The Magelands Epic: Soulwitch Rises (Book 7)

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘Was there anyone else in there?’ Lennox said to one of the four.

  ‘No, sir,’ the soldier said, his left eye bruised and swollen.

  A cry came from the corridor to the left, and Lennox caught a glimpse of a sword flashing through the air. Racine was duelling with someone in the hallway, and was being pushed back. The woman fighting her looked Holdings, and was spinning and lunging with the grace and speed he recognised as battle-vision. On the floor a few yards from them was Gorman. He was lying on his back with his eyes open, a long slash running down his face and chest. As the swordfight continued, Lennox stared as Gorman’s wounds began to heal.

  Lennox turned to the rest of his squad. ‘Help Commander Racine.’

  He rushed over to Gorman, and helped him up. The man pushed him away.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Don’t ever touch me.’

  The soldiers in the hallway surrounded the woman fighting Racine. Her sword flashed out, but she was over-powered by the numbers against her and hauled to the ground. Racine sheathed her sword as the soldiers bound the Holdings woman and placed a hood over her head.

  Gorman glanced at Lennox. ‘The women? The child?’

  ‘Not in their room, sir.’

  The mage glared at him.

  Before Lennox could respond, Gorman leapt to his feet and pushed him aside.

  ‘There!’ he cried, racing past him towards the stairs.

  Lennox turned, and watched as Gorman jumped through the air. He collided with something, though Lennox couldn’t see what, then a woman appeared, and another holding a child. The soldiers in the hallway jumped back in surprise as Gorman hauled one of the woman to the ground. He held her down then punched her in the face, and again, and the woman’s eyes closed and her head lolled.

  The woman with the baby screamed as Gorman got back to her feet, his fist bloodied.

  ‘Take everyone downstairs,’ said Racine.

  ‘And you,’ said Gorman, pointing a finger at the woman carrying the baby. ‘Quiet, unless you want to see the rest of your family suffer.’

  Lennox strode over to the woman, gesturing to the stairs.

  ‘You’ll be unharmed,’ he whispered, as he escorted them down the steps.

  The young woman turned to him, her eyes wide, but she said nothing.

  Lennox left guards on the stairs to watch the rest of the tavern’s guests, and gathered everyone else by the main bar. Cain’s squad had already taken possession of the ground floor, and a dozen or so staff were crouching by a corner, guarded by crossbow-wielding soldiers.

  ‘No one hurt, I hope?’ he said to Cain.

  ‘No, boss, everyone’s fine.’

  ‘Darine?’ he whispered.

  ‘No sign of her.’

  They turned and watched as the other squad assembled the captives by the bar. Both the fighter and the teenage boy had been bound, taking care of the two with battle-vision, while the young mother and her child were placed in an alcove, guarded by two soldiers. The tall, dark-skinned woman was still unconscious. Her body was laid down in front of the cold, unlit hearth, and her hands were tied behind her back. Lennox gazed at her for a second. One side of her face was bruised, and a trickle of blood was flowing from her nose.

  Lennox cursed himself. What was he doing? The woman before him looked like someone he should be protecting, not assaulting. The older woman had fought like a demon, but of course she would; she was trying to protect her family. And the boy; he had struggled and tried to fight off his captors. Wouldn’t Lennox have done the same?

  The older woman was lifted and placed in a seat, and her hood removed. She spat at the soldier closest to her, spraying blood and saliva down his leathers.

  ‘This is an outrage,’ cried an old woman from the huddle of staff in the corner. ‘You people are savages; leave us alone.’

  Gorman laughed. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘My name is Kelpie, and I’m the proprietor of this establishment.’

  ‘We have come for one thing,’ said Racine, ‘and once we have it, we’ll be gone. If no one does anything stupid, everyone shall live.’ She turned to the Holdings woman tied to the chair. ‘Where is it, Holder Fast?’

  The woman returned her a withering glance of contempt. ‘Where’s what?’

  Racine slapped her across the face. ‘Now, now, Daphne; don’t play games with me. You see your family here? I don’t want to hurt them, but I will if I have to. Tell me where it is.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You stole from me and my friends, Holdfast. Did you think it would go unnoticed?’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m getting tired of this,’ said Gorman, stepping up next to his sister. He took a tight grip of Daphne’s left arm, which Lennox realised was crippled, and he squeezed. The woman cried out in pain, tears coming to her eyes.

  ‘Enough, brother,’ Racine said. ‘Torture is unbecoming of you. Did you search their rooms?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ said Gorman, letting go of Daphne’s arm. He blinked, then turned to glance at the body of the unconscious woman by the fire. ‘But we haven’t searched her.’

  He strode past Lennox and knelt by the woman.

  ‘Get your hands off her,’ Daphne cried, as Gorman rifled through the woman’s clothing.

  Lennox started to feel sick. This was no test, or if it was, then it had gone too far. He glanced around at the other soldiers, but the masks were hiding their expressions, and he wondered if any were starting to think he same thoughts he was. What could he do? Racine and Gorman were powerful vision mages, and he had watched Gorman heal himself from a wound that would have killed an ordinary person.

  ‘Aha!’ cried Gorman, raising a hand in triumph. ‘I have it.’

  Grasped in his fingers was a flat piece of copper-coloured metal, in the shape of a quarter circle; it was etched and inscribed, with jewels embedded around its edge.

  Racine laughed and clapped her hands, and Lennox sighed in relief. Maybe now they had retrieved their property, the nightmare would end. Gorman and her sister studied the object, their fingers tracing the etched lines on its surface, as if checking it was genuine. Lennox edged closer to them, so that he could ask if it was time to leave.

  ‘Agatha will reward us well for this,’ Gorman whispered to his sister.

  ‘Only if we give it back,’ Racine said, her eyes alive with excitement, ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘What?’

  Racine lowered her voice. ‘The boy.’

  Gorman frowned.

  ‘A Kellach with battle-vision?’ Racine went on, her voice quiet enough for only Gorman and Lennox to catch. ‘Can you imagine a more perfect sample to send to Lostwell?’

  Her brother looked puzzled for a moment, then his eyes widened. ‘We could take the whole of the Iron Brigade at once.’

  ‘Soon, brother. First, let’s deal with the present situation.’

  They turned and saw Lennox standing a few feet away.

  ‘Yes, Captain?’ said Racine.

  ‘Shall I order the squads to withdraw?’ he said, keeping his voice low.

  ‘In a moment.’

  She brushed past him, the metal object clutched in her hand. She strode over to where the teenage boy was lying bound and hooded on the wooden floor.

  ‘A little space, please,’ she said to the soldiers guarding him as she crouched low.

  ‘What are you doing?’ cried Daphne from the chair. ‘Get away from him!’

  Racine touched the boy’s arm, then closed her eyes, and both of them vanished. Daphne let out an anguished scream from the chair, and writhed against her constraints. Gasps and cries came from the huddled staff in the corner of the tavern, and several soldiers turned to Lennox.

  ‘What the fuck just happened?’ yelled Cain from behind his mask.

  ‘Calm yourselves,’ said Gorman from the centre of the tavern. ‘My sister will return soon.’

  ‘Where’s my son?’ Daphne c
alled out, rage and tears on her face.

  Gorman laughed. ‘We’re under orders to kill you all, did you know that, Holdfast? My sister thinks we should let you go, now that we have recovered the Quadrant, but Agatha told me what a danger you really are.’

  ‘Karalyn!’ Daphne cried down to the woman lying by the fire. ‘Wake up! Help me!’

  Lennox stepped forward. ‘This is not what we agreed, sir.’

  ‘Shut up, Captain. You’re here to carry out our commands, that is all.’

  The woman in the chair fell silent and turned to face him, her eyes wide. ‘Lennox?’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘Don’t trust them, Lennox,’ the woman shouted. ‘I don’t care what they’re paying you, or what they’ve told you; they’re liars and they’ll kill us all. That woman down there,’ she went on, glancing at the figure by the fire; ‘she’s my daughter, and she’s carrying twins. Your twins.’

  Lennox stared at the woman in the chair, her last few words sounding unreal and wrong; their meaning slipping from him.

  Gorman struck Daphne across the face with the back of his hand. ‘Quiet!’

  The tavern stilled. The staff were cowering in fear, while the soldiers stood doing nothing, glancing from Gorman to Lennox, their crossbows and maces balanced in their arms. In the corner of the room, the baby started to cry.

  Gorman drew his sword. ‘Agatha was very clear. The Holdfasts need to die.’ He took a step towards Daphne, then paused as the woman on the floor by the fire stirred. ‘Don’t worry,’ he smirked at her. ‘You’re next.’

  He turned back to Daphne, raised his sword, and Lennox clubbed him on the back of the head with his mace. Blood sprayed across the ceiling of the tavern as Gorman twisted, then fell.

  Daphne spat on the body, then glanced up at Lennox.

  ‘About time,’ she said. ‘Now, untie me before he gets back up. I have a few things I want to ask him.’

  Chapter 33

  The Witches of Rainsby

  Rainsby, Imperial Plateau – 19th Day, First Third Spring 526

  The harbour was packed with people crowding towards the ships tied up by the long wharf. Many were ascending one of the several gangplanks, carrying their children and whatever possessions the troopers were allowing them to board with. Piles of abandoned luggage made several large heaps along the stone docks, testament to both the desperation of the evacuating civilians and the discipline of the soldiers. Lamps were lighting up the quayside, but a cold wind was blowing through the dark night sky. Officers were calling out, ordering the evacuees to speed up or slow down, and arranging who should board and when.

  Keir leaned against the wall of a warehouse, a cigarette in his hand as he watched. Dozens of full ships had departed Rainsby since the evacuation order had been announced the previous morning; escorted out to sea by war galleys and naval cutters; yet thousands of civilians were still to board, followed by the remnant of the town’s garrison.

  Rainsby was much quieter than it should be, he thought. There was no panic or squabbling among the civilians, and the Rahain hadn’t attacked the Old Town since it had been sealed off and placed under siege. Keir had killed hundreds by the gates of the cavalry grounds, and had destroyed many of the enemy’s artillery pieces; and the Rahain were undertaking the slow process of moving the rest of their machines closer, through the devastated streets of the Outer City to a position where they could strike the Old Town.

  A group of troopers ran past, slowing to salute Keir.

  ‘Storm mage,’ said their officer, ‘have you come from the walls?’

  Keir nodded.

  ‘What’s happening, sir?’ the officer said. ‘I’ve been stuck down here all day, and now half the night. Are the Rahain close?’

  ‘They’re occupying the Outer City,’ he said, ‘but are staying back from the Old Town walls for the moment.’

  The officer glanced round at the masses of civilians. ‘Do we still have time, do you think, sir?’

  What a stupid question, Keir thought. The Rahain would attack at a time of their choosing; how was he supposed to know when that would be?

  ‘If we keep evacuating at the same rate,’ he said, ‘we should have plenty of time.’

  The officer smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Keir watched as the officer and the troopers continued off to the other side of the wharf, where an empty ship was pulling in. There were a handful of unloaded vessels sitting at anchor in the basin of the harbour, waiting for full ships to depart so they could take their place by the wharf. He wondered if he would be on one of them.

  They had failed. The Outer City had fallen in a few hours, and the Old Town would most likely go the same way as soon as Agatha ordered the attack. How had he ended up believing that he and Thorn could stand up to the entire Rahain army, let alone one commanded by two archmages? The world would laugh at their arrogance, once it had been seen to be baseless. Maybe Thorn was right. Maybe it would be better to die in the town’s defence; not just to become martyrs, but to escape the shame of abandoning Rainsby within a day of the Rahain attacking.

  Did he want to die at seventeen?

  He turned as he heard a noise to his right. A group of civilians had seen him and were approaching, while a few cheered or shouted out his name.

  ‘Are you here to protect the harbour, Stormwitch?’ said an old woman.

  ‘I wanted to check up on how the evacuation was going,’ he said, as they bustled round him. ‘I’ll return to the walls as soon as the Rahain make their move.’

  ‘And then you’ll kill them all, aye?’ said a Kellach leaning on a crutch.

  ‘And then we can come back?’ said a young Holdings girl.

  Keir nodded. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Step back from the mage,’ said a marine who had been shadowing Keir on his trip to the harbour. Keir almost started at the voice, so used was he to hearing Sergeant Demi by his side. He didn’t even know the name of the marine who was guarding him, having been in his company for less than an hour.

  The crowd began to drift away, re-joining the lines queuing for the boats.

  ‘They were getting a bit close there, sir,’ said his guard.

  ‘It was fine,’ Keir said. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘I have my orders, sir.’

  Keir glanced up as another ship pushed off from the wharf, its sails catching the cold breeze and snapping full. It moved out through a narrow lane between wooden piers towards the main harbour basin; its decks crammed with civilians. A sleek galley passed it in the waterway, heading towards the gap in the line of vessels being boarded.

  He flinched as a great roaring splash came from the east of the harbour. He turned, to see a large spray of water rise from beyond the last pier.

  ‘Shit,’ he muttered, as cries and shouts came from the crowds gathered by the wharf. ‘What was that?’

  The marine was gazing upwards, craning his neck. ‘I think we should get going, sir.’

  Keir heard a low whoosh, and a giant boulder smashed through the side of the ship that had just left the wharf. The crowds in the harbour began to scream and panic; the troopers restraining them as they rushed towards the gangplanks. The ship that had been struck was listing, its hull ripped down the side. People were falling off the sloping deck, splashing into the waters of the harbour.

  ‘Sir!’ said the marine guard. ‘We have to go; the attack has begun.’

  Keir stared at the sinking vessel, then at the groaning, shoving crowds on the wharf. His instinct was to run for a boat, to flee, but he knew he couldn’t; his Holdfast name and his love for Thorn over-riding any panic. He turned, and ran from the dockside, the marine a yard behind him. They reached their mounts where they had left them tied to a post in a back alley, and climbed up. Monty, along with four hundred other cavalry mounts, had already been loaded onto horse-transports and had begun their voyage to Stretton Sands, and the horse under him was one of those unlucky enough to have be
en chosen to stay until the end.

  He kicked his heels and the mare took off, trotting down the alleyway towards the harbour gates. The marine caught him up, riding a grey gelding, and they cantered through the open gates and into the streets of the Old Town. Away from the wharf, the sound of the approaching missiles seemed louder, and Keir’s eyes glanced at the sky whenever he heard a whistle of air. Every few seconds another explosion rocked the town; boulders smashing through the previously undamaged tenements and buildings of Rainsby’s Old Town.

  ‘We’re too late,’ he said to the marine as they increased their speed down the main street towards the town walls. ‘We stayed too long at the harbour.’

  The marine said nothing, his eyes on the road. The first fires started; their flames lighting up the sky over by the town’s small merchant district. They turned right at a crossroads, urging their mounts towards the fortress, where Thorn and the majority of the garrison were based. A boulder passed over they heads. It crashed into a plaza, gouging a hole through it; ripping up the cobbles and flagstones and smashing through the front of a café.

  Troopers at the fortress gates waved them past, and they rode into the bastion’s courtyard. Keir pulled on the reins and jumped to the ground. A young trooper led his mount away, and Keir glanced up at the town walls. The battlements were sparsely guarded, but no fighting was going on that he could see. An officer approached.

  ‘Stormwitch,’ he said, saluting. ‘Lady Thorn sent me down here to meet you when the bombardment commenced. She wishes you to know that she is preparing to ascend the bastion’s tower in order to counter the coming assault.’

  Keir nodded, not breaking his stride as the officer and marine guard kept pace with him. They entered the bastion. Marines and troopers were running through the ground level, carrying weapons and supplies of javelins and crossbow bolts. Keir carried on to the stairs. As they climbed, there was a roar from outside; a grating of tortured stone being pulverised, followed by the cries of the wounded.

  ‘A direct hit on a barracks block,’ said his marine guard, peering out of a narrow arrow-slit. Walls are still clear, though.’