They had been waiting for someone to tell them what to do.
"Get the doors," said Ark to Korbulus.
Korbulus yelled a command, and two of his workers pulled open the massive doors.
"Advance!" said Ark.
He strode into Foundry Square, the tramp of boots ringing behind him.
The battle in the street was over. At least half the laborers lay dead or wounded, the survivors fleeing toward the foundry. The Istarish soldiers came in hot pursuit, expecting easy prey.
"Halt!" ordered Ark. "Javelins!"
Every Legionary carried two javelins topped with a soft iron point. When flung, the points buried themselves in an enemy's shield and bent, rending the shield useless. The women, children, and surviving laborers raced past the Legionaries, making for the relative safety of the foundry.
The Istarish pursued...and slowed when they saw the waiting Legionaries.
"Release!" yelled Ark.
As one, the Legionaries and veterans drew back their arms and flung their javelins. A rain of iron-tipped missiles showered upon the hesitating Istarish soldiers. Three fell dead, their chests pierced by the javelins. The others managed to get their shields up in time, only to have them ruined by the iron points. The Istarish flung aside their shields, and Ark saw them waver.
Then an Immortal bellowed a command, voice crazed with bloodlust, and the Istarish charged. Behind him, Ark saw a ripple of alarm go through the Legionaries and the veterans.
“Hold!” he yelled. “Shields! Stand ready to receive the charge!”
The Legionaries and the veterans wavered…but they kept their formation, and raised their shields, presenting a wall of iron and oak to the charging enemy. Ark kept his place in the center of the formation, shield raised. The Istarish footmen and the Immortals crashed into the wall, hacking and screaming, attacking with scimitars and chain whips. But the shield wall held. The Istarish fought with courage and tenacity – but Legion discipline outweighed individual courage every single time.
“Advance!” said Ark.
He lowered his shield just long enough to thrust his broadsword. The blade took an Istarish footman in the face, and the man fell screaming. Around him the Legionaries and the veterans did the same, following the movements that had been drilled into them.
An Immortal crashed into the line, knocking a Legionary to the ground. The black-armored soldier held a scimitar in his right hand and a chain whip in his left. Even as Ark turned, the Immortal attacked, the chain whip lashing with such force that it ripped a man’s head from his shoulders. Ark seized a dropped javelin and thrust the weapon at the Immortal. The Immortal snapped the whip around, the chain lash coiling around the javelin and ripping it from Ark’s hand.
But the Immortal overbalanced, and Ark drove forward, thrusting his sword into the Immortal’s face. The blue glow within the skull-masked helmet went dark, and the Immortal fell. A cheer went up from the Legionaries, and they drove forward with renewed vigor. Ark fell back to his place in the line, shield raised, sword stabbing, pushing the Istarish back pace by pace. The old movements, the Legion style of fighting, returned to him so easily that it seemed he had never left at all.
And then the enemy broke. Most lay dead upon the ground of Foundry Square. A few of the Legionaries and the veterans lay dead or wounded, but not nearly as many as the Istarish soldiers.
“A good fight,” said Korbulus, wiping the blood from his blade. “But too many of them got away. They’ll report back to Rezir Shahan, and the bastard will send troops to finish us off.”
“I know,” said Ark, thinking.
He looked at the dimming sky, at the sun disappearing to the west. If Rezir planned to seize the Plaza of the Tower, even if he had already taken it, an organized force in Foundry Square would disrupt his plans. He would send troops to kill them, or at least to bottle them up.
Ark looked at the rooftop of the foundry.
“If the enemy is coming,” said Ark, “then we had best get ready to meet them.”
Chapter 12 - A Stormsinger's Wrath
“In the name of Andromache, High Seat of House Kardamnos, Archon of the Assembly of New Kyre,” roared Kleistheon, pointing his sword, “I charge you to open your doors and surrender yourselves to our custody immediately!”
Kylon shifted his grip on his sword.
No answer came from the chapterhouse of the Imperial Magisterium.
“Will they answer us?” said Kylon.
“Of course not,” said Kleistheon, voice thick with disdain. “The magi of the Magisterium are weaklings. No doubt they are hiding under their beds, hoping their arcane sciences will save them.”
“No doubt,” said Andromache, voice placid, “but they will fight. The Imperial magi believe themselves the masters of arcane science. Before the sun rises again, they will learn otherwise.”
Kylon, Kleistheon, and Andromache stood outside the Magisterium chapterhouse, flanked by five hundred ashtairoi. Constructed of gleaming white stone, the chapterhouse was a tall basilica built in the Nighmarian style. Statues of men in robes stood in niches along the basilica’s walls. Wings on the side of the basilica held the living quarters of the magi, and the double doors to the basilica were closed and barred.
“Shall I order an attack, High Seat?” said Kleistheon.
Andromache glanced at Kylon.
“They’re…waiting, I think,” said Kylon, directing his arcane senses at the chapterhouse. “Some of them are shielded, and the entire building is warded. I cannot read much of their emotions. But they are preparing something, I’m sure of it.”
“As am I,” said Andromache. “We shall let them make the first move. Kleistheon. Kill the magi and their guards. But I want the master magi taken alive. Am I understood?”
“It shall be as you command, High Seat,” said Kleistheon.
Andromache shook her head in irritation. “If the Moroaica is not here to give me what I seek, then I will simply have to take it for myself.”
Kylon wondered what she meant by that.
Then he felt the surge of sorcerous power in the air.
A tremor went through the basilica’s walls, and a dozen statues ripped free from their niches, caught in the grip of the magi’s spells of psychokinetic force. The stone statues fell like catapult stones toward the assembled ashtairoi.
Andromache lifted her hands and sang.
Her voice rang out, thundering with sorcerous power. A howling gale sprang up, tearing through the small square before the chapterhouse. The statues reversed direction and flew towards the basilica. Several smashed against the walls. But two more fell through the chapterhouse’s windows, landing with tremendous crashes.
Kylon sensed sudden flashes of agony from within the chapterhouse, followed by nothingness.
The wayward statues had claimed some victims.
Andromache lifted her hands higher, her song growing louder.
Lightning screamed out the sky, hammering at the basilica’s doors. The first two bolts rebounded, driven aside by the magi’s wards. The third bolt drove through the doors, ripped them from their hinges, and shattered part of the surrounding wall.
"Kleistheon," said Andromache.
"Now!" bellowed Kleistheon, pointing his lighting-wrapped sword at the gates. "Charge! For the glory of New Kyre!"
The ashtairoi shouted, banging their swords against their round shields. Kleistheon shot forward, moving in a sorcery-enhanced blur, and Kylon followed close upon his heels. In battle, the stormdancers led the charge, tearing their way through the ranks of the enemy troops, while the ashtairoi followed to take advantage of the chaos left in the stormdancers' wake.
Kylon burst into the main hall of the chapterhouse. Thick marble pillars supported the vaulted roof, and more statues stood in niches along the walls. Glowing glass globes, enspelled by the Magisterium to emit light, hung in elaborate iron chandeliers. A high table sat on a dais at the far end of the hall, and before the dais stood the magi of the cha
pterhouse. About twenty of them, men in black robes with crimson sashes about their waists. Here and there stood an older man in a black robe with a purple sash - the master magi, the ones Andromache wanted alive.
"Stormdancers!" barked one of the master magi, a balding, stout man. Kylon recognized him from Rezir Shahan's description. Quintus Tolius, the preceptor of the chapterhouse. Apparently he had escaped the ambush in the Great Market. "Take them!"
As one the magi lifted their hands and pointed, muttering spells, and Kylon felt the massive release of arcane power.
Invisible power seized him and threw him toward the wall with enough force to turn his flesh to pulp. But Kylon drew upon his power, filling his muscles with the strength of his water sorcery. His feet slammed into the wall, a web of cracks spreading beneath his boots. He kicked off the stone, spinning through the air, and landed closer to the magi. Besides him, Kleistheon shrugged off the spell, his face alight with the joy of battle, and charged the brothers of the Magisterium.
“Take them down!” yelled Tolius, his hands hooked into claws.
The statues trembled in their niches, and hurtled toward the stormdancers. Kylon let the sorcery of air fill him, and with its power he dodged and danced around the falling pieces of sculpture. Again the magi cast a spell in unison, and this time a wall of psychokinetic force swept across the basilica floor, flinging chunks of broken stone into the air. Kylon spun past the stone head of a long-dead Emperor, and the wall of invisible force slammed into him. He let the momentum fling him back several feet, and then he kicked off the floor. He tumbled over the wall of force and landed before the magi.
Behind him the ashtairoi charged into the chapterhouse, shields raised, swords drawn back to attack. Kleistheon landed next to Kylon, blue-white lightning snarling up and down his blade. Tolius shouted a command to the other magi, and they began another spell.
But it was too late for them.
Kylon tore into the magi. A thin magus with a hooked nose pointed at him, arcane force snarling around his fingers, and Kylon's slash took his hand at the wrist. The magus fell to his knees with a scream, the ragged stump of his wrist coated in icicles of dried blood.
Kleistheon crashed into the magi, and their coordinated defense collapsed into chaos. Some of the magi tried to fling blasts of psychokinetic force at the stormdancers, while others cast spells at the charging ashtairoi. Kylon slew another magi, glittering diamonds of frozen blood flying from his blade. He saw Tolius fling out his hand, and a half-dozen ashtairoi tumbled into the air, caught in the grip of his sorcery. Kylon dodged another blast of invisible force, eyes fixed on Tolius. The preceptor was the key. If Kylon could overpower him, the defense would crumble. Perhaps the surviving magi would even surrender...
A pair of black blurs jumped from the balcony overlooking the hall, waves of arcane power radiating from them. Kylon threw himself to the side, and just avoided getting crushed beneath a man in black plate armor. A cylindrical helmet of black steel hid the man's face, and a massive black mace rested in the armored figure's right hand.
Kylon wheeled just in time to dodge a blow of the mace. It roared past him and struck the floor with enough force to shatter a marble tile. Kylon turned, hoping to land a stab, but the armored figure recovered with supernatural speed, mace whipping for Kylon's face. He dodged, but just barely.
The armored figure was a battle magus. Like the stormdancers, the battle magi of the Imperial Magisterium used their arcane sciences to enhance their battle prowess. Rather than flinging blasts of psychokinetic force, they used their spells to make themselves stronger and faster. That suit of black armor would crush a normal man, but a battle magus’s spell-enhanced strength could bear the weight.
Kylon dodged another blow. He saw Kleistheon locked in combat with the other battle magus, the lightning from his sword curling to lick at his foe's black mace. Kylon backed away, as did Kleistheon, the battle magi driving them toward the ashtairoi. The surviving magi gathered around Tolius, joining their powers. Kylon tried to find a way around the battle magus, but his foe was like a tower of black steel. If Kylon could not distract the magi, they would unleash their combined powers on the ashtairoi, or strike down both Kylon and Kleistheon...
Then Kylon felt a tremendous surge of arcane power.
A heartbeat later the chapterhouse's roof exploded.
The shock from the blast knocked both Kylon and the battle magus to the floor, shattered chunks of the wooden ceiling raining around them. Kylon scrambled back to his feet, hoping to land a telling blow, but his opponent was too fast.
Lightning crackled in the night sky overhead, and Kylon saw Andromache.
She appeared in the air over the basilica, borne aloft on the might of her sorcery. Her black braid writhed behind her head like a serpent, and her gown billowed around her like bloody wings. She landed atop the ruined wall of the basilica and flung out a hand.
A lightning bolt thundered from the sky and exploded into the gathered magi. Two of them fell dead, burned to charred husks. The battle magus looked up, stunned, and Kylon's next cut scraped through a black shoulder plate.
The battle magus reeled back, and Kylon pressed the attack. He launched one, two three thrusts, his sword a white blur before him. Every blow landed home, yet his sword could not penetrate the plates of black steel.
Yet every strike left a thin layer of frost upon the black plates.
The massive black mace swung for his head, and an idea came to Kylon.
He circled to the battle magus’s right and thrust. The magus dodged, but Kylon’s blows struck his right arm again and again. The battle magus’s psychokinetic power gave him the greater strength, but Kylon’s air sorcery gave him the greater speed. He danced around the black-armored magus, landing hit after hit upon the magus’s right arm.
He glimpsed Kleistheon dueling the second battle magus, jagged lines of lightning leaping from his sword to sink into the magus’s armor with every hit. Another bolt of lightning roared down from the ruined ceiling, only to rebound from an invisible ward. Andromache made a twisting gesture, and a spinning, slender whirlwind of gray mist appeared above the gathered magi. It picked up a magus and flung the screaming man through the ruined ceiling, throwing him into the sky with such force that he soon disappeared to a tiny speck.
Kylon did not hear him land.
He continued his mad dance around the battle magus. The magus threw back his arm for an overhand blow, and Kylon's sword tip scraped along the joint of his elbow, more frost spreading over the black steel. Kylon overextended, and the battle magus stepped forward, preparing to launch a massive blow with the mace.
Only for his arm to remain motionless.
The battle magus glanced at his arm, and Kylon imagined the expression of bafflement beneath the black helm.
"The frost," said Kylon, driving his sword forward, "it makes the joints stick."
His blade sank into the black helmet’s eye slit. A heartbeat later ice spread over the helmet, and the battle magus fell to his knees. Kylon wrenched his sword free, the blade glittering with frozen blood.
The battle magus collapsed, the clang of the armor drowned out by the screams and shouts of the battle.
And the thunder of Andromache's sorcery.
Most of the magi had been slain, either by Andromache's spells or the swords of the ashtairoi. Even as Kylon turned, he saw Kleistheon cut down the second battle magus, his sword blazing like a falling star. But Quintus Tolius still stood atop the dais, his thick face red with strain. Kylon felt the arcane strength pulsing around him, mingling with his rage and terror. Rezir might have reported that the Marsis chapterhouse was staffed by idlers and fools, but Tolius had substantial sorcerous power. He flung out his hands, unleashing a massive hammer of psychokinetic force at Andromache.
But his strength was no match for Andromache, High Seat of Kardamnos and Archon of New Kyre.
She crossed her arms before her, and her ward dissipated Tolius's spell. Then she d
ropped from the ruined wall, the winds of storm cradling her as she floated to the floor. Andromache came to a stop forty paces from Tolius, sparks snarling and dancing around her.
Kylon strode toward Tolius, sword raised, as did Kleistheon and the ashtairoi. Tolius growled and began casting another spell.
"Stay!" said Andromache, her voice as loud as the thunder. "He's mine! Hold your positions!"
Kylon stopped, as did the others. He knew Andromache could handle Tolius, yet his heart tightened with fear. She was his sister. He should stand beside her to face any dangers.
"Surrender," said Andromache, "and I will let you live."
"Kyracian witch!" said Tolius. "Do you think your primitive spells can overcome a master of the Imperial Magisterium?"
Andromache lifted an eyebrow. "It seems my primitive spells have already overcome several members of the Magisterium."
"They," said Tolius, "were not me!"
He raked his hands through the air, and a dozen statues ripped from their pedestals. They shot toward Andromache, enough stone to bury a score of men. Kylon shouted and started forward, intending to push her out of the way.
Andromache only raised her hand.
A whirlwind of gray mist spun around her, the noise howling through the ruined chapterhouse. The statues struck the whirlwind and flew into different directions, exploding into broken shards as they struck the walls. The whirlwind vanished, and Andromache stood unharmed, her expression almost amused.
Tolius shrank back a step, sweat dripping down his face.
"Most impressive, master magus," said Andromache. "Now it's my turn."
She lifted her hands, power thrumming around her.
Lightning was the most powerful force a stormsinger or a stormdancer could wield. Most stormsingers could not channel lightning through their bodies, not without killing themselves, instead calling it down from the open sky. Even Kleistheon, a stormdancer with decades of experience, needed to use his sword to channel lightning. Otherwise his own power would have burnt him to a crisp.
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