The God-Stone War m-4

by Michael G. Manning

  Four of them charged at her, two from either direction, while the fifth turned and swung his massive iron weapon at a nondescript and otherwise empty section of wall. There was no visible reason for his action, other than the fact that that area was guarded by a shield of magic. Like most such shields this one was not visible… not unless one possessed the ability to see magic.

  “No!” shouted Elaine, as the iron struck her shield with incredible force. She gasped in pain as the shield collapsed under the impact of the blow, and the wall sent forth a shower of stone shards as it was struck. As she reeled from the shock of her shield failing, the warriors around her attacked. Her arms went up instinctively to protect her head from the lethal violence of their swings.

  Elaine’s illusory double vanished, and their weapons found nothing where she had been only moments before. She reappeared forty feet further down the hall. Clearly they can see magic, since they easily spotted my shield decoy. They also won’t be easy to kill, and if I try to shield myself from the force of those weapons, I might go unconscious from the strength of the blow. Speaking again, she tried one of the simplest of spells, “Shibal.”

  There was no visible effect.

  “I expected better,” said the five men as one. Three of them headed for her new location, while two began systematically working their way along the walls, their hands feeling for things unseen.

  Three more copies of the young wizardess appeared at various places along the hall. “I’ll make it more interesting for you then,” Elaine replied, her voice emanating from all four mouths, making it impossible to tell which was really her. Reaching into her sleeve, she withdrew a pair of identically engraved wooden wands, taking one in each hand. Each wand was made of willow and painstakingly carved with runes. Mordecai had favored using a larger staff to channel power when he needed it, but Elaine had always preferred the smaller wands. They suited her better in terms of precision and style. Plus, two is usually better than one, she added mentally.

  The two searching the walls ignored her, while the three advancing upon her each separated to attack a different image, in the hope that one would be the real one. There was no hesitation or discussion among her opponents; they continued to move in unspoken coordination.

  “Pyrren sills thylen,” said Elaine, and fire snaked out from the ends of each of her wands, forming long ropy lines five foot in length. Each of her images mirrored her actions, as she lifted her arms and began swinging the fiery whips into blurring arcs of flame around her.

  “Flame will do you no good against the iron will of Doron!” shouted the fighters, as three of them brought their terrible iron mauls to bear on separate images of the slender woman.

  Two of them met no resistance as their illusory opponents vanished. The third met a far different fate, as lines of incandescent fire cut through his weapon, his arms, and finally his chest. In seconds, the blazing whips sliced him into neatly cauterized pieces of smoking flesh, as first his arms, and then his head and torso fell in different directions.

  Having discovered her true position, the other two attacked without hesitation, coming at her from two directions. Without flinching she stood between them and spread her arms wide, swinging her whips in brilliant arcs, to intercept each of them, but she could not focus her attention perfectly on both sides.

  With inhuman speed and perfect, selfless coordination, the one to her right threw himself bodily at her, allowing her magical whip to bisect him from one shoulder to his waist. Even so, the momentum of his lunge made it impossible for her to avoid being struck by the upper portion of his body, knocking her off balance, as his companion to her left dove under her fiery attack on that side.

  Stumbling Elaine was engulfed in blinding agony, as her left leg was struck by an iron mace. As she collapsed, she knew without looking, that her femur had been shattered, while her thigh was probably a red nightmare of bloody flesh. Unable to see from the pain of her injury, she heard a scream of terror as one of the enemy’s searching hands touched an invisible child.

  Her right hand still gripped one of her wands, the other she had lost in the fall. Blinking, she was unable to clear the tears of pain that blurred her vision, but her magesight was more than sufficient. Above, her closest assailant raised his iron weapon for a blow that would certainly finish her. She had no time to think, raising the wand, she pointed it past her immediate opponent and uttered her last words, “Borok Ingak.” The head of the man, who had just found the children broke like an overripe melon, as the force of her spell slammed him against the stone wall. She had no time to repeat her spell, before a heavy weight crushed her to the floor painfully, and a warm and welcome darkness swept her away from the agony that engulfed her consciousness. She had no time, even for regret, as oblivion took her.

  Chapter 22

  Sir Dorian had gone first to the barracks, to ensure that all the men were heading to their assigned stations, which primarily meant defensive positions along the castle walls, as well as reinforcing the guard at all gates and assisting the citizenry to reach the gathering point in the southern courtyard. As he went he gathered up two of the Knights of Stone, Sir Grant and Sir Daniel, along with a reserve group of ten soldiers that had somehow been left without an advance assignment.

  From there he proceeded to the northern courtyard, which also contained the main gate that led into Washbrook. His first impression wasn’t good. The walls seemed empty of men, and where he had expected to see a small regiment of men under Sir Ian’s command guarding the open gate, he saw none. Perhaps it would be better to say that he saw none ‘standing’.

  The gate itself was wide open and several men stood just beyond it. The gate barrier enchantment must be closed, thought Dorian. He could already tell by their postures and warlike garb that the men were not townsfolk. If they’re still trapped out there, how did they kill my men?

  He reached the castle gate and found the remains of a bloody slaughter. Well over fifty bodies lay strewn about, and at a glance it appeared that almost all of them were his men. Mixed in with them were a few of the townspeople and even one or two children. He recognized each and every one of them, with the exception of two strangers.

  One of those strangers had been cloven into two grisly pieces, while the other looked to have been wounded a multitude of times, mostly by spears. The second one still held two of the guardsmen by the throat, having apparently choked them to death, even as he himself bled to death.

  None of the defenders were still living, and among them Dorian immediately spotted one of his own brother knights, Sir Ian. Kneeling down he examined the body of the young warrior he had trained and fought beside for the past five years. His death had been gruesome. The armor that the Knights of Stone wore was nigh on impregnable, but Sir Ian’s opponents hadn’t bothered trying to pierce it. Instead his arms had been ripped off.

  It was the sort of injury one would expect if someone had been tied between two large draft horses… not the kind of wound people received on a battlefield. “What in the hell did this?” Dorian wondered aloud.

  Beside him Sir Grant touched his elbow, “I can hear sounds of fighting toward the postern side. I think the battle has moved.”

  Sir Dorian, Grandmaster of the Knights of Stone, was no stranger to making quick decisions. “Close the gate,” he told the soldiers that had come with him. “Sir Grant, go back to the keep and check the men guarding the entrances. Make sure none of the invaders entered. Afterward report to Sir Cyhan, he should be somewhere within the castle still, making sure all the servants have gone to the rally point.”

  “As you will, my lord,” answered Sir Grant promptly, before turning to head for the main entrance to the keep.

  Turning back, Dorian watched as some of the men began lowering the heavy iron portcullis using the winches, while others pushed the heavy wooden gates shut. Some thirty yards from where he stood, a tall regal figure stood in the center of the path leading to the gate. The figure’s clothes appeared to be
made from grey linen and were heavily embroidered with gold thread.

  Dorian walked toward the man, until he stood just ten feet from him, as close as he could get with the barrier enchantment blocking his way. Grey hair, grey eyes, grey clothes, and the balance of justice, he noted mentally, taking stock of the stranger’s appearance. The fellow’s sleeves were each embroidered with golden scales, the favored symbol of Karenth the Just.

  Once upon a time, Dorian would have knelt in the presence of the god of justice and wise governance. Now he merely felt sorrow, a deep sadness that probably stemmed from the loss of his innocence. “I believed in you once,” he said quietly. “My family was devoted to your sister, the Lady of the Evening Star.”

  Karenth the Just smiled at him, “It is not too late for you, Dorian, son of Gram. Lower this magical barrier and I will show you and your family mercy.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  The god opened his mouth, showing perfect teeth in a menacing grin before he answered, “Then you shall suffer the same judgment as the rest. Every man, woman, and child serving under Mordecai Illeniel shall die, including those that seek to escape.”

  “You’re too late, many are already gone,” Dorian replied.

  “I know you, Dorian Thornbear, I know your wife Rose, and I know your son, who you named after your departed father. It does not matter if they have fled. I will find them. No one escapes my justice.”

  “Justice?” said Dorian. “Don’t dirty the word with your liar’s tongue. I said I believed in you once. I don’t know what the hell you are, but I do know that you are no god. Power does not make you just, nor does it make you divine.” As he spoke, the wooden gates drew closed in front of him. Before his view was entirely eclipsed, he spit upon the ground, making certain that Karenth knew exactly how he felt.

  Gesturing to the soldiers that had just close the gate, he spoke again, “Come with me to the circle building. We need to make sure that everyone there is being transported, and then you need to join them.”

  “What about the gate, Your Lordship?” asked one of the men. “Shouldn’t we be manning it?”

  Dorian grunted, “Closing it was more symbolic than anything else. If the barrier comes down, it won’t last more than a moment.” Turning away he began jogging toward the wall that divided the northern and southern castle courtyards.

  A minute later and he had passed through the arch leading into the southern courtyard, which these days was largely dominated by the building that housed the teleportation circles. The building itself was crowded, and the space around it was filled with people for almost thirty yards in every direction.

  Transporting nearly a thousand people, in groups of thirty at a time, was time consuming. Mordecai had originally calculated the time required to be, at or slightly over, thirty minutes, assuming that the wizard charged with that duty could move at least one group every minute. With good organization, discipline, and order it might be possible to do it more quickly, but the wizard given the task might exhaust themselves.

  Given the size of the crowd, Dorian guessed that things had been proceeding according to plan, although the people outside the building seemed to be agitated. As he drew closer he could see the reason why… there were numerous bodies scattered about. Sir Harold, who was in charge of organizing the orderly evacuation had already spotted him approaching and met him outside the building.

  “My lord, the defense has been breached,” Harold said without preamble. “We were beset by four outsiders.”

  “Four?” Dorian replied incredulously, “Four men did this?”

  “Yes Sir. Sir Lionel was gravely wounded as well,” continued Harold.

  “What? Explain.”

  Harold drew a deep breath, “I was inside the building, trying to keep order. Lionel was outside, overseeing the guardsmen organizing the townsfolk. From what I am told, the men approached and waded into the mob, slaying any who got in their path.”

  “And none of the guards noticed their approach?” said Dorian with a severe tone.

  “Begging your pardon Sir, but we have had a steady stream of people. It has been utter chaos, but with the barrier still up we believed that there would not be any enemies among them. The guards tried to intervene as soon as the cry went up among the people. They were unable to stop them until Sir Lionel reached them,” explained Harold.

  “And how did Lionel get wounded?” asked Dorian. It was a simple question, but it bore a heavy weight. The armor that Mordecai had crafted for the Knights of Stone was so effective that it had become almost legendary. In the seven years since the order had been founded, none of the Knights wearing it had ever been seriously wounded. The worst injuries had been one concussion (from a training accident) and a variety of mild sprains and muscle injuries that no armor could prevent. With the new exception of whatever it was that pulled Sir Ian apart like that, Dorian noted silently.

  Harold coughed. “I wasn’t aware of the attack until after it happened, but witnesses among the crowd tell me that one of the men struck him with a massive iron maul. Each of the four of them was armed with one. Sir Lionel cut two of them down before the third caught him from behind, with a blow to his head. He has not regained consciousness yet, and I fear he might die before he does.”

  “How did the third get behind him?”

  “He leapt over them, Sir. According to the crowd he jumped almost fifteen feet into the air while Sir Lionel was fighting the other two.”

  “How did it end?”

  “I finished the third man before he could reach the building. The fourth entered the crowd from a separate direction and reached the interior of the building by smashing a hole in the side wall. I caught him inside and slew him there. My guess is that he hoped to use the distraction to get inside and kill our wizard before we could stop him,” answered Harold.

  “The men guarding the town gate are dead, including Sir Ian,” said Dorian without waiting. “It appears our enemy is as strong as we are.”

  Harold was shocked. “Ian is dead?”

  “Along with every guard there and quite a few townsfolk,” replied Dorian. “It looked as though they caught him by his arms and pulled him apart.” Now that he understood the strength of their foes, Ian’s death made perfect sense.

  Harold grimaced, and Dorian spent the next minute describing what he had found at the gate. When he finished, Harold commented, “At least they don’t have our armor. We have one advantage at least.”

  “Those iron maces are devastating. Sir Lionel’s armor didn’t fail, but he’s still half dead. They also have us greatly outnumbered. I saw well over a hundred men similarly armed beyond the wall, along with a man that appeared to be Karenth. How many of the knights in Washbrook returned after the outer barrier went down?” asked Dorian.

  “None have made it here, though some may have reported to Cyhan in the castle,” said Harold.

  “I doubt it,” replied Dorian. “They were to head for this rally point after leaving those positions. We have to assume they are either dead or trapped outside.” Dorian mentally tallied the numbers; six knights were stationed at the gates in Washbrook, including Sir Daniel commanding them, Sir Ian is dead, and Sir Lionel wounded… that leaves nine knights still active, twelve if I include myself, Cyhan, and Harold.

  Twelve Knights of Stone, facing something over a hundred foes with similar strength and speed, foes that did not flinch at wounds or stop for anything less than death or dismemberment. “At least we don’t have to deal with Karenth,” muttered Dorian under his breath. “He’s all Mort’s; assuming he isn’t too sick from whatever he ate.” Glancing about, he wondered if Castle Cameron would be half destroyed by the battle, as the royal palace in Albamarl had been after Mordecai’s struggle against Celior. “How long before we have all the townsfolk and servants out of here?” he asked, as he returned his thoughts to the present.

  “At least fifteen minutes and probably more like twenty, and then we still need to transport the guar
dsmen after that,” said Harold.

  “If the barrier lasts that long… the outer one came down sooner than we had planned. Send a runner in to inform Cyhan of the status out here,” instructed Dorian. “You and I will stay until the barrier comes down, and then we’ll take whoever is left and join him in the castle itself. Let us hope George can get most of them to Albamarl before that happens.”

  “Where is the Count?”

  “Inside, with Walter… the two of them are preparing something to deal with Karenth,” assured Dorian. As he said it though, he thought of how ill Mort had seemed before he had left him. He couldn’t help but wonder if his friend would be able to live up to his own plan.

  Chapter 23

  “What’s happening?” I asked Walter again, as I had every minute or so for the last quarter of an hour. I didn’t enjoy nagging him anymore than he enjoyed me constantly asking, but without my magesight I had no idea what was occurring in the castle, or more importantly what state the barrier enchantment was in.

  “He’s still trying to bring it down. Every ten seconds or so he strikes again; it makes the whole thing vibrate when he does,” replied Walter patiently.

  “How is the evacuation going?” I added.

  “They were attacked by some of the ones that got through the gate, but it appears to be over now. Some of the people there are dead, but George is still transporting the rest,” he told me.

  I ground my teeth in frustration. Those deaths were my fault as well. I had kept the gate open to save some, and others had paid the price. “Can you tell how much longer it will be before they finish?”

  Walter shook his head negatively. “I think roughly half of them are gone, but there are too many to count. I can’t be sure.” After a long pause he added, “There are men fighting in the great hall now. I think they’re trying to find you.”