by Mark Ryan
“What …” Mikkels’ grabbed Reynolds’s arm, steadying him. “What’re those for?”
Reynolds spotted what Mikkels was pointing at. Great swaths of earth had disappeared, and over a dozen smooth boulders sat in the center of the oroc army. Just as he spotted this, one of the spheres rose, propelled into the air by an earthen pillar that bent toward the castle as it grew. Five more boulders launched in turn, but none struck the walls. Instead, they soared into the courtyards with eerie accuracy. The wall shuddered beneath Reynold’s feet at their impact.
Then his blood stilled as he saw more of the giant spheres manifest. Hollow. They made them hollow so several orocs could cram inside one at a time. The oroc army had found a way past the ice.
“Voids.” Faulk’s voice held a perfect balance of awe and fear. “I didn’t know they could do that.”
***
Chapter 46
Tetra Bicks
The sounds of battle rose outside the walls. Tetra hunched in the archway between the training yard and infirmary, trying to envision what went on beyond his sight. From here, he could see out into the front court, crowded with guardsmen. Torches lit in rapid succession, and Sergeant Reynolds’ shout echoed above those of the other officers. With over eight hundred soldiers guarding the castle, it was hard to make heads or tails of what was happening. A massive glow from outside the castle walls lit the night.
He gasped as orocs strove into view along the battlements of the front wall, and skirmishes broke out all along the line. The sight of the creatures and the flames lighting the night pulled him back to Jaegen for a moment, thrusting him into a vivid memory of burning homes with the corpses of friends and family lying all about. He shook the vision away, refusing to be distracted at such a critical time.
Bealdred stood in the middle of the training yard, a lone, dark figure among the green and gold guardsmen. He had his war hammer out, but held back, watching as men and women above fought and died.
“Shouldn’t you help?” Tetra called.
Bealdred glanced back. “I am helpin’, y’git. I’m the reinforcements. Now shut it and stay put.”
Archers aimed pitch-soaked, broad head arrows at the stars. “Release!” an officer shouted and the volley hissed into the sky. They soared up over the wall, where Volcons ignited them mid-flight. Then they accelerated down out of sight as Archons pushed them along with their kinetic magic.
An inhuman howl arose from outside the wall and a more intense light flared, but died out almost as quickly as it began. Lord Drayston’s cursing echoed from his perch at the tower command post overlooking the battle.
Then, less than five minutes into the battle, a huge ball of earth soared over the wall. It was followed by four more before it could impact in the courtyard. Guardsmen scrambled out of the way as they struck the ground, crushing the ice. The one closest to Tetra stopped exactly where it landed, as though stuck in place. Shouts rose from the main line as more of the boulders crested the battlements. A guardsman screamed, and then the pitch of his cry changed as he flew from the wall. More cracking booms resounded as spheres landed throughout the area, several striking inside the training yard itself.
Tetra stepped towards one, eyeing its smooth exterior. “They’re missing the walls.…”
“Tetra, no!”
In unison with Bealdred’s shout, the spheres bristled with earthen spikes, which exploded out in every direction. Tetra didn’t have time to drop. His affinity took over, hardening his leather training armor. He crossed his arms in front of his face, a meager effort to protect his head. An invisible claw gripped his spine as spike ricocheted off him. One spike embedded in the wall just above him and Tetra redoubled his efforts to keep his armor impenetrable.
Drayston soldiers cried out as the missiles knocked them back or whirled them to the ground in bloody sprays. Three struck Bealdred, bouncing off his armor. The spikes crumbled to dust along with the boulders, revealing orocs contained within. The beasts charged forth, shrieking battle cries.
One of the orocs headed straight for Tetra, who still struggled to recover his wits from the shock of the attack. As the creature charged, he raised his mace in what he knew to be a futile defense. Bealdred barreled into the beast’s side. Whatever the Dreadknight had done was beyond Tetra’s ken. The oroc exploded in a mist of blood and falling limbs as Bealdred ran through him.
Another oroc came in, swinging a club that sprouted stone spikes. Tetra gaped, but his training took over. He whirled the mace past Bealdred’s back, scything the spikes off as mace impacted club. The Dreadknight spun, using his momentum to lash out with his war hammer. The club shattered against his armor while Bealdred’s two-handed blow shattered the oroc’s body in return. It flew through the air and slammed into another intruder, sending both to the ground.
Bealdred shouted at Tetra, “The tower! Go!” right before another stone club broke over his back. Without looking, he swung, bashing the oroc’s head from its shoulders. Tetra froze. It had been seconds and he was covered in blood. Feeling like he was fighting his way through mud, Tetra moved towards the infirmary while garrison soldiers engaged the invaders.
Six more oroc spheres crested the wall and crashed, disintegrating and unleashing more enemies. Bealdred waded into them, devastating sweeps of his mace annihilating everything in his path. He was doing more damage than any score of soldiers combined. All of the childhood legends of the Dreadknights floated through Tetra’s mind. They weren’t just stories.
Tetra couldn’t take his eyes off the Dreadknight as he backed up towards the infirmary wing. Bealdred’s raw power went beyond anything he’d imagined. He’d only begun to teach Tetra how to combine his affinity with combat, and manipulating density still hurt his spine. It’d be a long while before he could charge fearlessly into the heart of an enemy force, if ever. For the first time he was seeing beyond his vengeance, doubting himself.
Tetra bumped into a wall behind him—but he’d just come through an archway. There shouldn’t be a wall behind him. He turned just as the oroc did. The beast loosed a ferocious growl and attacked.
He leapt aside as the club smashed the ice where he’d stood. His neck throbbed as he increased the weight of his feet, steadying himself. A handful of orocs lumbered through the yard outside the infirmary, but they had a wild, even panicked air. Guardsman harried them from all sides, but many of the beasts ignored the soldiers and bashed away at the icy ground. Of course. They fought to reach the earth and stone to empower themselves once more. Tetra ducked another swing of the club, backing up.
The oroc facing Tetra reared for another attack, but a guardsman attacked from its side. Ice shards rose and spun into a whirlwind around the beast, slicing all over its exposed skin. Initially it had little effect, other than confusing the oroc, but after a couple seconds, the ice started to slice through the living clothes of the beast, rending the bark like flesh.
The Siren guardsman kept out of reach, concentrating to maintain the conjuration. The oroc’s club lengthened into a spear, which shot through the man’s hip and pinned him to the ground. Blood dripped down the spear and the guard screamed in pain. The icy vortex fell to the ground, shattering on the icy courtyard. Reshaping the spear back into a club, the oroc staggered over to the guard, now collapsed. Save her.… the words soared through Tetra’s heart.
Stepping forward, Tetra swung the mace at the oroc’s exposed back. As the crafted hunk of metal landed, he drew weight and density out of everything he could, shoving it into the mace’s flanged head. Weighted metal ripped through the oroc’s shoulder, separating the arm holding the club from its body. The mace sailed free and Tetra rocked with the motion, swinging it over his head in a second arc. This time it connected with the back of the oroc’s skull. Head crushed, the beast collapsed. Dark fluid pooled across the ice.
The guardsman stared at Tetra in astonishment. Tetra stared back. Oddly, the puckered gash in the man’s leg didn’t bleed. Tetra realized the man used his wat
er magic to keep his vital fluids contained. He reached his free hand out to the downed man, and they locked grips. Tetra heaved him up, boosting his overall weight to anchor both of them.
The main infirmary door stood twenty paces away, across a smaller side yard filled with fighting men and orocs. The pain in Tetra’s back screamed at him as he kept a hold on the limping guardsman. They staggered along, trying to get around the skirmish. His back hadn’t hurt this much since he’d woken after Jaegen, but surrendering to it now would put a man’s life at risk—a man who’d almost sacrificed himself for Tetra. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to imagine he was back in his bedroom, just going for one more lap from bed to chair to side table.
As they reached the far side of the courtyard, an oroc mashed another soldier to pulp and then turned on them. Tetra thrust his mace out, but his hold on the guardsman hampered his attack.
The infirmary door flung wide. Tetra glimpsed Alma’s long face peering out in shock. Then a furry figure streaked low across the ground, and the oroc roared as Kafa sank his fangs into its leg. The oroc kicked, flinging the hound away. Tetra didn’t wait for the oroc to notice him again. Pulling free of his companion, he got in front of the wounded guardsman.
He lightened his body to dodge a blow with unnatural alacrity. His ankle turned to the side, his body followed. Just like Mikkels had taught him. Stone club smashed into the ground right where he had been standing. Then he darted in, ducked another club swing, and weighted the mace as it rammed into the oroc’s knee. The joint crumpled, and he suddenly stood eye-level with the beast. Its breath huffed over him. Tetra was shocked to discover that its breath smelled like spring blooms. Ignoring the flowery smell, Tetra sealed its mouth with an upward swing that shattered its jaw and sent huge, off-white teeth flying.
His back spasmed and he almost fell alongside the monster—but the guardsman caught him under the arm. Together, supporting each other, they reeled into the infirmary and collapsed. Kafa hobbled in after, keeping weight off his front right paw, and Alma slammed the door, shutting out the chaos.
Tetra writhed against the pain knotting along his spine, or at least tried to as much as his back brace allowed. His stomach turned. He had just taken lives. Seen lives lost. He won the fight with his back, but lost the fight with heart. Tears trickled down his cheeks. Firm hands pressed him down.
“Stay still, you fool,” the healer said. “You’ll bruise your thick skull thrashing about like this.”
For some reason, Tetra found this hilarious, even through the agony and tears. His strained laughs filled the room, the only mirth among the moans of the wounded and dying.
***
Chapter 47
Gnarrl
The gates should’ve opened by now, but Gnarrl suspected they never would the moment the humans sprang their ambush. Instead, he watched his brethren slaughtered like boars in a harvest. Most of his own harvesters had been spared so far, as they were tasked to protect the Stonewolf and Bullvine clans rather than join the assault on the walls. The Bearoak had also joined in healing the wounded being dragged to the rear of the oroc forces.
If the gates hadn’t opened yet, it meant humans waited inside to kill the orocs as they landed. What other traps did the humans prepare? The flaming arrows had done little good, but after the ice and metal tricks, that was a small favor of the Aspects. Unexpected, yes, but the forest dwellers had become accustomed to dealing with ground fires. No, the humans had something more growing for the orocs to harvest. Gnarrl felt in his roots that none of them would survive this night.
“Gnarrl!” Morag, a young harvester of the Bearoak, ran his way. “Uargan of the Bullvine has called the retreat.”
Gnarrl’s lips dipped. “Where is the Battle-Chief? Why does Uargan call to flee?”
“The Battle-Chief fell to a human warrior as he led the charge up the wall.” Morag looked away in shameful fear.
“No.” Gnarrl shook his head. “It cannot be.”
“He was … they say a human warrior harvested his head with a single strike.”
Gnarrl tamped down on his shock. Any display of fear on his part would infect the other young harvesters, like beetles in diseased tree bark. Humans were not that strong. How could this have happened? Then understanding shone through the tangled branches of his mind. Humans were dangerous, but by the grace of Trocus and Azaria, they rarely came to the outer territories of Promencia. It had been over a century since battle had been joined, and the tribes had forgotten. Many life trees and shamans that would have been were lost this night, to relearn this lesson.
“Uargan is Battle-Chief now,” Morag said. “We retreat before more are uprooted forever.”
A horn sounded in short, quick bursts, making the order official. Gnarrl faced his harvesters. “Back to the forest! Back to the clan.”
Others echoed the command, and Bearoak harvesters lifted the wounded and headed for the treeline, Furl among them. The young harvester carried an injured warrior over each shoulder. Gnarrl scanned the left flank, searching for any sign of Kunat’s party, which had been sent to reinforce those climbing the wall.
A boom sounded from the castle. Gnarrl looked to one of the towers, where the arm of a massive siege weapon slammed against its frame. A glittering cloud flew through the air. Chunks of ice? No. Metal, Gnarrl realized.
Another boom echoed over the battlefield and another glinting cloud formed. A human in gleaming armor stood at the center of the wall, arms raised. Figures flanked it on either side. Screams rose as the metal scraps shot down at the orocs. The human on the wall had to be a Magnus, a master of metal, and the catapults had launched heavy loads of what must have been tens of thousands of small metal shards. The humans on either side of the Magnus were using air and raw force to amplify the attack.
Walls of earth rose to protect the fleeing orocs, but the tiny projectiles tore through them like hail through leaves. Orocs fell by the hundreds. Had the clans not suffered enough tonight? They had already lost over half their number, why must the humans uproot so ruthlessly? The retreat dissolved into a stampede for survival as those helping the wounded became injured themselves.
Gnarrl pounded forward, frantically searching for Kunat. Now he understood the full human deception. Draw the main oroc force into range and slow them with their own wounded before unleashing the Archmage’s power. A brilliant and deadly strategy.
Kunat appeared from the darkness, aiding another of the wounded.
“Kunat!” Gnarrl waved his club. His friend saw him and headed his direction. Then two more catapults boomed over the battlefield.
Gnarrl’s stomach chilled. He hastily pulled at the earth behind them, raising a wall of dirt as thick as possible. Midnight blue blood sprayed over him as the injured oroc’s chest dissolved into mist. Pain blossomed in Gnarrl’s shoulder, back, and arms. He cried out and sprawled beside the dead harvester Kunat had just been helping. Countless orocs were felled as the second volley ripped into them. The humans weren’t just killing them, they were exterminating the clans.
“Kunat!” Gnarrl crawled along to his friend. He took his arm and tried to help him to his feet. The other oroc fell away, and horror gnawed at Gnarrl’s heartwood as he realized Kunat’s arm still hung around his own shoulders. His friend laid face-down in the churned earth, right arm socket seeping blood into the soil.
“Kunat?” he whispered.
He rolled Kunat over. The metal shards had ripped a massive hole through Kunat’s head, taking most of his face. A single, lifeless eye stared back at Gnarrl. He knelt beside the body of his lifelong friend and almost lifemate, unable to move. First Maraco, now Kunat. Why must he bury them both? Why had the clans invited this disaster upon themselves?
The pain in his shoulder flared as someone gripped him. He struggled against the hands pulling him to his feet.
“No! He must be buried!”
Furl shouted in his ear, “We must flee!”
His daug
hter propelled him toward the trees. Instinct took control, and his clumsy legs carried him to the safety of the grove.
***
Chapter 48
Malthius Reynolds
Soldiers cheered all around Reynolds as the last of the orocs disappeared into the trees. Over two thirds of his eight hundred guardsmen had been killed, and at least half of the survivors were being tended to by the healers. He said a silent prayer of thanks to the Aspects even as he leaned on Mikkels for support. Without the corporal, Reynolds wouldn’t have been standing.
With the casualties this bad on his side, he could only guess how badly Illamer fared. He scanned the area for Lieutenant Heiml. Her voice penetrated the cries of victory and of the wounded, still shouting orders. He started across the field toward her and Faulk fell in at his side, pushing her way under the opposite arm from Mikkels. A fresh wound glistened on her shoulder.
“Get yourself to the infirmary, Faulk.”
“I’m fine, sir,” she said. “You need me more than I need to be waiting for the healer to get to me.”
“I know you can handle it, but I don’t want you getting an infection, Corporal. Mikkels has me just fine. Besides, I’ll need your help if they return to try again.”
“Yes, sir.” She headed off, leaden footsteps showing her exhaustion.
Heiml’s words sharpened as he neared. “… they’re going to need help with this many wounded.”
A soldier hurried off to fulfill her orders. The lieutenant turned to him, a hand resting on her blood-stained sword hilt. Her grimace said she knew exactly what he wanted. “Illamer.”