So he was almost glad when the sapphires’ attack came. With his opponents getting fewer—pitched battle can be quite sobering—he was glad for the change of pace.
The sudden drop in temperature and the slight drying of the air broadcast the sapphire attack, so Keth wasn’t too surprised when the southern wall shook violently, absorbing the majority of the attack. Near as he was to the wall, the shockwave knocked him clean off his feet. Shards of ice rained over the wall, though they were chipped too small to cause any real injury. The wall rumbled ominously for a moment, but held.
Combat within the fort came to a standstill for a moment, the combatants all stunned by the sapphire attack. With such an enormous assault, it was hard not to be impressed. But then the moment was over, and combat resumed.
Keth, still a bit shaken, was slow to regain his feet. One ambitious attacker took this as an opportunity for legend status himself. He rushed Keth, letting loose a blood-curdling scream as he raised his sword. He was still perhaps five feet away when lightning—invisible to Keth but for its amethyst-born violet aura—enveloped his body, cooking him as he ran. Not the type to take chances, Keth swept his katana upward, neatly parting the smoking corpse from navel to nostril. The body hit the ground a full second after its bowels did.
Reit rushed forward, sword in hand, not even looking at the body as he passed. Why should he? It was just one among many inside these walls. Delana was a bit more reserved, gingerly stepping over her victim as she approached. She quickly wove a field of energy around them. Keth raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Lode field,” she explained. “Small and very draining, but it’ll shield us against both metal and magic while we talk.”
“Ah, of course,” Keth nodded sagely, not having a clue how an energy field could do that, but not wanting to be taken for a fool. “So, we having fun yet?”
“Not a bit,” Reit said sourly. “She won’t let me.”
“What?!?” the amethyst shrieked incredulously. “I let you kill every emerald we come across! And quite a few sapphires as well.”
“Except for that guy there. And the one with the battle axe. And that Onatae chap.”
“Oh, come now. He had a copper hilt! You’re only an iron, maybe brass on your best day.”
“I could have taken him,” he muttered sullenly. “Anyway, Keth, how’s our barricade?”
Keth quickly scanned the site of impact, immediately seeing myriad stress fractures. “Not too good. It’ll hold, but not for long. Not against another attack like that.”
“Can you repair it?”
“I’m not sure. Delana, how much time do I have?”
Before she could answer, another tremendous blow rocked the weakened wall, pitching it dangerously inward. Blessedly, the wall had deep roots, and wedged itself in mid-fall.
“Not long, I take it?” Keth said wryly, eying the top of the wall. It would fall short of Reit, Delana, and himself, but not by much.
The amethyst lifted herself above the top of the wall, extending the lode field to protect her. “Not long at all,” she confirmed, her voice straining with the effort of her magics. “They’re already preparing anoth—Wait! Someone is attacking them. Blessed Crafter... It’s Sal!”
“Sal? Are you sure?”
“Yes, it’s him. Wearing the leathers of the Earthen Rank, but it’s him. And making short work of those sapphires too.” She paused for a moment, pursing her lips.
“Bad?” Reit asked.
“No. Good. Confusing, but good. They’re all attacking... each other.” She squinted, as if for a better look. “There’s a large group of Ranks attacking the main body from behind, and smaller groups of two and three attacking from within. It’s absolute chaos.”
As she spoke, some defenders atop the battlements caught the scene out on the plains, and let loose a cheer. Others further away heard the cheer and answered with their own, sure now of their own victory. The cheer caught like a brush fire, igniting a berserker’s frenzy in the rebels. Almost instantly, the battle within the walls of the fort mirrored the battle without.
But before he too could be caught up in the celebrations, Keth had a troubling thought. “Do you see the granites?”
“Yes, I—no, wait. Where’d they go? I just saw them. They were in amongst a group of amethysts. I almost didn’t see them for all the violet haze those amethysts were putting off. But now the granites are just... gone.”
“Dead?”
“Maybe. I can’t tell.”
Keth’s stomach knotted up, and his knees went watery. “Lead. There’s lead in the ground. You wouldn’t see if—”
The ground rippled as the granites pushed up around Keth, pushing Reit out of the way, who fell hard to the ground. Rebels that had been harrying nearby Bastionite forces saw the granite explosion, and ran to Keth’s defense as their individual battles allowed. They got as far as the lode field before they were repelled by its magic. Not knowing that the field only repelled magic and metal, they stood outside the invisible field, vainly striking it with their swords or gauntleted fists.
Four granites closed in on Keth, each taking hold of a limb. He wrestled against his captors, but their grips were like stone. A fifth granite drew a leather strap across Keth’s eyes. As the blindfold slid home, Keth realized what was happening—they wanted him alive. He bucked and fought with renewed vigor, trying to shake the blindfold off, or at least work a hand or a foot loose, but the granites held him fast, extending their auras over him. Keth grabbed at his own magic, but it came to him sluggishly, if at all. The invading auras were interfering with his own magic. He tried time and again to wield, but the magic kept slipping away. He could feel the brown auras of his attackers crawl up his arms, his legs, coating his flesh like pond scum. He could do nothing but struggle vainly, and listen blindly as the battle unfolded around him.
***
Delana, caught off guard, dropped to the ground to offer aid, but hesitated. Lightning crackled vainly at her fingertips. She had the means to at least buy Keth some time, but she couldn’t take the risk. They were all so close together! With Keth’s own granite aura disrupted, one errant spark could fry him to a crisp. Or worse, it could catch Reit, who lay on the ground near them. So she stood there, agonizing, impotent, while she waited desperately for a clean shot.
***
Reit, still winded from his own struggles, groggily regained his feet and unsheathed his sword. He stumbled forward and hacked at the nearest granite. A lucky strike, the blow caught the granite off guard. The brown woolen robe deflated as the headless granite crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
That was about the extent of Reit’s luck, however. One of the granites saw his fellow drop, and issued a blood-curdling battlecry. The others turned to take stock of their change in fortune. Before Reit could raise his sword a second time, the granite that had spotted him wielded. A magic-wrought orb formed in the space above Keth, and sped toward Reit. The rebel leader swept his sword upward in a broad arc, barely batting the sphere away. The impact jarred his sword arm, and before he could fully recover, the nearest granite was on him.
***
Keth, blindfolded against the exchange happening around him, felt the granite attack weaken with the loss of two attackers, and he pushed that much harder with his own. His control over the mana strengthened for a moment, but a surge pushed it back as the fourth granite rejoined them. His flesh tingled as the very surface of his skin started to crystallize. As hard has he pushed, Keth was still losing ground—and flesh—to the granites. Unable to subdue him, they were killing him, an inch at a time, and there was nothing he could do about it.
***
Jaren wasn’t entirely surprised by the arrival of the Granite Guards. In fact, he’d expected them long before now, and had stayed as close to Keth as the heat of battle would allow. He knew that the renegade granite would be a primary target for the Guard, even above el’Yatza. They were notoriously protective of their secrets, and Keth posed an u
nacceptable breach.
Rotting corpses littered the area surrounding Jaren and his magically-enhanced sword. But the emerald didn’t let himself get so caught up in the battle that he forgot the young granite. So when that moment finally came, heralded by the five new granite auras, Jaren leapt forward, blood-drenched sword in hand.
He was vaguely aware of Delana dropping to the ground before him, but he was more concerned with Keth. The young mage was surrounded by brown cowls, each of the five wielding—no, wait. Four granites. Jaren watched the fifth crumple to the ground in a heap, decapitated, courtesy of el’Yatza.
The emerald’s burst of pride was short-lived. One of the remaining granites took note of his fallen comrade, and exacted revenge. Turning, the granite thrust his hand into Reit’s chest—deep into his chest—and gripped... something. Reit threw his head back in pain and utter shock. The granite pushed Reit back with one hand, withdrawing his other hand at the same time. Blood flowed freely from his grip. He tossed aside whatever he’d ripped loose, and turned his attentions back to Keth.
Jaren heard a horrific, bloodcurdling scream as he ran to Keth’s defense, splashing through decomposing bodies and leaping over those still more or less solid. He was halfway to Keth before he realized that the scream he was hearing was his own.
It was truly a bizarre feeling. “Disconnected” was the only word that even came close. And it did. He felt disconnected—from the battle, from reality. It was as if bloodlust had completely overtaken him, and his soul was just along for the ride. He noted vaguely that Delana was screaming as well, lightning crackling all around her like the pent up fury of a summer storm over Leviathan’s Maw.
He thought he heard Keth join the chorus as well, but just as he did, a deafening thunderclap sounded, and the emerald felt himself pulled forward. Breathless and ears ringing, Jaren found himself once again in control of his faculties... as well as face down in the blood-sodden grass. He needed desperately to catch his breath, but he couldn’t afford that luxury at the moment. Reit’s life hung in the balance. So he made due as best he could, struggling to his feet and lurching forward.
He knew before he even reached the body that he was too late. He scanned Reit thoroughly with his second sight, scouring the body for any sign of vitality, any sign of life at all. There was none. No brain activity, no reflexive muscle jerks, nothing.
But he didn’t need his magical secondary vision to tell him the truth of the matter. He didn’t even need to see the residual granite aura enveloping the body, concentrated over the cavity that had once held a heart that many would claim was purest gold. All Jaren needed to see were the lifeless, soulless eyes, staring out into oblivion.
Reit was dead.
***
Outside the fortress walls, the battle raged. Sal and his forces cut a swath through the opposing armies like a hot knife through butter. But as much as he hated to admit it, he was a pretty thin knife in a huge tub of butter. Something would have to give, and quick.
He saw some of those loyal to him fall, either to traitors or to the enemy proper, but the fallen were swiftly avenged. The half-drunken rabble was terribly overmatched, but sheer numbers stood on the part of the Earthen Ranks. Through a breach in the granite wall, he caught glimpses of the battle raging within the fortress, but what he saw was confusing. One moment, the defenders were whipped up in a frenzy. The next, chaos had ensued. He wasn’t sure what had turned the tide, but it didn’t seem to be for the better. And it was catching. The Earthen Ranks saw what Sal saw, and let loose a cheer, redoubling their efforts to put down the rebel army.
Sal swallowed grimly. There was nothing he could do about the battle inside the fortress. Turning his focus back to the task at hand, he danced among the Rank soldiers, sword cutting a devastating swath around him. He recited his hilts, over and over, keeping his focus sharp. But just outside his focus, that nagging thought buzzed like a horsefly. Something had to give.
As if in response to his silent prayer, a reptilian roar broke over the din of battle. A second followed. And a third. The thunder of creaking leather drew his attention to the sky, where his eyes beheld... something. It was monstrous, whatever it was, dressed in red scales that reflected the fires of battle off its underbelly. It beat its wings, and the creak of leather sounded again over the battle. Dumbfounded, only one word came to mind to describe such a beast.
Dragon.
As he watched, the dragon wheeled to the right, picking out a likely target, and spat a series of burning globules. Each one impacted a combatant squarely in the chest. Another dragon—a blue one—flew a strafing route to the south, showering its targets with icy needles. Dear God, he thought. If the Highest has those things fighting for him, we may as well just give up now.
“Heads up!” came a slurring rumble from directly overhead. Sal instinctively went down on one knee and flooded his conduits to the breaking point with emerald magic. It wouldn’t completely protect him, he knew, but it might just keep him alive long enough to heal whatever damage that monster did to him.
The dragon—a violet one, this time, as much lightning as flesh—swooped past him in a trail of ozone, issuing a hissing shriek. Out of its mouth broke a jagged bolt of lightning. It branched as it advanced, and struck a handful of combatants not a few steps in front of Sal. Stunned, Sal regained his feet, starring at the charred bodies before him. They all bore the tattoo of a segmented fist upon their foreheads.
A bloodthirsty shout from the side drew Sal back to reality. He sidestepped the Rank soldier as he rushed toward him, sword upraised. Sal swung his katana in an upward cut, neatly parted upper torso from lower. The emerald-infused blade set the flesh to festering before either half hit the ground.
Above the killing, a new sound floated. The rhythmic blasts of a brass horn cried its signal, drawing Sal’s eyes to the hornblower. Some minor officer—likely the ranking officer, forcibly promoted by the rebels—was calling a hasty retreat. Whoever the officer was, he didn’t enjoy his commission very long. His first and only order was punctuated by a spray of rapidly congealing blood—at the hands of Aten’rih! The commander of the Earthen Rank training camp paused long enough in the bloodshed to turn and wink at Sal.
Will wonders never cease?
Without a definite leader, the Earthen Rank retreat became a full rout. A vast majority of the Bastionites took to their heels, each trying to outrun the onslaught, or at least the man next to him. But none were making good their escape, mowed down from behind by their supposed brothers-in-training, with their few outrunners picked off from above. Sal allowed himself a stunned, bemused smirk. There was absolutely nothing that could stop—
Stars filled Sal’s vision as pain exploded in the back of his head. It wasn’t until he spat out a mouthful of grass and blood that he realized he was on the ground. His magic slipped easily from him, and consciousness threatened to follow. The thud of the blow echoed off the insides of his skull, keeping perfect rhythm with the throbbing knot just behind his ear.
He rolled over on his side, expecting the finishing blow to come at any time. Instead, a body, cloven nearly in two, fell hard in the spot that he’d just rolled out of. Above him, he found a welcome, if somewhat disappointed face. His rescuer’s black hair was disarrayed from battle, long strands of it having fallen from the ponytail that he kept held back by a simple silver clip.
“I see that life in the Earthen Ranks has softened you up a mite,” Retzu sighed, jerking his blade loose from the corpse. “I have unhilted hopefuls that are a sight more observant than you are. You’ll never reach the linen at this rate.”
“I’d settle for some good old fashioned peace and quiet right about now, to tell you the truth.”
“Another second or so and you may o’ got your wish. Lucky for you this bugger was the kind to gloat over his kills before he gutted them. So heal yourself already. There’s more people to kill, and you obviously need the practice.”
After a few failed attempts, Sal recaptu
red his hold on Emerald, and wielded. As healing sped through his body, he and Retzu rejoined the melee. Teacher and student fought side by side, though the fleeing enemy would never live to tell which was which.
The battle raged a little while longer, but it was largely a formality. Sal’s men found fewer and fewer opponents to cut down to size. Someone let loose a ragged cheer as he struck his last down, the cry carrying like thunder over a swiftly stilling battlefield. The cheer caught, and spread through the crowd like wildfire. The sound was echoed by the blasting shriek from the squadron of dragons, flying in formation high above, the last one doing its own version of a victory roll.
Sal sighed a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. It was followed by tears of relief, streaking down his dirty face in a torrent. He wept unashamedly, never noticing that scores of his brothers in arms were doing exactly the same. In their own way, the tears were as celebratory as an upraised pint of ale, or a hearty cheer. In the end, it all cried out the same thing.
They’d won.
Chapter 31
Marissa cheerfully held the bandage to the side of Sal’s head, his final trophy of the battle, courtesy of a panicked Bastionite macer. Sal had been too drained at that point to heal himself, and Jaren was busy tending the more severely wounded. Which was just as well. At least he didn’t have to come up with some lame excuse to have Marissa baby him.
“Oww!” he yelped as she folded and reapplied the blood-soaked compress.
“I still have my emerald ring,” she reminded.
“What? And get well enough to help with the clean-up? Snowball’s chance in Hell,” he muttered, settling himself back against her.
She chuckled at his otherworldly comment. “What in the Prophets’ names did that one mean?”
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