by Joseph Lallo
* * *
17 ~ First Mage
Navarien lowered his sword and led his remaining men back to camp. Lucius had been right. They had needed to weaken the Devan mages more before attacking. He should have listened! He’d been so pleased when Lucius changed his tactics, that he hadn’t questioned the plan. He had welcomed the chance to act! It was too late now, but he wished he could take back his suggestions.
This mess was his fault. If he hadn’t pressed Lucius to attack... he sighed. Although the sorcerers had collapsed after hitting the ward, just as Belgard said would happen, he’d been pleased with the results of the strike. The gate was destroyed as intended, but more than that, the wall was breached allowing his men to attack on a wider front. An excellent bonus, and one he quickly took advantage of, by pushing third battalion up the road in order to secure the breach. Second and fourth battalions marched to reinforce as soon as the road cleared. He’d taken direct command of first battalion and followed them up.
Then disaster had struck. Somehow the enemy had saved one of their mages to use in a counterattack. He’d seen sorcerers in action many times, but this was beyond anything he’d ever witnessed. Lightning flew through the sky, and where it grounded, men died. His men had fought well, and he’d still hoped to take the fortress despite the setback, but he’d needed to get his men under cover in the citadel. The lightning would’ve been unable to seek them in its halls, but he never gained the chance to test his theory.
Lightning crashed down again, but this time it grounded in the middle of second and fourth battalions. Fifteen hundred men dead—a calamity on a scale never before witnessed in the legion. Worse, the mountain itself was shattered leaving a crevasse hundreds of yards across.
He remembered staring at it in stunned disbelief, then looking impotently on as the Devan’s destroyed his third battalion to the last man. Never had the Protectorate met such a defeat. Half his legion gone—it had taken two candlemarks at most.
Navarien led his men wearily back into camp, and dismissed them. The injured would be tended by the sorcerers when they recovered, but there were very few. Lightning rarely left survivors, and those injured in other ways were trapped on the far side of the crevasse. The Devans were even now putting them to death. They had no sorcerers to heal such hideous wounds. Giving them the grace was all they could reasonably do. He attributed no blame to them; it was mercy.
He sighed again. It was time to make his final report to Lucius. He had no doubt that his life was forfeit. The only question was whether his execution would come now or later. If later, perhaps he could contrive a way to die in battle, and cheat the executioner of his fee.
He strode through the camp, ignoring the stunned looks of his men. They were his no longer. His captains tried to get his attention, but he raised a hand and shook his head. He didn’t stop to speak with them. He entered Lucius’ tent without invitation or trying to tidy himself, and found the mage standing silently to one side. Belgard was seated upon a low stool staring at a mirror in his lap. Rather than wait, he came to attention and gave his report to Lucius. The sorcerer listened in silence, and didn’t reprimand him. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he shook his head slightly in warning.
“A very concise report, General,” Belgard said, finally looking up. He smiled pleasantly, as if passing the time of day, and not the near destruction of the legion. “I’ve been watching your nemesis in the glass. It seems we were mistaken about the usefulness of the girl they summoned.”
Navarien turned back to Lucius. “Am I relieved of command?”
Belgard answered again. “You still command the legion, General. Lucius was the one relieved. I’m lead mage now.”
* * *
18 ~ Butcher's Bill
Purcell stumbled back to the fortress intent on finding Keverin. Everywhere he looked, wounded men were being rushed through the gates, or rather, through where the gates used to be. It must have been a terrifying sight-seeing those ancient walls and towers coming down—like the end of the world. Thousands lay dead, many more legionnaires than Devans thank the God, but even so, there must have been close to twenty five hundred dead guardsmen. It was hard to be sure when they lay in such tangled heaps.
He noticed one strange thing. Many of the legionnaires had died without a mark on them. No sword had killed those men. Magic, it had to be. Although they were his enemies, death by magic was a bad way to die. It felt somehow dishonourable. He snorted at the thought. There were no good ways to die. If he had to choose one, he would say dying in bed with his family surrounding him was the way to go.
Two of his captains joined him. “Assemble the men and settle them in barracks. Make sure they eat something before bed. Detail some of the stronger men to care for our dead. I might need some of the men to help stand watches and such later, but not yet. Report to me in a candlemark with the butcher’s bill.”
Both men nodded, and excused themselves.
He found Marcus directing his men. They were digging frantically in what must be a gate tower by its location. It was just a pile of rubble now, as was most of the curtain wall. If it hadn’t been for the new crevasse, Athione would have been lost. As it was, it needed major rebuilding.
“Where’s Keverin?” he said as he approached. Marcus reluctantly turned away from what his men were doing, to salute and greet him. He returned the salute. “I don’t see him.”
“My thanks for your timely assistance, m’lord. Lord Keverin was injured when the walls came down. He’s inside. Lady Jessica is tending him.”
“How bad?”
“It was close, my lord,” Marcus admitted. “He lost a lot of blood, but I think he’ll live. He managed to get a tourniquet on.”
That relieved some of his worry, and he nodded. “I’ll visit with him shortly. I—” he broke off as an excited shout took Marcus’ attention.
Four guardsmen working together, lifted a heavy timber clear of the rubble. Another much smaller man, lay on his belly and worked his head and shoulders into the hole they uncovered. He shouted something, but the sound was muffled and Purcell couldn’t make it out.
“They’re alive, Captain,” the guardsman said when he reappeared.
“Right! Grab those timbers,” Marcus said, and turned to another group. “You lot help them. I want those stones braced before we dig any deeper.”
The men that Marcus chose quickly braced the loose stones before clearing the lower ones. In short order they had a cave-like opening cleared, and the short guardsman went in again. It wasn’t long before he came back out dragging someone in green.
By the God—a woman!
“What idiot let a woman get mixed up in this?” he said, but no one answered.
“Careful! She’s been hit in the shoulder—arrow.”
Purcell could see it as the men pulled the unconscious woman clear. Her dress was soaked in blood and torn where the arrow thrust through. Her beautiful face was pale from loss of blood, and smudged with dust. Her hands were thick with dried blood. A guardsman crawled out of the hole right behind her. He looked like a ghost—white with dust that covered him head to foot. As soon as he was clear of the rubble, he shook off the offered hands, and limped over to the woman.
“Brian, stay by me,” Marcus ordered. “Udall, take her inside to Jessica.”
An older man, a sergeant, hoisted the woman in his arms and walked away. All the men followed her with their eyes until she disappeared from view. They turned back to their tasks murmuring to each other.
“Report!” Marcus said.
Brian braced to attention, and began. Purcell listened in stunned disbelief. Everyone stopped to listen, allowing him to scan their faces. He had expected to see outright shock at the young man’s words, but instead they were nodding to each other. He could even hear a few comments that verified some points of the report. No woman could do what Brian insisted she had done. Calling lightning and killing men—it was impossible. Only men wield
ed the God’s gift of magic. It had always been so.
“All right, Brian,” Marcus said kindly and clasped Brian’s shoulder for a moment. “Get some rest.”
“Yes sir.”
Purcell watched the young man limp away.
Marcus detailed a few of the men to watch the enemy in the pass, and ordered the rest of them to tidy up. He wanted a chest high barricade erected in place of the missing gate and broken walls. Purcell nodded approvingly. It would slow any attack the Hasians could cobble together, though he wouldn’t like trying to cross the crevasse in their place. Marcus would make any crossing expensive. A few hundred bowmen could hold against ten times their number, especially with something like the crevasse slowing their advance.
Marcus led the way into the citadel.
“You’re injured?” he said, noticing the limp.
“It’s nothing, a mere scratch. My lord is with the rest of the wounded in the great hall. Lady Jessica is tending them with some help from the town folk.”
Purcell dodged a group of boys running toward the courtyard carrying buckets of bloodied water, and paused to watch them, before hurrying to catch up with Marcus.
“All our mages are dead except two. Mathius is dying, the other...” Marcus shrugged. “Renard is unconscious, but his eyes are open—like in a trance.”
He hissed in dismay. After all Keverin’s work to assemble the library and attract mages to study within it, they were all dead. Mortain had set them back years. Worse still, although the crevasse prevented them reaching Athione, the sorcerers could attack from a distance using magic. There was no doubt the crevasse protected the fortress as well as the gate did, better maybe, but it also meant a counter-attack was impossible.
They entered Athione’s great hall. Wounded men lay upon the floor in rows, groaning or screaming in pain. Many lay unconscious. There were hundreds, and more being brought in all the time. If too many more arrived, they would spill out the door into the entry hall.
Purcell followed Marcus as he navigated the rows of misery to approach Lady Jessica. She was tending to the injured girl. The torn dress had been replaced with a clean white nightgown. Cleansed of the dirt and blood, she looked much better than she had, but the arrow hadn’t been removed yet.
“Lord Purcell would speak with you, my lady,” Marcus said, bowed quickly, and excused himself.
Purcell looked for Keverin, but couldn’t see him. “How’s Kev?”
Jessica’s face crumpled, and tears welled up. He stepped forward to comfort her. She cried almost silently in his arms, beating her fists upon his armoured chest.
“He’s dying,” Jessica said finally.
“I’m so sorry. I thought he stopped the bleeding.”
“He did, but I think he lost too much blood. He has a fever.”
“What about your healers, surely there’s something—”
Jessica shook her head. “We always relied on Darius for healing. He’s dead, and Renard is... I don’t know, but he’s not himself.”
He looked grimly at all the wounded. He could see dozens of men from Elvissa lying within a few yards of him, and he knew there must be others. He should have brought healers with him! Why hadn’t he thought to bring some?
“Is he awake, can I see him?”
Jessica wiped her eyes on a piece of bandage. “You can see him, but he’s been unconscious since they brought him in.”
He frowned. He needed to know who was in command of Athione and its men. With Keverin dying childless, the question was ultimately the king’s to answer, but they were at war. Something had to be done now, not in a season or more.
“I’m sorry to ask, but I have to. Did he name an heir?”
She shook her head. “Marcus commands all our forces until Keverin—while he recovers.”
That at least was something. “That’s fine. I need to talk with him about the defence. I don’t know what we can do about the sorcerers, but we have to try.”
“They can’t get in now, surely?”
He shook his head. “Not easily. Maybe not at all, but they can still attack us using magic. I’m sorry about Keverin, truly sorry.”
She nodded, and turned back to the wounded girl.
He hurried away to find Marcus.
* * *
19 ~ Sorceress
Julia awoke to find herself covered by blankets on the floor of the great hall. She stared up at the huge chandelier in puzzlement. What was going on? There was a man asleep next to her on the right. She stared at him silently. He was dead.
To her left a man was whimpering in pain. “They can’t take me hand, they can’t take me hand,” he mumbled over and over.
She tried to sit up and see to him. “Hnnn!” She slumped back as the pain in her chest pounded her back down. She barely stayed conscious, but fought against the black tide, until it receded. “Somebody...” she called weakly. “What’s happening? It hurts so much. Please, anybody?”
Jessica appeared and knelt by her side. “Shushhhh, you’ll be all right, I promise. We’ll get it out soon. Shushhhh, shushhhh, shushhhh now.”
Jessica blotted the sweat beading on Julia’s face. The coolness of the damp cloth helped. She groaned as she remembered the courtyard, and what she’d done there.
“I’m a killer. Oh God, I’ve killed people—lots of people.”
Jessica stroked her hair soothingly. “You did what you had to do. You saved us.”
“Is Kev all right? I couldn’t stay with him. I had to help Marcus. I had to try.”
Jessica covered her face and sobbed, her shoulders heaving with the force of her grief. He must be dead then. Despite her dislike for Keverin’s high-handed ways, she wouldn’t have wished him ill. She felt sorry for Jessica. She was alone now, just like her. She looked beyond her friend to the man standing at her back. His armour was battle scarred, and he had grey in his beard. He was one of the older guardsmen, but still fit to fight. He looked glumly back at her. He was carrying an armful of bandages now, not a sword, but she knew his face. She couldn’t remember his name.
“Our lord is dying, m’lady. The mages are dead or dying, and the town folk have no magic to heal any of them. Herbs and such aren’t enough.”
Not dead after all then. The pain was a throbbing fire in her chest, making her feel lightheaded and sick. All she wanted to do was sleep; thinking felt too difficult.
“Magic is only for killing people,” she whispered wearily.
He looked shocked. “Darius healed many. It’s said that in the old days all healers were mages, but only the strong ones can do it now.”
“How did they?”
“Who can say? Maybe the books tell the way of it, but if they do, I don’t know it.”
The library again. If she hadn’t snuck out of bed that night, she wouldn’t have learned the uses of magic, and she wouldn’t be responsible for so many deaths. She frowned and reluctantly realised something else. If not for the library, Athione would probably be under new management. It was the cause of her current troubles, but maybe it could be her redemption also.
“Jessica? Jessica!” The grief-stricken woman looked up at her in a daze. “I might be able to help Kev and the others. I can’t do it with this damned thing sticking out of me,” she said, laying a hand gently next to the arrow.
“Do you think so?” Jessica said, brightening with sudden hope.
There was no chance if she didn’t try, and precious little if she did. All in all, she preferred trying to help over listening to the screams. There were some she couldn’t escape—they were in her head, but the ones here in the hall might be silenced if she could learn enough.
“All I can do is try. Now the arrow please, it hurts.”
“Yes. The arrow has to come out first. Of course—yes!”
Jessica ran out of Julia’s sight and came back with another helper. He was another older man, perhaps a retired guardsman, one too old to fight or stand watc
hes. He quickly helped her sit up. That was agony in itself, but she felt better after. Leaning forward didn’t seem to hurt as much. He pulled her gown down to get at the arrowhead, and mumbled an apology at the liberty of exposing her breast. She would have laughed if the pain hadn’t been so bad.
“This will hurt, lady. Please don’t move.”
He gently grasped the arrowhead, and pain crackled through her chest, like a red hot poker. She screamed at the agony; she couldn’t help it. She tried not to move as he asked, but it was no good. She arched her back at the pain. Someone grabbed her flailing arms to prevent her pushing him away.
“AEiii!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “AEiii!”
She screamed without pause for breath, but finally the pain ebbed, and she slumped. She was a quivering wreck, panting and sweating, but she was glad it was over. She looked down at her chest to see the arrow still there.
“What are you doing? Get... it... out!”
“I’m sorry!” the old man seemed close to tears. “Truly m’lady. I’m sorry, but I had to cut the head off first.”
“Oh God. All right.”
“Brace yourself,” he said before nodding to his companion at her back.
Jessica’s helper braced her shoulder with one hand, and yanked the arrow out with the other. This time, crackles of lightning danced at her fingertips as she grabbed for something, anything, to stop the agony.
Darkness sucked her down.
She awoke a few minutes later to feel the man bandaging her chest. Tears streamed over her cheeks, and she sniffled silently. She wasn’t crying exactly, but her eyes seemed not know that.
“Thank you... feels... better,” she said, hiccoughing the words. The old man looked at her worriedly.
What? Oh!
She raised her hands and stared in fascination. Tiny lightning bolts were crackling from finger to finger like a miniature storm. She released her magic, and they dispersed.