Seven Sorcerers: Book Three of the Books of the Shaper

by John R. Fultz

  “They come!” The Feathered Serpent shouted his warning. Vireon turned to face the open sea, and his Giants did the same. A storm gathered far above his head, gray and black clouds swirling in to fill the sky from every direction. Dahrima did not know if it was Khama’s magic or Vireon’s power that brought the stormclouds. Perhaps both.

  Cold rain fell in sheets and the wind rose to howling as the first ranks of sky-ships appeared on the horizon. They flew in a line that stretched from east to west as far as the eye could see, though as they came closer their lines converged. There were thousands of them, floating, flying miracles of varicolored sails and golden wood. Each one sported two sets of wings like those of great, white bats, flapping against the wind. Dahrima had never seen so many ships assembled anywhere, let alone among the clouds.

  The vessels grew larger and larger, until the true size of them became apparent. Even the Giants drew in their breath at the sheer scale of the dreadnoughts. Each vessel was large enough for a hundred Giants to board, but they did not engage in such travels. The Uduru and Udvorg must remain close to the earth; they braved neither sea nor sky.

  The glinting of spears and armor along the dreadnoughts’ railings became visible, yet their decks were still unseen thanks to their great altitude. The armada slowed as it came closer to the coastline, each row of ships dropping lower to the sea, followed closely by the one behind it. Now their numbers filled perhaps a quarter of the visible sky, stretching back to the flat horizon.

  Khama had said there were three thousand of these ships, each carrying a thousand warriors. If each Giant in the valley could bring down a single ship, that would leave only a handful. Dahrima joined them now in hefting great blocks of masonry, clumps of ruined walls, the stems of broken pillars, and other great fragments of earth. The very stones of Shar Dni would be their weapons against the armada. But not yet. They awaited Vireon’s word as the Feathered Serpent glided above, drawing the armada’s attention with his gleaming rainbow of plumage.

  Vireon grew even taller as the dreadnoughts drew closer and sank lower. Now the Giant-King towered twice as tall as any other Giant, yet his great fists were empty, the greatsword still sheathed upon his back. The Feathered Serpent, too, grew larger. It hovered above Vireon’s crown, coiling to face the armada with feline head and amber eyes. Thunder and rain filled the valley while Zyung’s armada filled the bay. A flash of lightning flared amid the sky-ships, but struck none of them. Khama had made it clear that the magic powering Zyung’s ships made them in capable of burning, and the sorcerers on board would keep them free of his lightnings. Dahrima saw none of the globes of light that were their primary defense, but she soon learned the reason for that.

  A vast flock of winged creatures leaped from the decks of the sky-ships. Some sorcerous signal must have called them into the sky. Armored lancers rode in saddles on the backs of the flying lizards. The long beaks of the beasts gleamed wet and yellow, shod with sharpened bronze, or steel, or some alien metal. The metallic beaks would make them even more deadly, capable of snapping a man in half, or shearing off a Giant’s arm. Dahrima watched the flock fill the sky before the galleons. So this was to be the armada’s vanguard. Men riding beasts through the sky. Khama had guessed as much. She was learning to trust the wisdom of the Feathered Serpent.

  Vireon lifted a massive marble pillar from the rubble. He raised it high in both arms as every Giant behind him lifted a section of the shattered metropolis. One shout from the Giant-King’s lips and his people hurled their stones as one. The massive volley flew across the sky, arcing above the ranks of lizard-riders toward the amassing dreadnoughts.

  The splintering of wood filled Dahrima’s ears above the storm. Masts, decks, and hulls exploded as the great stones found their marks, tearing through the golden galleons. Many in the front ranks went down immediately, smashed to bits by the fury of Giants hurling earthy destruction. Other ships lost wings, masts, sails, or endured massive holes in their forequarters. Dahrima took great pleasure in seeing at least twenty of the impossible vessels crash into the storm-tossed sea. Yet now the globes of light appeared as Khama had said they would, blinking to life about every ship that was not already lost.

  The Giants picked more slabs of marble and granite from the earth, shedding moss and mud as they tossed them high. Yet the second volley was aimed at the flocks of winged lizards, which were almost upon the valley now. The lances of the beast-riders were long enough to skewer Giants, and their reptiles’ great claws would be as deadly as their razor beaks. Dahrima hurled a block of stone at a diving lizard-beast. It crushed both rider and beast at once, sending them into the shallows of the sea. Hundreds of stones flew from Giant fingers, and hundreds of the winged lizards died along with their riders.

  Yet now the beasts flew among the Udvorg, passing by Vireon and the Feathered Serpent as if ordered to avoid them. Lances, beaks, and claws struck at shoulders, arms, and heads. The Udvorg struck back with spear and sword, swiping men from the backs of their mounts and cleaving the sky-beasts’ wings and heads. As the winged host descended, Dahrima imagined the Giants as wolves set upon by a vicious flock of ravens. She avoided the plunging lances of two riders and drove her spear through the belly of the nearest lizard. The beast screeched and flew on, trailing a string of entrails. It did not fall from the sky until Vantha’s longspear impaled it, as well as the body of its rider.

  In the bay now the glowing galleons were sinking out of the sky to sit gracefully upon the water. As each ship became water-borne two things happened: Its double set of wings withdrew into its hull, and the sphere of golden light protecting it faded. The first rank of dreadnoughts approached the shoreline, sailing on water instead of air.

  Vireon blew a single note on the great war horn that had belonged to Angrid. He had inherited it along with the Udvorg King’s crown. Along the ridges ten thousand archers of Uurz and Udurum let their arrows fly toward the flying lizards and their knights. The sky was so thick with them that the archers could hardly miss. Across the breadth of the valley man and beast glided among a hail of black-feathered shafts.

  Dahrima laughed as her axe clove a swooping lizard-knight in two, and arrows bounced off her thick skin. The arrows of men could not pierce the thick skins of Giants. Knowing this, Vireon had commanded the bowmen to await his signal. The Giants were impervious to the death raining about them, but the winged lizards were not. Peppered with biting shafts, scores of the beasts fell from the sky. Some of their riders survived the fall; their armor defied arrows almost as well as Giantskin. However, these knights soon found themselves afoot among a legion of Udvorg who crushed them like insects, or sliced them apart before they could raise a lance.

  A second volley of arrows filled the valley, and more beasts fell from the sky. Dahrima killed three more lizards struggling to stay airborne, then her axe took the lives of five lancers who fought her on the ground. They were fierce enough warriors for Men, but they could not stand against Giants. No human could, except perhaps a sorcerer.

  The legions of lizard-riders were soon routed, and the storm broke overhead. Rays of sunlight poured through the clouds as dreadnoughts crowded the bay. Their broad decks swarmed with silver-mailed Manslayers. A few hundred flying lizards escaped the continuous rain of arrows and the flashing spears of Giants, returning now to their water-borne ships.

  The archers along the ridges cheered, and the Giants in the valley laughed. Shafts of sunlight fell across the bay, and the dreadnoughts gleamed bright as gold. The first rank of vessels made the shallows, three hundred of them at least, and a series of ramps sprouted from each middle deck. Manslayers streamed from them like swarms of silvery ants, running up the beach to throw their lives away against the army of Giants.

  More companies of Zyungian warriors came rowing to the beach on lean landing craft deployed by the dreadnoughts stationed further out. Hundreds of these lesser boats glided between the massive vessels like canoes through canyons.

  The Giants let t
hem come. Vireon stood still at the head of the Udvorg ranks. His legion awaited the onrushing hordes as he had directed them to do. From the decks of the dreadnoughts arose smaller globes of light now, each one with a silver-robed sorcerer floating at its center. The God-King would send the bulk of his forces against the Giants now, including his wizards.

  Which one was Zyung’s ship? Dahrima could not tell the dreadnoughts apart. The main sail of each vessel bore the face of Zyung with his eyes of fire. Would the God-King come forth to face the Giant-King himself? Or would he let others do his fighting? She lost count of the sorcerers gliding from the anchored ships into the valley. There were hundreds of them. More ships rested along the base of the cliffs to the east and west of the Sharrian harbor, and more eager Manslayers rowed from them with spears, blades, and shields reflecting the sun’s fury.

  They were tall, these Manslayers. Not Giants, but taller than normal Men. From their forward rush and the dark eyes behind their visored helms, she could tell they did not fear the Udvorg, the Uduru, or the Uduri. That meant they did not fear death.

  They must be taught fear this day.

  The archers along the ridges directed their volleys at the swarming Manslayers. Perhaps one shaft in ten found its mark, while most were deflected by armored plate or shield. Like the sails of their ships, the invaders’ shields bore the face of Zyung, his eyes those of a raging God.

  As the first of the Manslayers met the Giants, the Feathered Serpent rose from Vireon’s shoulders and flew into the ranks of gliding sorcerers. Now Vireon blew two more blasts on his war horn, and the Legions of Uurz and Udurum footmen poured down the sides of the valley, twin floods of purple and black, green and gold, to meet the swirling silver of the Manslayers.

  Dahrima waded among the Zyungians, turning the wicked blades of their spears with her shield, slicing them neck to groin with her axe, stomping on the corpses of dead men, hewing down one challenger after another.

  Now a new kind of rain fell in the valley, a rain of blood spraying from the burst flesh of men as they died. The Giants waded through a sea of rushing Manslayers. They could not kill all of the invaders; the foes’ numbers were too great, and they would not stop flooding into the valley.

  Dahrima saw the first Udvorg fall, his eye and brain pierced by a Manslayer’s flashing blade. She hacked her way toward the Giantslayer, but he was lost in the mêlée before she could avenge the blue-skin. She killed five other men trying to reach him. Their blades were uncommonly wrought, made with curling and jagged designs, and at times they hooked and scored her flesh, though none managed to deliver a serious blow. She killed and killed again. Their armor split like the shells of insects beneath her sweeping axe.

  The legions of Men blended with the legions of Manslayers, and Dahrima saw Vireon crushing Zyungians by the dozen beneath his colossal feet. Yet his eyes were upon the sorcerers floating and swarming above the battle. Khama was a raging ball of fire, chasing the wizards here and there across the valley. He caught one in his coils and Dahrima heard the wizard’s globe of light shatter like glass above the noise of battle. The Zyungian’s flesh burned away and his bones fell to ash as Khama darted toward the next one. The silver-robes cast burning light at him, but the Feathered Serpent brushed away their power like it was nothing. He belched lightning bolts that shivered and cracked their protective globes.

  Vireon grew larger still, towering above the valley. He plucked sorcerers from the sky with his bare hands and squeezed their glimmering globes in his fists until they shattered. The men inside died screaming as he crushed their bones and hurled their remains at the dreadnoughts. Those who avoided his grasp cast bolts of light at him like burning spears. Vireon ignored them as he yanked another sorcerer out of the sky.

  The thunder of horses’ hooves joined the clanging of sword and shield. The cavalry legions led by Tyro crashed into the spreading ranks of Manslayers, none of whom had the advantage of horse power. Did they even ride horses on the other side of the world? No, they rode flying lizards. Yet they had not brought enough of those winged terrors.

  The valley became a sea of blood and metal and swirling death. The archers along the ridges fired the last of their arrows, then drew their longblades and rushed down to join the mêlée. Still the Manslayers poured ashore from their golden ships. The Men of the Five Cities were outnumbered thirty to one, not counting the legion of sorcerers. Yet the defenders had known this would be the case.

  Dahrima fought on, pulling a lance from her shoulder after killing the man who put it there. Every now and then a Giant fell, but it often took several Manslayers to kill even one of them. In such cases the enraged Udvorg fell upon the slayers and tore them to bits. Yet there were always more Manslayers rushing forward to take their place.

  She could not see how well the Men of the Five Cities were faring against the Men of Zyung. She could see nothing anymore but a red haze of muscles, entrails, and mangled armor. Broken shields and rolling heads. Severed limbs and howling wounded. Cracked skulls and crushed ribcages. The red rain continued to fall beneath the relentless sun.

  There was only killing and more killing to be done.

  Dahrima howled in the deluge of steaming crimson.

  “For Vireon!”

  Tyro was the spearhead at the front of the cavalry wedge that pierced the ranks of Manslayers. The momentum of the charge trampled hundreds of invaders beneath a wall of mailed horseflesh. Skulls and corselets were punctured and crushed by iron-shod hooves. Tyro’s lance punctured a scaled Zyungian breastplate and caught fast in the dying man’s ribs. He cast the broken shaft aside and laid about him with broadsword and spiked shield.

  Each of the Zyungian warriors stood head-and-shoulders taller than any man of Uurz. Whether they were drawn exclusively from a race of massive Men, or grown to mighty proportions by sorcery, Tyro neither knew nor cared. His rearing warhorse struck at them with its hooves while he clove their metal and flesh with his heavy blade.

  Undutu drove his spear through the chests, necks, and faces of a dozen foes before turning to his longblade. D’zan had not bothered to carry a lance; his greatsword flashed down upon beaked helms and spiked shoulders, wreaking havoc on the flesh beneath. The Yaskathan’s horse was the first to go down, impaled by a trio of Zyungian spears. Yet D’zan fought more fiercely with two feet on the ground, his iron blade spinning in red arcs.

  The Manslayers hardly screamed as they died; they grunted and gurgled and sucked in their last breaths like any dying man must, but they never screamed. Tyro pondered this in the calm chamber at the back of his mind, while his sword set blood and brains free of their fleshy prisons. The red fury fell upon him as it always did in battle. He turned the crooked blades of Zyung or stayed them with his shield, searching and finding the small places where his blade could slide home. When he failed to find such openings, he hacked through metal with repeated blows until soft flesh was exposed, and his final strike stole another life.

  The formations of horsemen had broken rapidly into chaos. The valley was full of screeching, thundering death. Across a sea of swords and spears Giants smashed Manslayers by twos and threes, pinning them on longspears like insects, sweeping torn bodies into the air with flailing maces and hammers, slicing men in half with greatswords and axes. Beyond the marauding Giants the silver masses of Manslayers continued pouring onto the shore of the bay. Vireon towered above the battle, a bronze colossus snatching Zyung’s wizards from the air like fluttering moths. The Feathered Serpent seethed with flame and light, hurtling among those same sorcerers and drawing their wrath to himself.

  Yet so many of the silver-robes flew above the valley now, the majority of them escaped Vireon and the Serpent. A ray of light brighter than a sunbeam shot from a floating sorcerer’s globe, igniting a company of Uurzians and the Udvorg fighting alongside them. The warriors turned to ash in a moment of unearthly heat; even their bones and armor were consumed in the blaze. Men ran now from the path of sky-borne wizards, breaking their for
mations and spreading panic. Giants hurled spears and chunks of stone at the silver-robes, but these assaults failed to break their glassy orbs. They only defense against the legion of sorcerers was the intervention of Khama or Vireon. And neither Giant-King nor Feathered Serpent could be everywhere at once.

  A blazing column of light fell next to Tyro, its heat washing over him like a furnace. He watched those caught directly in the glow, men and horses alike, wither and burn away. Before their bones hit the ground, they too were blackened dust.

  There are too many of these lightbringers!

  Tyro wanted to shout this in his terror, but he drowned the compulsion and fear by lunging at the nearest Manslayer. A lance ripped through the guts of his horse, pulling him down into the filth and pulped bodies. A silver-mailed brute stood over him, raining blows against his backplate. Tyro rolled over and blocked the curved longblade with his shield. His broadsword was caught beneath the dead mount, and there was no time to pry it free. Another blow clanged off his helm as he pulled a dagger free of its sheath. He rolled inside the man’s next blow and drove his short blade into the exposed sliver of belly between belt and breastplate. It sank deep. Tyro swept the dagger sideways, eviscerating his opponent. Gore and entrails spilled across his shoulder.

  Another Manslayer rushed forward as Tyro grabbed the broadsword and pulled it free of the twitching horse’s bulk. He parried a downswing and sent his boot into the assailant’s crotch, tipping him off-balance. He drove the blade upward, into the flesh below the chin, where the straps of his enemy’s helmet were the only protection. Tyro grabbed the man’s belt and used the corpse’s backward fall to pull himself upward. On his feet now, he freed his blade from the dead man’s skull and spun to meet a new attacker.

  The baroque blades of the invaders were marvels of design. While contending with a Manslayer, foiling any major blows, a man could be cut a dozen times by the curling lesser blades or the barbed fringes of their hilts. The Zyungians wore scalloped metal gauntlets and arm guards not only to protect them from enemy blows, but also to avoid injury from their own spinning weapons. Tyro endured more small cuts than he could count as the battle raged, but he also learned how to avoid those lesser cuts with certain lunges and feints. The Men of Zyung were teaching him a new dance.