by Damien Black
Then he saw them, faint pinpricks of light at first, gradually thickening and growing stronger. Torches.
‘Extinguish our lights!’ Horskram cried. ‘Don’t give them a target!’
‘He’s right,’ said the archer next to him, a woman of about thirty summers. There were a few tapers burning, stuck into makeshift sconces along the top of the stockade. The cry went up and one by one the torches on the wall winked out, plunging them into deeper gloom. Only the fire burning in the meeting place and the stars and moon remained to keep stygian dark at bay.
The lights grew steadily stronger, then winked out all at once.
‘They’ve had the same idea,’ growled Horskram. ‘They’re being led by someone who knows what they’re doing.’
‘I think I see some of them, they must be at the clearing’s edge,’ said a woodsman with keener night-sight than most.
‘How many do you see?’ called out Sir Torgun.
Horskram shushed him. ‘Too many to tell.’
‘Wait,’ said Adelko. ‘I’m getting something else… more of them, coming from the north. I don’t think they’re close yet.’
Horskram had to marvel at the novice’s growing powers. Reus Almighty, but the lad’s sixth sense was specific.
‘They mean to outflank us,’ said Horskram. ‘You,’ – he gestured at the woodsman next to him – ‘take half the archers here and move them around to face north. Keep bowmen on the other sides as well, they may be coming at us from different directions.’
The woodsman complied and the walkway was a flurry of activity, men and women stepping surefootedly despite the darkness. The two monks remained with the main party facing the trail.
They had no sooner changed their position than their attackers emerged from the trees – dark forms loping through the night like hungry wolves. The archers on the wall brought several down screaming, but targeting moving men at night was hard work even for woodfolk, and most reached the stockade.
Horskram realised their next move as the stockade resounded with dull thunks.
‘Grappling hooks!’ he cried. ‘They’re trying to scale the walls!’
Hurriedly some of the woodfolk dropped their bows and pulled out hunting knives, trying to cut the ropes in time. The first wave fell, grunting and cursing as they hit the ground, but quick as a flash another wave of men were at the walls. Horskram peered out at the dimming line of trees. He could make out more shapes flitting from them.
‘There’s too many of them!’ he yelled. ‘They’ll overrun us – Torgun, open the gate and engage them before it’s too late!’
‘Master Horskram, they’re coming from the north side too now!’ Adelko cried. Flashing a sideways glance, Horskram saw more outlaws dashing from the trees towards the stockade. The ground in that direction stretched a bit longer from the woods; the archers managed to cut down several before the others made the walls. But there were many more behind.
‘There must be a hundred of them at least!’ he cried. ‘Somebody’s got this lot organised.’
That hardly surprised him. Thule had spent years training his levies – for pressed commoners they had fought well, almost on a par with the regular soldiers who served the barons. At least they weren’t heavily armed: the glint of moonlight caught the odd stud on a leather jerkin, but that aside they carried the same light axes and short swords as they had to war.
Still, that was more than the woodfolk could claim – deprived of the chance to use their bows, with their hunting knives and clubs they would be little match for their assailants.
The gate creaked open below. Looking down he saw Sir Torgun and the others lined up in a defensive semi-circle, ready to receive attack. Behind and around them the rest of the woodfolk clustered. Horskram could almost feel their fear as a solid thing; he wished for once he didn’t have his sixth sense.
The outlaws poured in. Stealth gave way to battle now, and angry war cries rang through the night air.
‘Adelko, stay here!’ the adept barked. ‘I don’t want a repeat of the Laegawood – no heroics, do you understand me?’
Adelko nodded. He was learning to recognise his limitations. The adept turned to the archers. ‘The rest of you, pick off as many as you can from up here and don’t engage unless you have to – they may be holding others in reserve under the trees.’
The man and woman he had spoken to nodded dumbly, probably wondering how a monk knew so much of war. That knowledge had cost his soul many a pain, but Horskram scarcely reflected on that as he bounded back down the stairs.
The ground before the gate was already littered with corpses. Sir Torgun alone appeared to have cut down three outlaws, his powerful sword strokes looking effortless in the half-light; next to him Sir Aronn struck down another robber, a trail of blood and brains following him as he fell to the ground shrieking. Sir Braxus disabled one attacker with a shield barge, sending the man tottering back spitting teeth before the Thraxian’s sword found his gut. The Chequered Twins and Vaskrian looked scarcely less impressive, and their blades had made three more spurting corpses when Horskram reached them.
Despite their best efforts, sheer weight of numbers had been enough for the attackers to push past their ring of steel: woodfolk screamed as the outlaws hacked and gouged at them with the fury of desperate men.
Horskram caught one as he lunged towards a woodlander, causing him to double up with a blow to the midriff. Reversing his quarterstaff, he knocked him senseless with a blow to the head. He felt his gut tighten as it always did in those situations: one more life taken and he would most likely be beyond Purgatory. Stepping over the outlaw he engaged another head-on, pushing him back with a series of rapid strikes.
The fight surged on. The tide of outlaws gradually abated as the villagers and their protectors held firm. A second wave clustered beyond the gate, some trying to scale the stockade.
Horskram felt his tension ease slightly as he sent another outlaw spinning away from him in a spray of blood, his nosebone shattered. They were turning the tide, his plan of engagement had worked! If the archers on the walls could hold off the others…
A great crashing sound put paid to that hope. With horror he saw the wall by the side of the gate collapse, men toppling to the ground amidst the frayed timbers. In their wake a great furrow suddenly appeared in the earth, heading towards him with an alarming speed.
Stepping back the old monk felt his sinews strain as he narrowly avoided tumbling into the chasm that suddenly appeared next to him.
Reus’ teeth – a Terrus, now of all times!
There was a flash of light behind him. Turning he saw an explosion of fire from the meeting place. Great tongues of flame reached high up into the air, descending with a rush on the nearest hut. The sound of screams erupted as the hut was consumed by the conflagration.
A Saraphus as well – it couldn’t be…
And then he knew.
I can still send other agents to trouble you… Words spoken in a chamber at Salmor castle two weeks ago.
‘Andragorix,’ snarled Horskram through gritted teeth.
All hell was breaking loose. Another wave of outlaws was pouring through the breach made by the Terrus, outflanking the knights and descending on the terrified woodfolk in a rain of steel and blood. A voice crying out caught his ears – he looked up to see Adelko hanging onto the stockade walkway for dear life, right next to where the section had fallen in. More screams erupted behind him as the fire spirit attacked another hut, its occupants burning alive as it went up like a barrel of pitch. Torgun and the others were hard pressed now, each of them taking on two or three foes. More screams, muffled ones, came from the great rift ploughed by the Terrus as outlaw and woodsman alike fell into its depths.
The chasm closed on the hapless victims, crushing them pitilessly as it shifted towards the monk. Lurching backwards, Horskram felt his back collide with a hut as he intoned the words of the Psalm of Earth’s Calming:
Spirit of the Other Side
<
br /> Thou hast crossed the great divide
Set by He who made the earth
And brought it to its ancient birth!
Spirit from beyond the rent
‘Tis He commands thee to relent
These rocks and stones are not thine own
Return now to immortal bourne!
The chasm stopped short of the monk’s trembling feet, like an invisible dog being pulled on a leash. Horskram let it have another couple of verses:
Spirit of the Other Side
Thou hast broken rules decreed
By Him who made the forests wide
And all the lands that sprouted seed!
Spirit from beyond the rent
Your trespass ‘gainst Him now repent
These rocks and stones are not thine own
Relinquish now usurpéd throne!
Shutting out the din of conflict, Horskram closed his eyes and focused on the words. He spoke them in Decorlangue, the ancient tongue of the Redeemer, but the true power of such things lay in the conviction behind them: he was calling on Reus Almighty, invoking His power through the same words spoken by Palom a thousand years ago.
Even so, he knew he could not hope to banish a Terrus right away – the most he could do was drive it off, beyond range of the words that called it back to its preternatural realm.
A rumbling at his feet told him it was working as the elemental raged, sending stones and sods of earth skittering up in all directions. Reaching inside his habit Horskram closed his hand about the phial at his neck, trusting to the Redeemer’s blood to lend him power as he chanted the final verses:
Spirit of the Other Side
Return across the great divide
Seek the forests and the dales
Of thine own immortal vale!
Spirit from beyond the rent
By unclean powers thou wert sent
Pay no heed to mortal call
Obey the laws of the Lord of All!
A great howl went up from the broken ground. Full of sadness it was, like a ravenous beast denied its prey. Horskram opened his eyes and the Terrus was gone, the chasm closing up as suddenly as it had opened. Only a scar across the land showed it had ever been.
Horskram’s eyes widened. He had just banished an earth spirit – at the first attempt! He muttered a brief prayer, clutching the phial more tightly. The Redeemer’s blood didn’t abjure an elemental the way it would a demon, yet still the relic’s power could not be doubted.
And he would need it again, right soon.
Many more of the huts towards the other side of the settlement were now burning. Dashing towards the meeting place, he saw several screaming figures running pell-mell, burning alive under the Saraphus’ pitiless touch. The spirit itself could be seen now, flittering from one fire to another, a vaguely humanoid form with tongues of flame shaped like talons.
He sucked in a deep breath as he prepared to utter the Psalm of Flame’s Quenching. Saraphi were the most malevolent of elementi, their wild and reckless psyches the hardest to banish.
He was about to intone the words when things went from bad to worse. From out of the fires dotted about the settlement another three spirits leaped, launching themselves towards villagers who had broken off from the battle to try and douse the flames killing their women and elders and children.
As fresh screams erupted about him Horskram clutched the phial again and summoned his resolve. His task now seemed impossible, but perhaps the Redeemer’s blood would save them.
The female woodlander grasped Adelko by the arm and yanked him back onto the shorn end of the walkway. Just then an outlaw hauled himself over the stockade, clutching a knife between grinning teeth.
His thanks turned to a yell of warning. The huntress turned rapidly and stabbed down hard with her own knife. The outlaw screamed as its point found his eye, sinking in up to the hilt. He toppled backwards taking her blade with him, but she quickly caught his as it slipped from his mouth.
Adelko looked feverishly about him. Outside the stockade the outlaws were abandoning the dangerous climb, pouring instead through the gap. On the other side his companions fought bravely, though for every brigand they cut down another appeared in his place.
His sixth sense told him the presence of magic had increased sharply and his eyes told him as much: he could see Horskram backing away towards a hut, a Terrus boring its way through the ground after him as it crushed men to death in its wake. Towards the centre of the village a Saraphus was wreaking havoc, burning huts and villagers as it leapt to and fro in a fiery dance of death.
Suppressing his nausea, he forced himself to concentrate. Who needed his help most?
The woodlanders on the walkway next to him were making light work of the last climbers on the walls. Their fellows down on the ground were faring worse, being no match for Thule’s hardened levies at close range.
To make matters worse, some woodfolk had broken off from the melee to try and save their families burning in the huts.
I can’t help much in a fight, but I can help there, he decided.
‘I need to get down!’ he yelled at the woman who had saved him. The stairs he had come up by had been smashed by the Terrus.
‘There’s another set, on the opposite side!’ the woodlander yelled back, turning her aim on the outlaws fighting inside the compound. At least with the fires she should have a chance of distinguishing friend from foe.
Adelko ignored the curses of the other bowmen as he clumsily barged past them. Reaching the other stairway he took it two steps at a time, tripping and tumbling down the last few to land in a sprawling heap at the bottom. Grabbing his quarterstaff he hauled himself up and approached the burning huts.
As he neared them bright flares suddenly hurt his eyes. He gasped as another three Saraphi burst into life, descending mercilessly on the woodfolk. Dropping his quarterstaff he pulled out his copy of the Holy Book of Psalms and Scriptures and fumbled for the correct page. He’d never banished an elemental, and weeks of adventure had left little time for study.
Praying the fire spirits wouldn’t target him, he found the page and prepared to read. At that moment a sonorous voice cried out. His mentor, reciting the same psalm. Hurriedly he joined his voice to Horskram’s:
Spirits of the Other Side
Thou hast crossed the great divide
Set by He who gave men means
To warm their halls and cook their meat!
Spirits from beyond the rent
‘Tis He commands thee to relent
Desist from speaking fiery tongues
In bourne where thou hast ne’er belonged!
Strong and clear their voices rang together. The dancing figures shimmered and flickered, pausing in their awful depredations and swarming overhead like angry fireflies. He felt the heat from the burning huts, felt the sweat pour from his body, soaking his habit. The stench of charring flesh clogged his nostrils.
Gagging, he struggled his way into the next verses:
Spirits of the Other Side
Thou hast broken rules decreed
By Him who made the fires high
That shine on earth and plain and tree!
Spirits from beyond the rent
Your trespass ‘gainst Him now repent
Quench these ravaging tongues of flame
Return to spirit world in shame!
The spirits burned indignantly as they streaked to and fro across the dark firmament, their zigzagging forms cutting trails of blazing light across Adelko’s vision. Wiping his sopping brow he prepared to read the last verses, trying to synchronise his words with Horskram’s:
Spirits of the Other Side
Return across the great divide
Seek the sun that never sets
No more thy master’s patience test!
Spirits from beyond the rent
By unclean powers thou wert sent
Pay no heed to mortal call
Obey the laws of the Lord of All!
<
br /> The four spirits stopped moving, coalescing into a single sheet of roaring flame. It undulated above them, growing weak and diaphanous: Adelko fancied he could now see past it to the stars and sky. He felt an arcane power fighting them both, a malign will beyond the summoned elementals struggling to reconstitute their elan.
Feverishly they repeated the verses, their voices growing more synchronised as they attuned to one another. The elementi roared wrathfully, sounding like the burning huts only ten times stronger. Even the fighters paused a few seconds to look up: mortal men awed enough by supernatural conflict to momentarily stop killing each other. The conjoined fire spirit stretched across the skies, growing fainter still, its flames turning red, then blue. As one Horskram and Adelko called out the final line of the psalm, repeating it over and over.
And then the elementi heaved a great sigh, and were snuffed out like a candle.
Adelko felt his sixth sense stab his mindset violently. He turned to see an outlaw leering over him, his axe poised to strike. The axe came whistling down and Adelko hurled himself out of the way, slipping and falling over.
His limbs suddenly felt heavy. He had used so much energy, channelling the power of the Redeemer, and the heat had taken its toll: his movements felt lethally slow as he tried to roll out of the way of the next strike. He was dimly aware of Horskram shouting, running towards him, but he was too far away. Another shape flickered against the crackling huts…
With an ugly belching sound the outlaw fell next to him. A long knife was buried in his back. Looking up he saw the female woodlander from the wall gazing down at him, a wry smile on her lips.
‘That’s twice I’ve saved yer skin, Northlending,’ she said, reaching down to pull the blade free.
He made to sit up and reply, but suddenly felt himself falling backwards into a soft, dark pit. Blackness closed around the edges of his vision, and he knew no more.
Vaskrian’s arms ached. He was more than a match for any single outlaw, but there were a lot of the curs and trying to kill people who outnumbered you was tiring work. Especially the last one – he’d virtually had to hack the wretch to pieces to get him to give up the ghost.
Another brigand fell with a cry as Braxus struck him down with a clever riposte, circling his blade away from his opponent’s and piercing his chest with a lightning thrust.