbness spread down her right arm, as she fell behind the broken wall for protection.
Brian stared at her in horror. He quickly crossed the distance between them to give aid. He cut away her beautiful dress with his belt knife to expose the wound. It had hit her in the shoulder from behind, and pushed right through. The arrowhead was clearly visible standing out of her body, just below the point where her breast and right shoulder joined. Strangely, and to her immense relief, it didn’t seem to hurt now.
“If I pull this out, lady, it will bleed something awful. I think we should leave it there.”
She nodded weakly. Later... later would be better. “I think... think I’m going to pass out...”
“No you don’t! Keep talking to me.”
“What about?” she said faintly.
“Anything.”
She slumped sideways—and shrieked! The arrow sticking out of her back had ground against the wall. Brian quickly supported her until she could sit up. Oh God it hurt. She panted in time with the throbbing agony.
“Help me to see the road,” she gasped at the stabbing agony in her chest.
“But...,” Brian began, but then he nodded reluctantly.
He helped her stand, and supported her weight while she scanned the road for any weaknesses she’d missed. She had attacked it twice earlier, and achieved nothing, but now she had the time to really study it, she could see it ran over a shelf of rock nearer to the fortress. Below the shelf, she could see the burned remains of a town. Quickly, before her doubts could interfere with her magic, she hit that section with everything she had left in her.
CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK!
CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK!
As she slumped into Brian’s arms, the screams rose up around her, hammering her into the dark without mercy. She would never stop hearing them. The tower was groaning and shaking. It was falling, or was it her?
She was falling, falling forever—
Darkness.
* * *
16 ~ Purcell
Purcell of Elvissa, Lord Protector of the East, studied the cloudless sky and frowned. He thought he’d heard thunder just then. He was close enough to make out the fortress in the distance, but not the banner. Athione was like a huge stopper in a bottle, built to keep the Protectorate on its own side of the mountains. It was strong and its men well led. He was sure it hadn’t fallen. At least, that’s what he told himself.
His men were tired, but he decided to push on. Keverin’s letter requesting his aid, had made the situation sound dire and urgent. Besides, Athione maintained a notoriously good wine cellar; he was looking forward to sampling it. Days of marching had done wonders for his appetite. Why, he must have lost ten pounds or more!
Roughly a candlemark later, he marched his men through East Town, welcomed by Keverin’s folk, cheering and waving in excitement. Did they sound a little hysterical, a little desperate? Maybe they did, but who could blame them for that? Anyone living so close to the border would fear exactly the situation they now faced. Any help at all would be welcome. Elvissa’s banner was worth cheering about in his opinion. The men certainly appreciated it. He could feel them stiffening their spines, trying to make a good show of it despite their weariness.
They arrived before the east gates of the fortress, with every expectation of a warm welcome, but were met with silence. The gates were shut tight and locked of course. He would have done the same in Keverin’s position, but he was puzzled when he found no activity to indicate the defenders were going to open them.
“Ho the gate! Open,” he bellowed.
“Who are ye?”
Purcell blinked, struck dumb. What kind of idiot did Keverin use for a gatekeeper? “Open the God be blessed gate man! Can’t you see the banner?” He quickly checked to make sure, but his mountain on blue field was fluttering overhead where it should be.
“I can see fine. Any fool can fly a pretty banner.”
“You damned imbecile! I’m Purcell of Elvissa! Get your cursed captain!” When the guard didn’t reply, he assumed the idiot had gone to fetch someone in charge. “Stand easy lads,” he said, turning to his weary men.
With a groan they collapsed into tired heaps. Some took a drink from water bags, while others just lay there and went to sleep.
He looked on unhappily. If they needed to fight any time soon, he was in trouble. The men needed at least a day and night to recover, two or three would be better. He had set a brutal pace in his determination to get here, but now he wondered if he’d made a mistake. Just as he was about to lay down for a nap himself, lightning crackled. He flinched. It had struck nearby.
Craaaack! Craaaack!
Booom!
The ground seemed to leap up and slap his feet. By the God that had sounded close! His men scrambled to their feet pointing toward the west. He backed away from the gate trying to see what they were looking at. He saw clouds of dust rising into the air near the pass, if not actually in it. The sorcerers were attacking! He cursed the gatekeeper. The fate of the kingdom was being decided while he cooled his heels outside a locked gate.
CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK!
CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK!
KABOOOM!
The roar this time sounded like an avalanche. The sound rumbled on, and debris flew high into the air. Dust and small stones rained down on them. The men yelled, and ran to hug the walls. They pressed themselves flat in an effort to shield themselves.
“It’s a slide!” one man shouted. Another thought it might be a natural landslide.
Not with lightning like that, it’s not!
The rumbling finally ceased, and the walls stopped shaking. He cautiously left their safety. The ground had turned white, as if covered in fresh snow. It wasn’t snow. It was dust and gravel. He could still hear thunder in the distance, or thought he could. The noise had been so intense, that the silence sounded loud.
Eeeeeek!
His sword leapt into his hand like magic, but it was only the gate. It was open a few paces, and a contrite looking guardsman stood in the gap peering at him. His heart slowed, and he lowered his blade.
“Sorry m’lord, the God cursed—pardon m’lord. Them Hasians breached us early this morning. I didn’t dare let you in without orders, m’lord.”
Purcell bit back what he wanted to say about incompetent gatekeepers. “How bad? Are they inside?”
“Aye m’lord, there’s fighting in the west courtyard—”
Purcell cut him off. “Move, move, MOVE!” he bellowed at his men. He slapped them on the back as they neared, trying to hurry them through the gates. “Lock her up tight man, and show us the way!”
The gatekeeper knew an order when he heard one. He quickly complied and ran into the citadel.
They charged along the corridors and through the halls, following the gatekeeper as he chose the quickest way to the fighting. Finally, they burst back out into sunlight, and a scene of utter madness. Dead men lay on all sides of the courtyard. Blood and other nastier things were splashed over the cobbles. The gate was gone, and both towers were down, along with a goodly portion of the wall. A captain, clearly desperate and outnumbered,
was leading the defence. There was no sign of Keverin.
Purcell saw red and charged. “Elvissa!” he roared.
His men followed him, yelling their battle cries. “Elvissa, Elvissa!”
“Athione!” the defenders answered, desperately.
He slammed into the enemy, laughing like a madman, and cutting down anyone in his path. He led his men in a ferocious counterattack, ignoring wounds and casualties, in order to take full advantage of the dismay their sudden appearance had caused. He didn’t want to give them a chance to recover from their surprise.
Forcing his way toward the gate, he shoved the enemy out of the courtyard entirely, but he didn’t slow their advance. The legionnaires fought back hard, desperately trying to hold position, but step by step they were forced back. There were so many fallen men, he could hardly move without stumbling over the corpses. Many were legionnaires, but thousands of Devans were dead as well. Blood was running in rivers down the road; he had to be careful not to slip in the stuff. The enemy reformed into a square as their numbers dwindled, but slowly they were whittled down until only a handful remained. Undeterred, the last enemy sergeant ordered a charge. His men complied.
Roaring his hate, Purcell hacked another man down, and suddenly the battle was over. He blinked in bemusement still shaking with battle lust. Berserk with rage was how his father had died—his brother also. His family were famous for its berserkers. The groans of the dying faded to silence as his men took pity, and gave them the grace. Gasping and sweating, he bent to catch his breath, only then realising that he was standing on the brink of a sheer cliff. The road had been severed roughly twenty yards from the fortress.
What happened here?
The crevasse was at least two hundred yards wide, with the road continuing into the pass on the far side. Legionnaires stood there, watching him. Purcell forced himself to his full height, trying to make a good impression. Raising his sword high, he gave them a salute. To his surprise, a man shouldered his way through the enemy ranks and returned the salute. He held the gesture for a count of ten, before ordering his men to form up and march back to camp.