“I think not!” replied the voice of someone much older than a child.
Rex turned his head to see Mellani standing behind him. “I am well enough to fight and refuse to hide while my friends risk their lives to defend me. Besides if you fall, then what hope do I have?”
Rex nodded, not having the time or energy to argue.
“Where are the others?” the still wounded enchantress asked coming up beside Rex and letting loose with a gust of wind throwing everyone else down the stairs.
“They are outside fighting off the main force,” Rex answered, but under his breath added, “I hope.”
The magicians alternated attacks slowly pushing the assassins back so that they could not counter with bolts from their crossbows or a concentrated charge. Impossibly it seemed that the assassins were being caught between attacks from inside and out at the same time. For the first time since this siege started Rex thought that they could win this fight.
Then everything changed.
Mellani gurgled and spat as she grabbed at her neck. She was lifted off her feet and pulled back up the stairs by unseen hands. Her eyes bulged with terror as her face turned red, then purple.
Forgetting his attackers Rex turned and ran after her, but stopped short when he saw Bertran standing behind Mellani pulling her throat closed with a wire or string from his boot. “Let her go or I will kill you!” Rex roared with murder in his voice. He pointed his open palm at the master assassin, but Bertran ignored the threat and tightened his grip as Mellani kicked wildly.
Lightning danced in Rex's fist and he ran headlong toward Bertran going for his exposed face, but Rex was thrown off balance and sent careening into a wall by a crossbow bolt in the back. Bertran spun keeping his rapidly suffocating hostage between himself and the elementalist falling at his feet. His fellow assassins came up the stairs behind Rex and stabbed the young magician repeatedly in the back until there was no doubt that he was dead.
Tears ran down Mellani's cheeks as she witnessed the young man's demise. It was the last thing she saw before darkness overtook her and her body went limp in Bertran's hands. He released the shoestring he used to strangle her and grabbing her chin with one hand and the back of her head with the other twisted snapping her neck. “You can never be too careful,” he told one of his brothers a smug grin of self-satisfaction on his face. Bertran nodded to one of the back rooms. “The children are in there. End them.”
The other assassins obeyed without hesitation, filling the room at the end of the hall. The sounds of boys’ cries were cut short as the assassins cut them down. Bertran waited out in the hall and massaged his sore arm. He forced himself to listen to their screams. There was no honor in killing ones so young. Vailon would not look on him as a proud disciple or warrior for this act, but it was his duty to his kingdom. Bertran silently chastised himself for not being strong enough to accept the shame of killing the youngsters personally.
Chapter 48
Byrn stumbled into the clearing carried forward by little more than his own determination and momentum fore his body was spent beyond the point of physical exhaustion. Before him was the silhouette of Avelice Necros standing against a half dozen assassins. She stood in the middle of a Moran's Circle, a circle of protecting wind swirling in a small area around her to hold back a group of attackers. The Moran’s Circle would keep the Kenzai at bay until the powerful necromancer ran out of energy, but as long as none of the attackers were foolish enough to touch it, they would remain unharmed. Avelice stood protectively over the bodies of two others. Byrn could tell that one figure was cradling the other although he was unsure of who either magician was from this distance.
The new master of fire closed the distance between himself and the battle being waged at an approach somewhat behind most of the assassins. For years Byrn learned and practiced his craft with an eye towards turning fantastic powers honed by his predecessors over countless generations towards causing death and destruction into developing techniques that could be used to disable his opponents without killing them. Although as the anger at seeing his former home in shambles and his trusted friends barely holding on for their lives grew inside him, Byrn truly wished to destroy these men.
When he was within ten feet of the nearest assassin Byrn fired a blast of hot air at the man throwing him into another assassin. Then he covered them in a small protective bubble and lit a fire inside it. The assassins punched and kicked the barrier in a futile attempt to escape before being lit aflame.
The other four Kenzai closed in on Byrn- two on each side. He threw the bubble against the two assassins to his right with enough force to knock them to the ground as well as pushing the captives inside the sphere into the fire burning their legs and feet.
Byrn spun to face the remaining two assassins, but found they had their hands full avoiding a pair of war wraiths. Turning his attention back to the encapsulated assassins he turned up the heat inside the bubble until all of the oxygen had been burned out. Not long after the captives fainted and Byrn released the bubble surrounding them so that they fell harmlessly to the ground.
“Behind you!” It was Minnie's voice shouting at him.
Byrn turned and raised his staff just in time to deflect an assassin's sword thrust to one side. The assassin was over extended and left himself open to a knee in the gut followed by a smack to the skull with the staff.
“Sleep! Sleep! Sleeeep!” It was Minnie again. To Byrn's left the other assassin he hit with the bubble a minute before fell at his feet apparently in a very deep sleep.
In the meanwhile the war wraiths made short work of their opponents; finishing off the last of the assassins by trampling them under their nightmarish mounts hooves. Seeing that the battle was done, Vailon's warriors relinquished their forms breaking down into clouds of smoke that dispersed into the air with the breeze.
The Moran's Circle fell and the school magicians rushed to greet their friend. Relief became fatigue now that the threat had passed and Byrn suddenly felt like his limbs were very heavy. Looking at his fellow magicians Byrn saw they were just as worn out as he was.
Turshyn came forward and drove his staff's spear end into the sleeping assassin followed by the one with a bruised skull. “You never did have a stomach for killing, Byrn.”
Turshyn looked like a worn doll. He had several cuts on his arms and legs as well as a serious gash on his shoulder and a bandage on one hand and forearm. Byrn smiled, “I cannot leave you alone without you getting yourself half killed. Can I?”
“There will be time for male bravado later,” interrupted Avelice although her tone was more exhausted than harsh and she could not help smiling. She too felt the relief of victory. “We need to check on the others.”
Suddenly Byrn's eyes went wide and he fell forward into Turshyn who awkwardly caught him. He clutched at the necromancer’s cloak, but his grip was weak and he started to fall. Turshyn grabbed under Byrn’s armpit and roughly yanked him up. Then Minnie gasped and pointed at the elementalist. The bolt from a crossbow protruded from his lower back.
“Not to worry,” Bertran hissed as he loaded another bolt in his crossbow. A dark blood thirst mixed with unchecked hatred tinged his words. “The ones inside have no more need of your help.”
Ten more assassins poured out of the cabin and ran toward the tired and wounded magicians. Turshyn quickly, but gently laid Byrn down in the dirt. The necromancer was determined to defend his friend, but could not carry the dead weight. Turshyn grabbed one of the assassins in mid-charge and began to drain his life force even as another stabbed him through the side, but Turshyn refused to let go. Instead he grabbed the other assassin by the face and began to absorb his energy as well using the spilled blood all around him to power his magic. Pain and rage were etched on the necromancer's face as he was determined to see these men dead before him.
Minnie cried out as a pair of the assassins grabbed her. She attempted to cast an enchantment, but a third assassin took a sword to her throat a
nd slashed it open spilling blood down her neck and chest before they let go of her, leaving her body to bleed out in the grass.
The master of necromancy, Avelice Necros, screamed in rage as her students fell before her one after the other. Dark tendrils of energy grew out of Avelice's body giving her the look of a mad demon bent on delivering mayhem and destruction. The tendrils danced around her keeping the assassins at bay at first until it was clear that none of the Kenzai were going to come within reach of her. Then without warning the tendrils struck out wrapping around most of the nearby assassins and holding them in place. The trapped men moaned lightly as the tendrils leeched the very life from them and transferred their strength to Avelice to rejuvenate the weakened magician.
“Kill the witch!” Bertran commanded signaling the bowmen to attack. The three remaining archers along with Bertran loosed their bolts and to a man hit Avelice in the chest. She fell to her knees, but would not drop her prey. She centered a look of grim determination at Bertran and sneered at the killer. The once calm and composed woman was gone; replaced by a being of death and malice as she saw her own end drawing near.
Bertran ran at her with a dagger in hand and dashed past his dying men, paying them no mind. With a leap he buried the blade in the necromancer's heart and twisted it for good measure even as black tendrils wrapped around his arms and legs. The tendrils vanished with Avelice’s dying breath and her prisoners were released. Their bodies were weakened and weary, but they lived to the man.
Turshyn was kicked to the ground as he was overwhelmed and forced to release the men he held in a death vice. He hit the ground with a thud and found that he was lying face to face with Byrn who was still alive, but struggled to remain conscious. The last necromancer's body was broken and he had surely lost too much blood to hope to survive the night. Both men knew this was to be their end.
Byrn rolled to his side facing the leader of the assassins as best as he could with a bolt sticking out of his back, “Wait, I have something to say before I die.”
Bertran laughed derisively. “Why would I care what a magician has to say?”
“My name is Sir Byrn Lightfoot, knight of Warlord Ethiel Nightwind, ruler of the Western Province,” Byrn struggled to breath as he announced his title, “and you should heed my words.”
Bertran approached the downed magician and crouched so that they were face-to-face. The assassin grabbed Byrn by his tunic and held him up. He made no move to hide his self-satisfied smirk. “Indeed? My prince told me of you, although I did not expect that we would meet so soon. What would you tell me before you die?”
“I will see you again in the underworld!” Byrn touched the man's face and released a wave of burning energy charring the assassin's flesh. The master assassin fell back in pain with a shriek and a curse on his lips.
The remaining assassins advanced on Byrn and Turshyn, then they heard the utterance of a single word: “Magicians.” The tone was calm and sweet, but forceful and sure like some wonderful song was hidden in that one word, but what happened next was neither sweet nor wonderful as the assassins turned on one another.
It was a scene of total pandemonium as one Kenzai assassin killed another and a third attacked the first. Byrn silently wondered what madness had overtaken them to make the men turn on each other. One by one the assassins fell at each other’s hands until only one bloodied warrior stood triumphantly alone surrounded by the blood soaked bodies of his allies.
“Congratulations, soldier, you are the last survivor,” said the voice once more, this time straining to sound comforting. Byrn arched his head up and to his left to see a raven-haired beauty hidden in the night by her black cloak. “Now hold your knife to your throat.” The last assassin did as he was told, but his hand shook visibly as he tried to resist. Whatever illusion he had been under a moment before was now gone, but the man still found he was unable to ignore the woman's command.
“You will not be escaping my hold,” said the enchantress stepping in front of him and staring him in the eye. “Look at what you have done.” She gestured to the dead and wounded magicians lying around her. “You have killed my mother and her pupils, some of whom were children. They were good people who would have caused you and yours no harm had they been left alone. Unfortunately, I am not nearly as kind as these people were.” To make her point she balled a fist and punched the frozen assassin in the nose bloodying his face, but the assassin never took the knife away from his throat.
Turshyn tried his best to sit up, but could not find the strength to do so. Lying there he looked up at the sky and said, “You are Alia? If you torture this man, then you dishonor your mother.” Turshyn groaned and clutched at his stab wound. “This is not what she would want.”
The dark haired beauty whirled on the downed necromancer. “Who are you to lecture me on what my mother would want?” For a moment she looked at Turshyn with glaring hate in her eyes, but when he did not try to defend himself and his words sunk in, Alia relented. “She would not want that,” the woman sounded defeated. She waved off the enthralled assassin dismissively and said, “Slit your throat,” but there was no longer any anger in her voice, just a deep sadness.
The Kenzai did as he was commanded and died before his body hit the dirt. “I could not let him live,” the enchantress said almost apologetically. She ignored the two wounded magicians and went to Avelice kneeling at her side.
Byrn sat up with considerable effort. The arrow was securely lodged in his back and he feared pulling it free would tear the wound open and cause more damage. He looked at Turshyn and fumbled through his pockets and pulled out his rune for the Lion's Landing temple. “We need to take you to a healer.”
Turshyn grabbed Byrn's hand, “We do not have time. There is much I have to tell you before I die.” Byrn was about to protest, but seeing his friend’s eyes growing dimmer by the moment, only nodded.
Turshyn reminded him of the Festival of Sunshillah when Mellani was kidnapped by a group of Kenzai warriors and they put a collar on her and the powerful hold it had over her. Then he told of the attack by the fire magician who also wore one of those collars and how it disappeared the next day. Finally after much labored breathing and a fit of vertigo, Turshyn told of the attack by Bertran the Silent and his subsequent capture.
“Everything comes back to that collar.” Turshyn squeezed Byrn’s arm as if to make his point. “With a few hundred of those collars there would be enough to put one around the neck of every magician in the kingdom. We would become prisoners not in cells or domains like we are now, but in our own minds as we watched ourselves jump at the whims of our captors unable to control our own actions. We would be nothing more than the weapons they make us out to be.” Turshyn’s grip on Byrn's arm tightened with his last ounces of strength. He did not have much time left. “You have to make sure that does not happen. You are the only one left who can.” The grip on Byrn's arm loosened and Turshyn's hand fell to his side. His eyes closed as his last breath passed his lips.
Byrn involuntarily shook as he tried to suppress the feelings of anger and loss he felt in that moment as he watched his best friend pass into the next world. He began to smell the faint odor of something burning, but did not care enough to find out what was causing it until he saw smoke wafting off of Turshyn's body and Byrn knew that he was the one doing it, but found he was no longer able to stop himself. First the necromancer's clothes were on fire, then his skin was ablaze, but Byrn could not let go of the body anymore than he could stop the blaze erupting around him.
From far away Byrn heard a woman shouting. His vision was blurred from tears that felt hot against his face as if they were made of fire themselves. He looked up and the world became all the more bleary as darkness encroached from the edges of his vision, but he could almost swear as the darkness overtook him that the death goddess, Kassani, stood over him with arms outstretched, calling him home. It was time to pay his debt. He killed the assassin, Bertran.
Epilogue
“Tomlin, get this cage open!” screamed Alia Necros desperately.
The bard jumped at the unexpected shriek. A moment earlier the cell was empty as Tomlin waited impatiently for his master to return from her mission to aid the Lion’s Landing magicians with their Kenzai problem. However, he never expected Alia to return in such a state clutching the bloody body of a stranger wearing little more than rags. Tomlin fumbled with the cell’s key before roughly shoving it into the lock and turning it with an audible click. The door swung open effortlessly and the bard rushed into the cell.
Tomlin went to take the man from Alia, but pulled back once he made contact with the body. It was burning hot to the touch, but Alia held onto him as if there was nothing the matter. “Let go of him!” Tomlin shouted and pulled her hands free of the body’s fraying cloak and tunic. “Touching him is like sticking your hands in a burning hearth!”
A few seconds passed as the two enchanters stared at each other. Then Alia blinked as if waking from a dream. “Thank you, Tomlin,” she said breathlessly, “I lost myself for a moment in my grief.”
“Who is he?” asked Tomlin. Then he noticed, the bolt sticking out of the man’s back. “Or should I say, ‘who was he?”
“I put him under a sleep enchantment. He lives, but I am not sure for how much longer.”
Taking the cue Tomlin got up from the floor beside Alia and told her, “I will fetch Father Skynryd,” and with that he left Alia alone with the unconscious magician. When she was sure that he had gone, Alia pulled her knees up under her chin and rocked back and forth. Memories of her mother flashed in her mind and for the first time that she could recall since she was a young girl and her father was taken away, Alia Necros cried.
Afterword
Rogue Magician (The Magician Rebellion) Page 28