“It’s… hard to say,” Gribly began. He still looked nervous talking in front of other people, even now. “But I think we’ve hit a breaking point in this war. Traveller tells me that the time has come for him to take an active role in the defense of Vast. He’s been doing more than you all could know, but apparently it’s time for his preparations to take effect.”
“If I may be so bold, O Prophet,” Karanel interrupted, a slightly sarcastic edge to her tone, “may I ask, what preparations have been made, exactly?” Gribly nodded. He’d expected this question… good. He was learning tact.
“Even now,” he said, “the next wave of the Golden Army is preparing to assault us on all sides. We will fall, unless we have help. Traveller can only do so much, and if the Golden One or his Red Lieutenant were to appear, he will be needed for defense against them.”
“So?” Karanel was less than pleased, but Gribly ignored her insolence.
“What the enemy does not know, is that a force of our own is on the march. The Gray Aura is master of the realm of dreams… this you know, if you have followed the Old Beliefs, as you should.” Lauro wondered at that. Gribly himself hadn’t been of any religion… was he now? “The Aura has been visiting the dreams of men for some time now, in preparation. An army marches to our aid at this very moment.”
“What army? How can we know this is not just a ploy to bolster our hopes?”
Lauro could have hit Karanel. Did her arrogance know no bounds? But Gribly just smiled.
“The army of King Larion Vale,” he said. A shocked silence fell on them all, even Karanel. Lauro could not believe his ears… his father’s army? The one that had vanished, and been destroyed? Didn’t Marvol himself lead what was left of it? The White Wind? “What is more,” Gribly continued, “I will be leaving you shortly. I must travel… close by, to where… something vital to our defense is. I must retrieve it. Whether or not I will be back by the start of the battle, I do not know.”
Karanel Winter leaped up from her subservient position, a fire burning in her eyes. “This is insanity! The men look to you as a figurehead, Prophet! Are you such a coward as to abandon us on the eve of battle?”
Lauro sprang up, as did the rest of them. The prince had a rebuke ready on his lips…
…When the pitted ceiling of the Gray Cathedral exploded as a monstrous ball of fire punched through it like glass. In a blur of light and motion too fast for reaction, it plummeted toward them…
…Only to halt several yards too high, suspended in midair. Debris fell all around, but they were swept out of range by an invisible force.
Lauro turned, and saw Traveller standing casually behind them, one hand raised towards the inferno. He closed his fist, and the fire went out. Lauro looked again and saw that the missile had actually been one of the Golden Nation’s thunderballs, large and metal and misshapen. Without the fire, it looked like a giant floating pebble.
Traveller waved his hand, and the thunderball flew sideways, crashing to a rest far from them in the Cathedrals’ interior. Through the shattered ceiling overhead, the gathered generals could see many more thunderballs streaking through the air.
“So it begins,” Lauro murmured. Traveller stared around the table, daring anyone else to speak out of turn.
“Captain Arlin,” Gribly addressed the ranger, “I require two of your men to join me. This journey I travel on will be harsh but quick, and none of us may survive.”
The close call had shaken them all, but Arlin reacted quickly and effectively. “It shall be done. Daslite, fetch Raenin and Armir. Gribly, Raenin is a woman, but she will serve you better than most men. Will this be acceptable?”
“It will,” the Prophet nodded. “And don’t worry, Daslite. Don’t leave him. I’ll get them on my own. Traveller?”
The Gray Aura stepped forward. “Now is the time, Lauro Vale. Lead your men to victory, and I will be in the skies above you. Call on me only in the most dire need, and I will answer you with fury from the Heavens.”
“My thanks, O Aura,” Lauro nodded. He turned. “You who have gathered here… I know you all. I trust you all. My only command is this: fight for the good of us all. Fight in whatever way you see fit, but let none of our forces stand alone against the tide. One front, one mind, one body. We will see this through to the end.”
“I may lose faith in you, Lauro Vale,” Karanel said. All eyes turned to her, horrified. “But not today,” she finished.
“And I thank you,” Lauro said. Without reason, he grinned. “Let’s send them back to the Blaze, shall we?”
For the moment, all others at the table seemed to vanish. It was just the two of them. The former Windmaster had a murderous glint in her eye.
“Oh yes,” she smiled grimly, “we shall indeed.”
Chapter Seventeen: Clashing
Lauro gazed through one of the peepholes in the Stone-Stridden barriers of rock that formed the Vastic Remnant’s first line of defense. Around him, the officers in charge of his warriors clustered at similar peepholes. The view was a sobering one.
The barrier dropped off into an almost-vertical incline, and a mile from it, spread out from side to side, as far as the eye could see, was a massive horde of golden-armored Coalskin soldiers, bearing pikes and swords, round, spiked shields, and masks of bronze. Scattered throughout were the hulking golems, like giant metal apes, gathered in groups of six each, what Karanel reported as being called Fists. Behind the golems lumbered several Thunders, battalions of the huge armored, destroyer wagons that spit thunderballs. All this he had seen before… but never in so many numbers.
“Any ideas?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
“If only they didn’t have the Hearts and Wraiths,” Morr mused beside him, “we could make short work of the soldiers and war machines. Pit Striders… bah. Hate them.”
Morr was one of the older rangers, and for some reason Arlin had assigned him to tag along in Lauro’s entourage instead of fighting with the main body of the rangers. Interestingly enough, Gram had sent him an emissary, too, early on. Maybe the men were to spy on him. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. The factions would hang together… or they would hang in pieces.
“Indeed,” Lauro agreed, keeping his gaze on the peephole. “The Wraiths are worse, though. I can block fire, but only if I see it coming.” Wraiths were Pit Striders using shadows and stealth to attack. He had lost several good officers to their assassins’ ways.
“But the common soldier’s worst enemy is a Heart,” Morr countered. The idle banter helped keep away the inevitability of the coming attack. “Wraiths won’t bother with a grunt like they will a king … but Hearts, they just burn us as we come. Blasted flame-Striding.”
Lauro grinned. “They haven’t got you yet, though. And that’s got to mean something.”
Morr smiled, showing a mouth full of toothless gaps. “Heh heh. No indeed. Ain’t a Strider alive who can best the Hurler.” He patted the strange wooden-metal weapon that all rangers apparently carried on their persons in wartime.
Lauro grimaced. Fire-hurlers had saved his life on two occasions, but they still made him uncomfortable. He suspected most people felt the same around inventions originally made by the traitorous Red Aura. Rumor said fire-hurlers were witchcraft… but he knew they were far, far worse than that. Machines were far more deadly than imaginary sorcery.
Something caught his eye amid the seething horde beyond no-man’s land.
“Best keep that Hurler out of the way, Morr,” he said tensely. “Another volley’s coming.”
“I see ‘em,” the ranger replied, stepping back from the peephole and looking skyward. “We’ll have to…”
Whatever he said next, the roar of thunderballs drowned in an instant. Lit aflame, they burst from the line of destroyers behind the main body of Coalskins, zipping through the air with a deadly hissing, shrieking noise. Half of the volley arced upward like slow arches of fire, falling to earth behind and amongst the three forces gathered at th
e hill’s crest. It would take them several seconds to arrive, in which Lauro hoped the Sky Striders would be able to prepare. Former Wind Striders had found their abilities greatly increased in recent months, just as he had. Hopefully it would be enough.
The other half of the volley careened straight into the stone barricades and the inclines below them.
“STEADY!” Lauro roared, hoping the rear ranks would hear the warning… and then the thunderballs hit.
The earth shook with such force that every man of the army was thrown to the ground. There was no feeling but pain and shuddering instability. There was no sight but the sight of shattering earth and spraying stone. There was no sound but the roar of flame and the thunder of metal on rock.
Lauro, of course, did not fall as the rest. The moment before impact, he had stepped off the ground and into the air. It was only a foot or so, yet it kept him from being affected by the powerful kinetic force of the explosions. He’d learned the trick from previous encounters; unfortunately, it wouldn’t protect him from the explosions themselves the same way.
A ball of orange flashed out below. Lauro cursed internally as the world shuddered around him: a thunderball was heading right towards-
BOOM!
He twisted in the air, flipping in place to create a Striding-shield of air around his body. The barricade directly to his left exploded in a tumult of red-hot stone as the thunderball actually broke through. Deadly shards and chunks of rock flew in all directions, killing men and mortally wounding others. Lauro felt several strike his air-shield and rebound off into Aura-knew-where. The thunderball was slowed considerably, but it still managed to plow through a rank of unlucky soldiers before coming to a complete stop.
Lauro ended the Stride and dropped to the ground, trying his hardest trying his hardest to withstand the continued blasts. It was difficult, but he managed. How the Golden Nation kept making more thunderballs, he had never figured out. Perhaps they had Stone Striders to draw to continually draw more metal… metal up from the ground. Morr might know. Where was the man?
Oh, spirits of sky and cloud… no! He bounded forward, to where the ranger lay on his side, missing an arm and bleeding from an ugly shard of rock lodged in his gut.
“Morr!” Lauro screamed over the pandemonium. He cradled the old man’s head in his hands, but the ranger’s eyes had already closed forever. Blood stained his forehead. “Blast! Bloody Coalskins!” Lauro let the man lie, lurching up in time to watch a second, then a third strike punch through the barrier. Why were the blasts so much stronger this time? The barrier had never, ever broken before.
Then, suddenly, everything was silent. Lauro trembled, but in anger, not fear. The battalions of the Remnant were scattered and scarred from the attack’s ferocity. Maybe they would recover… maybe not. Two volleys. Then a charge. It’s always that. Why? Does it matter? Looks to be the same this time, the last time… ever.
A thundering roar broke the momentary lull in action. Lauro sprinted to the smoking gap in the wall just in time to watch the Golden Army surge forward with one motion in the grandest and most terrifying charge he had ever seen. Golems trampled their own as they raced to make the front of the race. Destroyers rumbled slowly after, Thunder upon Thunder, ready for the killing stroke when it came.
Lauro chanced a glance backward. It wouldn’t take long for the charge to come. Could he re-organize the men in time? Perhaps. He had to try.
Was now the time to call on Traveller? This certainly promised to be the worst battle yet… the one to end them all, probably. But…
No, he decided. Not yet. They have not even begun to tax their greatest strength. Neither shall we.
“Men of Vastion!” he roared. “To me! To me! Rally to the breaches! Defend the barricade! Prepare the defense!”
And to his utter surprise… they did. Every one of them… even the ones almost dead with wounds. With fire in their eyes, they rushed forward, ready to breathe their last in defense of freedom.
“The White Hawk!” they cried. “The Wind Throne! Lauro Vale! LAURO VALE!”
A brigade of spearmen formed behind him. Two Sky Striders in winged helmets soared through the air from where they had been in the rear, landing beside him with grim expressions, hands sparking with fell energy. Lauro unsheathed the sword he had looted from Automo’s forge, raising it over his head with a furious battle-cry.
“For VASTION!”
~
The Gray Cathedral shook so hard Gribly thought it would collapse on their heads. But it did not, and he remained as deep in the meditative state as he could, seated in the place where the altar to the Creator had once been, with crumbling statues of the Aura placed in eleven- no, ten- alcoves around him. The statue of Automo, strangely, had fallen entirely to pieces before the Remnant armies had even arrived. Did they know, those ancestors of men who once worshipped here? Did some prophet, greater than I, foretell of the Red Aura’s betrayal? So much is lost in the passage of time…
…time…
“What is he doing, O Aura?” whispered Raenin. Gribly did not open his eyes, or allow the interruption to distract him.
“Creating what is called Allotel Ar’hele, in the Nymphtongue,” Traveller explained.
Armir whistled. “A Dream Portal. But there have been no Spirit Striders powerful enough to do that in… hundreds of years. And he’s a Stone Strider, not a… a…”
“One prism serves equally well for two lights,” the Gray Aura said quietly, “and Gribly has created a Dream Portal twice before.”
On and on the rangers and the Aura talked, until their words became a haze of nothing, washing over Gribly’s mind like the lullaby Old Murie had sung to him when he was still young enough to be afraid of the dark.
“When the king grows old and the world bleeds gold,
When all our hopes have come to grief,
Doubt not that we a savior need,
A brother and a thief...”
Strange, how it all made sense to him now. The lullaby had been about him. Strange, too, how rangers were not afraid of the Aura as were other men. Perhaps it was because many of them were part nymph. But that wasn’t the point, was it?
Snap.
“Ow!” Gribly exclaimed, opening his eyes. There was a painful throbbing in the bruise on his head, the one from almost passing through the portal he’d created inside his otherworldly dream the night before. The others looked at him quizzically. “I’ve got it,” he said, a bit sheepishly.
“I will be going, then,” Traveller said. “They have need of me in the battle. Do not tarry, O Prophet, no matter what joy or sorrow awaits you at the Giant’s Bridge.”
Lightning flashed, and the Gray Aura was gone.
“Armir. Raenin. Come here,” Gribly said, and they obeyed. “Put out your hands.” They did.
Standing up took more effort than he’d expected. Creating the Portal had drained him considerably, even with the aid of Traveller’s staff. He leaned on it even more.
“What will happen now?” Raenin asked. She was an inquisitive one, with a voice like a child’s… but he’d seen what she could do.
“Take hold of the staff with me, you on its tip, Armir, and you below my hands, Raenin. Both hands, both of you. Hold tightly. Good. Now close your eyes.”
“You didn’t say…” Raenin began.
“Just do it.” They did.
Gribly bowed his head, blinking once, gathering his strength for the jump. Having them close their eyes wasn’t necessary, of course… but he knew it would frighten them to see how he would bring them through the confines of the Otherworld and into another, distant place in their own land.
By the power of the Aura of dreams, he intoned in his head, I beg leave to travel where no flesh shall live. Through the portal of my mind, through the gates of my spirit, allow me to travel.
Move me, Creator of the world… as you see fit.
Then he lifted his head, fixing an image just south of the Giant’s Bridge in his mind. It
wouldn’t do to walk into Sheolus’s trap, if trap it was. They would approach from the opposite direction he expected.
The jump was near. Very, very near. He could feel it in his bones.
“Close your eyes, Raenin. I meant it.” She obeyed, chastised. How strange, to have fully grown men and women obey him, simply because.
Gribly jumped. Not in the air, but through the portal.
The Power of Spirit filled him, and his eyes glowed with a light brighter than the noonday sun that no longer shone. He cried out in pain and glee- he couldn’t help it! The exhilaration, the suffering, rolled into one… it was all he could do not to burn up with the power of it.
Dire Sparks (Song of the Aura, Book Five) Page 15