Nearly fifteen minutes later the group was standing on the ledge beside her. Yaerilys had managed to calm her nerves regarding the newcomer’s lack of warning—let alone securing her consent—before hurling her upward with what was obviously magical force. The man’s demonstration was a noteworthy revelation to her, and Yaerilys decided to open the subject with him.
“Thou art a kineticist,” Yaerilys said, rather than asked. She had heard of star children with particularly strong Ghaevlian blood being capable of truly extraordinary feats, but nothing on the order of what she had just witnessed.
“I am,” Tavleros agreed, but when he failed to elaborate, Yaerilys grew cross.
“Thy talents are rare,” she pressed irritably. “I have not heard of a star child with such abilities. I have encountered a passel of our kind with talents which could amuse children, but served little other purpose. How did thou learn such control of thy gifts?”
Tavleros snorted. “I assure you, my lady, they are not gifts; had I not learned to control them at a young age I very much doubt I would be here right now. Perhaps we should simply consider ourselves fortunate I did so and leave the matter at that?”
Abide by his wishes, Squire, Rimidalv’s voice silenced her next words before they had reached her throat. We have important matters to which we must now attend.
Her curiosity thoroughly unsatisfied, Yaerilys heeded the White Blade’s instruction.
“Does this ledge lead completely around the mountain?” Kanjin asked doubtfully.
“Nay,” Cavulus replied, gesturing too far into the distance for Yaerilys to see what he was indicating, “but with the star child’s talents we might traverse these slopes unnoticed with but a few more climbs.”
Rain began to fall around them, and Yaerilys had the sudden thought that the Storm Lord had somehow noticed their approach.
“Worry not, lass,” Cavulus said through his impenetrable helm, making his voice sound hollow and metallic as he spoke, “tis but a passing squall; the Storm Lord hath not the time for us.”
Cocking her head in confusion, Yaerilys awaited some explanation as to why that might be. But Cavulus spoke no further, and Tavleros caught Yaerilys’ eye briefly before explaining, “The Storm Lord’s attentions are directed solely on his task. Should his concentration waver, the mountain itself might crash down upon him.”
Her eyes widened as Tavleros’ words sank in. “If that is true,” she said after collecting her wits, “will not our efforts result in just such a…wavering?”
Cavulus laughed, and the other two men grinned at each other as if sharing some secret joke. “With the White’s blessing,” Cavulus said as he finished fastening the rope about his waist which connected the four of them to each other for their journey around the mountain peak, “we shall achieve precisely that effect.”
They finished rounding the peak after three more ‘lifts’ by Tavleros, the last of which actually lowered them to a ledge just beyond the rope’s limit. The star child had used his powerful kinetic abilities to gently lower each of them down the last twenty feet to a safe landing below, and had recovered the rope as he made the descent to bring up the rear of the party.
“A fine talent thou has, star child,” the White Knight said with a gracious nod of his head. “I doubt our passage thus would have been possible without it.”
Tavleros nodded sharply with stoic features, but Yaerilys could tell the effort had exerted him greatly.
“Didst thou consume overmuch…energy during the course of our lifting?” Yaerilys asked with more than a hint of genuine concern in her voice.
Tavleros chuckled. “The most difficult applications of my talents are those requiring subtlety and focus,” he explained with a mischievous grin.
“In what other fashion might thou apply thy…talents?” Yaerilys asked warily.
The other star child shrugged as they followed Cavulus around the last bend of the ledge, and Yaerilys could feel the thrum of energy radiating from the Storm Fort.
“I’ve often been told I have a reckless and destructive heart,” Tavleros replied, his face taking on a dark caste as he did. “I suppose I find those manifestations which are similar in nature to come quite naturally.”
They rounded the bend and Yaerilys had to stifle the gasp which wanted to escape her lips. Beneath them was the target of their month-long hunt, and it lived up to its namesake—and more.
The main wall, which was easily a hundred feet high, was curved much like the Purity Dam—a truly vile name for such a breathtaking structure, in Yaerilys’ opinion—and was protected by crenellations and battlements at regular intervals which were between five and ten feet thick.
Behind these battlements were the trebuchets, and the size of the main wall was truly unfathomable to her. Even the mighty walls of Greystone had been largely carved from the solid rock comprising the mouth of its massive, winding valley. But this wall was clearly made of individual stones—some of which were ten feet on a side!
To maneuver such massive blocks into position was simply impossible—even the Federation’s magi-mechanical heavy lifters, or purely magical means such as Tavleros’ skills, would be completely useless in such an endeavor.
Kanjin pointed down below their position and slowly moved his finger along the rock face. “I believe we might approach from there,” he suggested. “It would set us just above the near edge of the wall, and from there Tavleros might be able to lower us down.”
Tavleros shook his head. “I fear I could not manage it with all of you at once,” he explained bitterly, “I am more spent than I expected.”
“Art thou fit for the battle?” Cavulus asked as he secured the rope around a nearby jutting rock before gently lowering it over the edge. “Thine has been a most crucial contribution to this point; none will impugn thy integrity if thou art unable to take the field, star child.”
Tavleros shook his head quickly. “I’ll fight,” he assured the White Knight, “but I can only lower one of us down—two if it’s the girl and I—before I’ll be unable to do so again.”
Yaerilys noticed that Tavleros was sweating, and she remembered hearing about the side-effects of extreme exertion from her mother. Her mother had been a telepath of not inconsequential ability, whose services were often sought by the local gentry—for unscrupulous purposes, more often than not. But now that she was paying closer attention, she realized that Tavleros’ body was actually quite warm and radiating heat just strongly enough that she noticed it from her position a step away.
“Very well,” the White Knight nodded his head as his armor made a sucking noise, which Yaerilys knew meant he had activated some inner working of his armor, “I shall scale the wall first, followed by Kanjin. Once we are in position we shall await dawn’s first rays to strike. Lord Birchaud will make his final approach at that same time, and I’ll not have the blood of his fine men on my hands.”
“How long until dawn?” Yaerilys asked with a skyward glance. She had never been terribly good at tracking time, relying almost exclusively on the sun to do so.
“Less than half an hour,” Cavulus replied as he lowered himself down the ledge.
Remain with Tavleros, Rimidalv instructed her just as she was about to inquire as to her upcoming role. Protect him if needed; his talents may prove decisive in disabling these defenses.
“Yes, Rimidalv,” she replied promptly.
Kanjin had also begun to lower himself just as the White Knight disappeared from view. Before she realized it, the rays of dawn were streaming down from the tiny, yellow sliver of morning sun directly overhead overhead.
“Ready yourself, star child,” Tavleros instructed as he grasped her firmly by the waist, “I can’t guarantee a gentle landing.”
Drawing the blade from her waist—a broad, thin weapon with a blade nearly two feet long, called a ‘traedal’ by her people—she gripped Tavleros’ shoulder tightly as she saw Cavulus and Kanjin lower themselves the last fifteen feet to the walkway be
low before setting off down the wall.
As they ran toward the nearest trebuchet, a great horn blasted from within the Storm Fort itself and Yaerilys turned to see the first of what she knew would be many banners approaching through the narrow mouth of the ravine.
She and Tavleros were lifted from the rocky surface just as rain began to fall all around them, and she knew that the battle—only her third real martial engagement—had begun.
Chapter IV: Steel, Stone, and Lesser Things
Dan’Moread felt a surge of excitement as she prepared to assume control over Kanjin’s body, just as she had done dozens of times before.
Are you prepared? she asked as they closed on the first trebuchet and a deafening horn blasted from within the Storm Fort.
“I am,” Kanjin agreed, and Dan’Moread could almost feel his lips peel back as he, too, was filled with a lust for battle. “Let’s do this!”
She reached out with her essence and filled her wielder from limb to limb, just as one’s hand might fill a glove. She had learned the subtle nuances of his body long before and they did not even break their stride as she fell upon the first unsuspecting soldier, whose attention was firmly fixed on the approaching Greystone men over half a mile away.
Dan’Moread didn’t give the man a second thought as she tore through his back with bone-shattering force, slicing cleanly through bone and muscle. She kept their momentum going toward the soldier’s companion, who had turned just in time to present his bow in self-defense with a look of shock on his face.
She came down onto the bow and passed through its wooden recurve, barely noticing it had even been there as she cleaved into the man’s shoulder and buried herself into his chest.
Jerking herself free with a kick of Kanjin’s left, heavily armored foot to the soldier’s chest, Dan’Moread saw Rimidalv charge well past the first trebuchet—decapitating the third soldier stationed there—en route to the second siege platform.
You attack recklessly, Rimidalv scolded as the White Blade descended on defenders of the second trebuchet. Mind your guard, lest you find yourself flung from the wall and unable to continue.
Watching Rimidalv and his White Knight tear through the three soldiers before them as though they were straw dummies, Dan’Moread was immediately envious of their harmonious dance of death. Not one motion was wasted, and every blow was a killing strike. For Dan’Moread, Rimidalv was nothing short of an ideal: the purest, most focused warrior she had ever seen.
And the obvious bond that he and his wielder shared was perhaps even more important to her. Theirs was such a strong connection that Rimidalv was capable of speaking with her, even as he guided his wielder’s actions.
Dan’Moread was proud—she knew it was at times a fault—and she tore into the mechanism of the trebuchet with a mixture of anger and glee. To have Rimidalv show her up so clearly was a blow to her pride, but she could do nothing about it. There was a battle to fight!
A dozen crude, hacking attacks later, and she was satisfied that the siege weapon would no longer function—or, if it did, it would disintegrate with its first firing—so she charged down the wall toward the third trebuchet, which she saw Rimidalv already nearing.
I will deal with the soldiers, the White Blade said in an unyielding tone befitting a battlefield commander, you destroy the mechanisms—and do so with more alacrity. We will soon be bogged down with defenders, and must make the most of these first minutes.
Yes, Rimidalv, she said gratingly. She approached the second trebuchet and went to work on it in much the same fashion as she had the first. This time, however, she saw the rope which was used to draw the massive weapon back into position. Instead of attacking the main body of the weapon, she focused her efforts on the spooled draw-line and its supporting components, which required just eight blows to render inoperative.
Ahead, she saw Rimidalv had already torn through the defenders of the third trebuchet and was well on his way to the fourth. His wielder, however, had an arrow protruding from his chest which alarmed her.
Your wielder, Rimidalv, she said concernedly as she and Kanjin made their way to the third trebuchet, he is wounded.
He will survive, Rimidalv said shortly as he tore through the legs of two foes with one, savage arc. Mind your own task, Dan’Moread; remain focused.
As she approached the third trebuchet, Dan’Moread saw a flash of movement from the corner of Kanjin’s eye and turned just in time to duck an incoming arrow—which came far too close to her wielder’s head for her liking.
Seeing the author of the missile standing ten paces away—and opposite the trebuchet which she had been moving toward—Dan’Moread knew she had no choice but to kill their assailant before moving on.
Raising herself over Kanjin’s head, she began to charge forward before the man’s body was hurled into the air in a plume of what looked like grey smoke. She turned to her left and saw Tavleros approaching, with Yaerilys guarding him. Tavleros’ hand was outstretched and he called, “Get the trebuchets; we’ll cover you!”
Drawing herself up in a brief salute of thanks, Dan’Moread and Kanjin ran to the third trebuchet and continued their work.
Had it not been for the battle beginning to unfold around them, Yaerilys’ mouth would have been agape at Tavleros’ incredible display. There was a three foot deep crater beneath where the bowman had stood, and the spray of stone fragments had looked like a splash of water from a boulder falling into a lake.
They moved cautiously, and Yaerilys took a look behind themselves at the massive, iron door which Tavleros had improbably bent with his incredible kinetic powers. She knew with certainty that the door’s ruination meant they would receive no unwanted guests to their rear.
Risking a glance toward the mouth of the ravine, through which the Greystone army was now beginning to pour, Yaerilys saw a dozen banners already through the gap. She knew they represented roughly a third of the army, and soon the entire Greystone force would be in range of the remaining trebuchets.
There was a grating noise from far ahead, and Yaerilys snapped her focus to the source just in time to see the furthest trebuchet launch a massive, spherical chunk of stone through the air toward the oncoming army. She watched with dismay as it sailed and came crashing down into the gap, authoring a ground-shaking, rumbling crash which reverberated even through the stones beneath her feet.
But there was something odd about the boulder: it seemed to explode on contact with the rock of the ravine, making barely a mark on the stone of the narrow mouth itself. But the screams of the men near the impact could be heard even from the Storm Fort.
“Fakestone,” Tavleros gritted his teeth as another trebuchet loosed its missile, and while Yaerilys would have liked to do something—anything—to stop more deaths on their force’s side, she could only watch helplessly as the second boulder sailed through the air.
Halfway through the boulder’s arc, Tavleros grunted with what was clearly extreme exertion and the missile exploded in mid-air, showering the empty ground beneath it in a spray of grey, dusty shrapnel.
Gasping for air, Tavleros fell to his knees and Yaerilys rushed to his side just before seeing a concealed, stone-like hatch open nearby and a pair of soldiers pop up through it.
Without even thinking, Yaerilys rushed toward them and swiped at the first with her sword before stomping the second on the shoulder—she had aimed for his head, but was satisfied when he went crashing down the stairwell and into the trio of men who were behind him.
The first managed to block her sword with his shield—which was emblazoned with the twin lightning bolts for which the Storm Lord had become known—but Yaerilys deftly turned the momentum of her slightly shorter blade into a spin which saw her hammer the soldier’s shield again with far more conviction.
The soldier took a step backward, and Yaerilys stomped downward on the concealed panel, succeeding in smashing a man’s arm under the large, fakestone panel as she did so. Unfortunately, that same arm prevente
d the door from being closed entirely, and Yaerilys knew she was no match for a unit of trained soldiers.
“Stand back,” Tavleros called in a breaking voice, and Yaerilys did as he was instructed. She had not yet taken her fourth step away from the panel before there was the sound of an explosion and the panel was flung upward briefly before crashing back down.
Yaerilys turned to see Tavleros lying on the ground in what appeared to be a fit of spasms—much like her younger brother had done since childhood—and she raced back to his side. “Tavleros!” she cried shortly, casting a wary glance around as she heard a third trebuchet fire its deadly ammunition down the valley toward the oncoming Greystone army.
His eyes fluttered open and for a moment he stared at her blankly. She could feel the heat pouring off of his body, but he snapped his attention back almost immediately and shook his head. “I’ll…be fine…” he wheezed as his hand went to his chest. “Can’t…need to…rest,” he gasped as he staggered to his feet with Yaerilys’ help.
Yaerilys heard another trebuchet fire and turned to see that Ser Cavulus had already reached the ninth weapon. He moved with deadly grace, and Yaerilys knew that he was aided not only by the White Blade’s awesome power, but also by the armor he wore. With only six moves, the White Knight cut the three soldiers manning the trebuchet nearest him before charging off toward the tenth.
She heard a sound behind her, and turned to see yet another panel open further down the wall toward the door which Tavleros had sealed with his incredible abilities.
“We must withdraw,” Yaerilys said, seeing not one but two hatches open through which the Storm Lord’s soldiers now streamed. “I can fight two at once—perhaps even three—but no more.”
Between White and Grey (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt: Origins Book 1) Page 3