Guardian Last (Lords of Syon Saga Book 2)

by Jordan MacLean

  Trocu frowned. “They also gain a new sense of our numbers and our position each time they come among us.”

  Under protest, Trocu had been sent well back from the battle so the mages would not know he was there. The likelihood that any among the enemy would know the duke on sight was extremely low, but they could not afford the risk. But when the mages began appearing behind the knights, Jath and Nestor had insisted that the exasperated duke move even further back into the Lacework, and Renda had concurred.

  “Among the horses?” Trocu had glowered at them. “I should be leading the charge, and you would have me stay back with the luggage?”

  “Aye, and I’d have you see the sense of it without I have to dress it in ribbons,” Nestor had growled right back. “Among the horses is the one place we know they will not go! You know right well there’s reason to it, my prince.”

  The duke’s eyes blazed gold, but he said nothing more and retreated deeper into the Lacework, muttering angrily with Nestor and Jath beside him. Renda blew out a sigh of relief. Indeed he understood what was at stake, above and beyond the lives of fewer than a score of warriors who trusted him enough to follow him into Byrandia, for all his protests. The enemy could not know he was here.

  More of these strange infiltrations followed, small, fast attacks meant to cause chaos and panic and to snipe them one or two at a time rather than to bring the walls down spectacularly. Had the knights been any less disciplined or had the mages been any less cautious about retreating before the knights could attack them, it might well have worked to disrupt the knights’ offensive.

  Already after the first wave of these infiltrating attacks, the knights had split their ranks. While Phen, Grayson, Liddy, Peringale and Kerrick fired at the distant mages with their bows under Lord Daerwin’s command, those who were strongest with their swords held back behind the great coral pillars with Renda, watching for mages to port in behind.

  Aloft, Gikka and Chul perched hidden in the coral spires watching the battle and signaling to the knights as the enemy changed position. Gikka had taken her cloak along, as always, but having seen how the mages responded to it, she had wisely chosen not to wake it, at least not yet. Since Renda could still see her, she assumed Gikka wore it dormant against the chill air.

  A few feet behind the archers, she kept her focus soft as she scanned the coral walls around her. Most of her mind was seeking out any slight shimmer, any change in the light reflections around her. But some part of her mind was watching from outside the battle, amused in a strange way at the ironic twist of having swordsmen behind, providing cover for the archers on the front lines. Yet this was how the battle was playing out.

  “Hah!” barked Qorlin in a strange mix of triumph and surprise. Among the swordsmen, he had taken the first kill almost by accident. He had swept his sword through a shimmer of a port, not waiting for the body to appear fully, steeling himself as he cut against the protections. To both his and the mage’s surprise, the protections did nothing. The Byrandian’s eyes went dull as he materialized in pieces, with the last vestiges of his dying protection formed around him to spit impotent fire over his corpse as it fell.

  Amara and Vonn both swung on the next shimmer they saw. While their strikes did not result in dead mages falling dead to the ground out of the port, but they were both certain they had struck true: the mages they’d hit would not survive long after their return.

  Arrows. Dith smiled darkly. From his hillock just southeast of the edge of the Lacework, he had watched several archers, the brilliant blue of their Brannagh mantles unmistakable to him in the afternoon light when they peeked out from cover here and there to fire on the army. So Gikka had brought at least five of the sheriff’s knights with her. Well, it was not much of an army, to be sure, but it was something. At least he knew now that he did not have both this force below and the Wittisters between them. He backed away from the edge of the hill and walked purposefully back to Glasada.

  “Your thought is to go to them…to go to her. That would be a terrible mistake.”

  No, he thought angrily, it would be a terrible mistake to leave her there fighting one army while something worse comes in behind her.

  “To do so would put you in the worst possible position, holed up in those rocks between two sets of mages who want to kill you! Think! This could not be a better trap for you if they’d planned it!”

  Dith swore, loudly enough that Colaris hissed at him in alarm from his perch on the bedroll. The mage rubbed his eyes. Yes, of course. His instinct was to run to her, to protect her, but the instinct was wrong. Here, he had the army flanked––an army that was still probably sixty or seventy strong. He swallowed hard. Not to mention the others, the Wittister mages, coming in behind. He wondered if even he had sufficient power to defeat them. Or just to survive.

  “I see you are engaged and nothing I say will stop you. Very well. Defeat these quickly, and it is quite possible you and she can outrun the Wittisters to Byrandia.”

  The moment he attacked, they would turn on him. Well, better him than the knights. Dith swung himself up into his saddle and rode to a new vantage point a bit further east.

  “They can’t have much power in reserve, not after all this,” Kerrick called from where he half crouched in cover behind a blasted chunk of coral. He looked doubtfully at what remained of the pile of arrows beside him. “Can they?”

  Amara shook her head from where she stood at his back, not in denial but in uncertainty. She had never faced an army of mages before, either. “Take heart,” she called to him. “My sword has tasted blood for the first time since the war, even if the blood was only half-formed. Call it superstitious if you like,” she grinned, “but I believe the day will be ours.”

  “Do you?”

  “Oh aye, I’ve never been wrong yet.”

  “Their power weakens as their numbers fall,” snarled Daerwin through a lull in their attacks. He squinted up at Gikka. The Bremondine woman gave him a slight nod, and he peered out through the haze of smoke that had risen from the many blasts against the coral, looking over one then another of the clusters of mages tucked behind the rises and clumps of rock, then ducking back behind the coral before they spotted him.

  He closed his eyes, letting the impression of what he saw linger in his mind. None of those he had seen were surrounded by the telltale wisps and tendrils of evil, but then he hadn’t seen their faces. Besides, he had no idea if B’radik’s gift to his bloodline meant the same in Byrandia as it did on Syon. For now, he would cautiously assume that it did. Would that he had a priest of B’radik with him, that he might ask. He sighed heavily. Would that any had survived.

  No. Despair was of no use to him, and he refocused his thoughts on the battle. “They begin to see that time works against them now, even more than it works against us, and they must defeat us before we defeat them by attrition. Still, I would think they would use their power with more shrewdness or at least frugality.” He peered around the corner, drew the bow and fired an arrow, but by the time it arrived, his target had shifted position, and the arrow flew by. Daerwin shook his head and nocked another arrow. He hated bows. Give him a sword, a pike, a weapon to drive home with his own hands, anything but these damnable arrows.

  Sir Peringale edged himself out and fired, wounding one of them and drawing an attack that splattered harmlessly into the now fire hardened coral behind him. His armor was beaten and scorched where a few burning bits of coral had fallen on him. He looked over at Daerwin and gave a half nod of salute.

  Dame Liddy had taken a more forward position slightly to the south. Her slight frame allowed her to take cover in a dip behind a low clump of coral. The advantage she had, of course, was the nearer shot, and she had killed several already. But her cover would fail soon under the constant barrage of attacks against her position, and soon she would have to move. Daerwin had already considered this and had Shanth and Grayson, the archers nearest her, ready to provide some cover for her in case she had to mov
e quickly.

  From her position among the swordsmen, Renda signaled to Gikka, who signaled back at once. The enemy’s numbers were down to no more than fifty. Part of her rejoiced that they had cut the enemy’s numbers by almost half so quickly, but part of her marveled that she should see them as only fifty mages when but a season before, the idea of two mages at one place had seemed impossible. Then again, a season ago, many things had seemed impossible.

  Through the corner of her eye, Renda saw a white flash that threw one of her knights—Phen, the archer furthest back from the line—backward against the stone wall.

  “Amara! See to him!” Renda’s cry had not even finished before the knight had thrown herself to the ground beside Phen where he’d slid bonelessly to the ground. A moment later Laniel was also at the wounded knight’s side helping to drag him out of the battle.

  Phen’s timing had been just a bit off, and he had stood directly into a crackling stab of lightning, taking the brunt of it right in his chest. Lightning was an odd and unpredictable thing which sometimes bounced between people or went straight into the ground, depending. In this case, it had entered at his chest, lifted him with the force of the blow, and exited his heel, which was the first part of him to touch the ground, melting his steel boot into the flesh of his foot. Fortunately for him, he was unconscious.

  Renda had already sheathed her sword and taken up Phen’s bow and his position, setting aside her worry for her knight. He would live or die now, not by the severity of his injury nor even by the skill of Amara and Laniel in caring for him but by whether or not they defeated this enemy just as they all would. She saw at once why he had been hit. It was a terrible position, far too open and with poor visibility. She scrambled upward over the rough stony coral and put herself prone over the top of a rise and looked out over the plain below. Much better. Here and there, she could see a glimmer of seamless robes behind low stands of rock and hillocks. Perfect.

  She fired two arrows, landing one in the shoulder of a mage more by luck than by aim as he walked right into an arrow meant for another. The other arrow glanced off another mage’s protections and sparked spectacularly. It seemed he had not yet been hit by anyone. Very well, she told herself, he will be mine and mine alone. She lined up another shot.

  Orange light, like a sunrise, began to glow over the coral around her, and her heart pounded. Her body moved to scramble down off the rise, but she stopped short. The light did not come from the coral itself nor any magic cast upon it, but was reflected. Off to the east, a surge of liquid fire was spreading across the vale below toward the army. It was not heavy like molten steel but impossibly light, like a river of pure flame, dancing across the land, breaking like an ocean against the corals. The first of the enemy hit by it were caught unawares, their protections flaring and billowing against it feebly before burning away, leaving them vulnerable to the flames.

  From where they were on the Lacework, the knights could feel a hot wind blowing over them from the sea of flames, a bit more heat than was quite welcome in the waning cold of Bilkar, and they drew back.

  Suddenly, the flames broke and ran in strange rivulets around what could only be new protective shields the remaining mages threw up against it, and then, as suddenly as they appeared, the flames were gone. But now the mages had turned their attention almost completely toward that eastern flank, from the spot where the flames had come, all but ignoring the archers for the moment.

  Gikka smiled and signaled down to Renda and the sheriff: Dith.

  Renda breathed out with relief. Only about thirty remained, and many of those were injured. Only thirty. Renda gripped the bow and fired a shot.

  “Was this what you wanted?”

  Dith watched the flames he’d sent over the valley die away to a whisper between the protective shields the mages had raised and then saw the great volley, the strands bent and twisted with their efforts, braided with the combined energies of thirty minds all bent on his destruction. It was an impressive amount of power, he thought rather dispassionately, watching the strands writhe and crackle with their energy. No doubt it was a bundled mass of fear, vitriol and death all directed at him––or more precisely, at the spot where he had been when he sent the flames toward them. He glanced at the sea above and below the Lacework, wondering idly why the mages hadn’t thought to raise it and wash the Lacework clean. It was what he would have done.

  “They do not because they cannot.”

  What do you mean, they cannot? With all their combined power, it should be trivial. By myself, I could––

  “Do not even form the thought. Look closely at the sea. Not at the mages themselves but at the sea.”

  Dith looked, and what he saw terrified him.

  “Indeed, you see it. You asked me once what the power of the Wittister mages looked like. Now you see it for yourself.”

  “Do you see that? What in the name of…?” Renda raised her visor and looked out over the plain beyond the end of the Lacework in amazement, barely recovering herself enough to duck behind cover as a blast of heat rippled past her and blasted away part of a block of coral. “Suddenly that does not look like just thirty-odd mages to me!”

  “Are those what they seem?” Grayson shouted to her, but she only shook her head.

  “It cannot be.”

  “Reinforcements!” called Peringale over his shoulder. “They must have called for reinforcements, but why…? And what…? They almost look like…”

  Gikka scowled. She turned back toward Renda and signaled to her: Several hundred, maybe a thousand in total. Another hundred mages but also infantry, still on the far horizon but approaching fast. A moment later, as they got closer, she used a signal they had not seen since the war, a signal Renda asked her to verify. The signal came back more adamantly. There could be no mistake: demons.

  The sheriff looked at Renda in barely veiled horror. He beckoned Chul down from his perch and sent him to fetch the duke. This could not bode well.

  How could it be? There was no record of demons or anything like demons in Byrandia in any of the histories, at least not before the Liberation. Her mind raced. Kadak had appeared out of nowhere, taking for his own an old Hadrian castle, and from there he had poured his demons out, seemingly from Syon herself.

  Perhaps early on, the protectors of Syon might have concerned themselves with Kadak’s origin, but over five centuries, concern had turned itself entirely toward being rid of him. In their isolation, she doubted anyone had considered the question that now occurred to her. “Father,” she asked, “What if the invasion of Syon was not the only one? What if the demons also invaded Byrandia, and what if, even though we beat them in Syon, they somehow won in Byrandia?”

  Daerwin shook his head. “It is possible.

  The considerations of liberating an island were far less complex than liberating an entire continent. Renda swallowed hard. The landbridge could very well act as an open sluice for the demons to pour into Syon. Five hundred years of war against Kadak would be as nothing compared to such an invasion.

  “Demons.” Trocu breathed as he, Nestor and Jath approached the sheriff and Renda.

  Kerrick looked out at the dark tumult on the horizon. “Curious bedfellows, to be sure, but they will hunt the mages, yes? As they did on Syon?”

  Gikka looked down from her perch and shook her head. Allies, she signaled. They move together to a purpose. Neither attacks the other.

  The knights looked out over the valley that sparkled and exploded with the energy of the near mages’ attacks on what could only be Dith’s position. One mage, a handful of knights…against an army of demons allied to mages––the rest of the army, refreshed, with all their power unspent.

  Suddenly Renda laughed, the sparkle of it dancing over the stones around them. “If we lords of Syon know anything, we know how to fight demons. The real problem is still going to be the mages.”

  Daerwin added, “Archers, take position and wait for my signal. You will focus fire on the near
mages, but not until I say. Their attention seems fixed away from us at the moment. Pray do not upset that, and let us hope Dith can hold them off until we can get ourselves organized to ride.”

  Trocu raised his fist. “It will be a near thing, mark you, but the day will be ours.”

  She threw aside her bow and drew her blade. “Swordsmen! To your horses. Rejoice, for we once again have demons to kill!”

  The knights cheered.

  We must win, the duke told himself. For the sake of Syon and all the world, if this is what Byrandia has become, we must hold the line against it. He glanced up at the late afternoon blush in the sky. “The sun will set soon. That would be your cue to move, and move quickly.”

  Jath looked away in the distance. “It will fall to him to save us, to show his true self…”

  Damerien nodded. “Though I fear Dith’s power may be spent. I hope he realizes he will be safer among us than out there alone.”

  Jath glanced at him, a flash of amusement passing over his face. Then he followed the knights to help them armor the horses.

  “Chul,” Gikka said, “I’ve a dangerous mission for you, lad, but one of merit and trust. Are you game?”

  He nodded eagerly. “I have been itching to enter this battle all along. What is your will?”

  “Fetch Dith safely to us.” She tossed him her cloak. “He’ll not be safe flanking this army by himself. Best we face them together, is my thought.”

  The boy stared at her blankly for a moment. To say it so simply made it seem simple––fetch Dith safely to us––and yet the task was daunting. It meant crossing unmarked to the far side of the enemy, approaching an embattled mage surrounded by fearsome protections without getting killed, and bringing him back. It sounded almost impossible. Almost.

  He grinned at her. “In a trice.” A quick look across the field, and he’d planned his course. Then he was away.