Death Mage's Fury

by Jon Bender

  Seeing Jaxom was the source of the deadly magic, several men knocked arrows to bows and let them fly. Forced to break the cast, he ducked behind the parapet as the steel-tip shafts clinked off the stone or passed overhead to land inside the wall. With the attackers now exposed, the men on the wall began raining down arrows of their own while Adriana and her riders did the same from the air. Thinking that they were sufficiently distracted, Jaxom risked looking over the wall again. The militia had taken heavy losses and were bunched up against the wall. Their raised shields making it difficult for the men above to score any hits. Adriana was having better success, but there were only five of them, and many of their shots found shields instead of flesh. He noticed then that the gate had been stained dark where the ram’s shell had covered it. He saw a flash of light from inside a clump of shields. Stretching his hand out, the blight twisted downward to the group of men. Seeing the magic coming for them again, three of their archers risked leaning out from the wall to fire up at him. Jaxom was forced to take cover once more, and the blight dissipated in the air before reaching the attackers. He looked back over the wall just in time to see the flash again, followed by a bloom of light from a torch. One of the attackers yelled something, and the remaining militia broke from the wall. The man carrying the torch threw it against the doors as he fled. The gate instantly caught fire, sending a wave of heat into Jaxom’s face. Arrows chased the thirty remaining men as they fled, but only a few actually hit their marks. Adriana and her four riders harried the militia during the quick retreat, breaking their pursuit as they reached the main body of the host.

  Looking down into the town, Jaxom saw Gamick yelling at the men to get buckets of water. Moving quickly down the stairs, he and Da’san watched as the flames started leaking through the cracks in the badly damaged gate. The townsmen had scattered, looking for buckets to get water from wells, but they had not been prepared for this. Jaxom knew they would not be able to put it out before it consumed the gate. If he had brought Darian with him, the ice mage would have been able to not only put out the flames, but shore up the gate with a barrier of ice. As it was, there was nothing Jaxom could do to stop the militia from getting in.

  “You should have brought Darian,” Da’san said, echoing his thought.

  His friend was right, but Jaxom had brought the priest because he had been thinking about helping these people and not killing his enemies. If they lived through this, he would never again make such a mistake. Da’san would be able to save some of the injured who would otherwise die. Da’san could even fight back with offensive prayers, but Darian would have saved more by killing the men outside quickly and in great numbers. It was a dark truth, but a truth nonetheless.

  “I am going to see to the wounded on the wall,” Da’san said when Jaxom did not answer.

  “Yes,” Jaxom said. “You do that. I have to get these men ready for when the militia comes through.”

  Da’san made his way back up the wall while Jaxom found Gamick still directing the efforts to extinguish the fire. “Gamick, forget the fire. Get your men back into place and ready to fight!” Jaxom yelled.

  The older man looked from Jaxom to the burning gate and nodded. Grabbing the nearest man, Gamick told him to start spreading the word to form up in front of the gate. It took nearly ten minutes for Gamick to get the townsmen back to where they had been, pulling another fifty without bows from the wall to fight on the ground. They all watched helplessly as the gate continued to burn before them. Jaxom could see the fear on the faces of young boys and old men as the barrier between them and the militia charred and weakened.

  Adriana landed near him and jumped down. “They have cut down another tree and made two more rams,” she said.

  “The gate won’t hold against the first blow once it has burned through,” he replied.

  “Do you think Wilbrin will make it in time?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. It will be close,” he replied. “How are your men’s supply of arrows?” he asked. The riders always kept two quivers attached to their saddles, but they must have used a large portion of them already.

  “The people here had plenty to spare,” she said.

  “Good, when they come, I want you to harass them every step of the way. Try to slow them down.”

  “Where are you going to be?”

  He smiled at her concern. “I will be close by, keeping any eye on you, so you don’t get into any trouble.”

  She stared flatly at him, ignoring his attempt at humor. “Just be careful.”

  “You already said that.”

  “I am saying it again. It usually takes two or three times before you listen,” she said, hugging him tightly. Breaking the embrace, she gave him one more look before mounting her durgen.

  Commanding his durgen to move behind the formation and kill any enemy that came near, Jaxom took a place just in front of the townsmen between them and the burning gate. The men’s whispered words of death mage and unnatural magic reached his ears. He did not begrudge them their fear. They were already afraid of the men outside, and many had already seen how terrifying his magic was. They stood watching as the fire consumed the remainder of the gate, leaving a blackened husk. A few minutes later, someone on the wall called out the militia’s approach.

  Holding out his palms towards the ground, Jaxom began his cast, pulling hundreds of bones from the ground beneath his feet. He heard gasps and shouts from behind him as the bones spun around his still form. Concentrating, he began assembling his armor. Soon his body was covered except for his upper neck and head. The ribs of other men and animals encased his chest, flat bones layering together while longer bones ran down his arms and legs and many smaller ones filled the gaps. Over the wall, he could see Adriana and the riders swooping and diving, launching arrow after arrow to the ground. Their distance told him how close the militia was as they rushed the gate. Two quick impacts on the gate were followed by the cracking of burned wood. Drawing his skull pommeled sword, he raised his other hand and released a veil of black smoke in a half circle at the threshold, obscuring it from view. Leaving the veil in place, he called forth another half dozen bones from the ground, snapping them in half as they floated in the air before him. The attackers rammed the gate causing shards of blackened wood to fly out from the veil. A cheer went up from the attackers as they poured into the town. After giving them a couple of seconds to fill the space, Jaxom sent the bone daggers flying through the veil. Men screamed from inside the veil then a roar erupted as they charged through the blackness.

  Jaxom took a step back towards the townsmen, not wanting the enemy to get behind him as the first man wearing a patchwork of leather and chainmail armor burst through. The attacker’s unshaven face was locked in a feral snarl. A moment of doubt crossed the man’s face when he spotted Jaxom. That was all the time Jaxom needed to remove the crazed man’s head in one stroke. The others following behind missed a step as they watched the man’s head sail through the air and land in the dirt.

  The hesitation was localized only to those in front of Jaxom. The militia to the sides rushed forward, slamming into the townsmen with a clash of screams and metal on metal. The smell of blood instantly filled Jaxom’s nose. Two of the militia came toward him carrying a short sword and wood-axe. Slapping the sword away with a parry, he was forced to take another step back as the axe swiped through the air where his stomach had just been. Jaxom stepped back in as the unwieldy weapon passed, bringing his sword down on its owner’s arm and severing the limb completely. The arm, still gripping the haft, dropped to the ground, spilling blood into the dry soil, as its owner fell back, struggling to stem the spurts of red from his stump. The owner of the short sword lunged forward. Jaxom copied the attack. The superior reach of his own blade pierced through leather armor and into the man’s diaphragm. Jaxom felt exhilarated. His heart pounded in his ears, and he could feel the grin spreading on his face at the fear the militia showed in their hesitation. None wanted to be the next to close wi
th the crazed mage.

  Not wasting the opportunity, he cast out to the dead men, calling them back to serve him as risen soldiers. The axe wielder placed a boot on his severed arm, prying the weapon free. This further unsettled the enemy nearest Jaxom, allowing him to slice through the side of a man to his right who was hammering away at a defender, a boy no older than fifteen. The moment spent, Jaxom brought his blade up just in time to stop a long sword from cleaving him in two. Holding the enemy’s blade inches from his face, Jaxom reached out to the risen holding the short sword, commanding it to turn and stab into the back of his attacker. The move cost the risen a savage blow to its own back that severed its spine and caused it to drop like a sack of stones. Wounded, the man’s press on Jaxom’s sword lessened considerably. Gathering his strength, Jaxom shoved up and away, sending his opponent stumbling back. Jaxom’s sword returned in a backswing that carved a rent through the man’s chest in a spray of blood.

  The militia was pressing in all around him as the townsmen began to retreat. Having no choice but to pull back with them or be surrounded, he watched as the one armed axe wielder was hacked to pieces. Jaxom’s posture was purely defensive now. He blocked and parried strike after strike, but several slipped passed his guard to crack the bones of his armor. The blows sent shocks of pain through his body. One of the militia became overly confident, thinking Jaxom was finished, and swung his chipped and battered sword down towards Jaxom’s neck. Meeting the attack with his skull pommeled sword, Jaxom stopped the blade with a clang. Looking into the now fearful eyes of his opponent, Jaxom rammed his shoulder into the man’s chest, knocking him off balance before slashing the man from collar to hip. The victory was short-lived, costing him a stunning blow to his shoulder that shattered the skull protecting it.

  Recovering quickly, he returned to deflecting as many blows as he could. A shout that could not belong to a human voice ripped through the air. Looking up, Jaxom saw Da’san’s blue robes flapping in the wind at the top of stairs. Five men who had attempted to climb them flew into the air, knocked away by his friend’s prayer.

  Some of the townsmen began to break and run before the militia, those still fighting holding in the tight alleys and streets. Standing alone with the enemy militia pressing in for the kill, Jaxom prepared himself to discover what came after life. Without warning, arrows began thudding into the men surrounding him. A swarm of durgen directly above created a shield of raining arrows around him. One of the durgen flew in low beside him, and Darian dropped to the ground.

  “I knew you were going to regret not bringing me,” the ice mage said, grinning.

  Jaxom could not help but smile. “If I had known you were going to gloat about it, I would have left you in Terika,” Jaxom replied.

  “I will remember you said that,” he said, feigning injured feelings. “Shall we finish up with this rabble and see what they have to drink in this town?”

  Jaxom nodded and looked outside the ring of arrows to the hundreds of remaining militia. Those with bows trying to shoot back at the riders were quickly spotted and hit with a half dozen arrows before they could loose another shaft. Sheathing his sword, Jaxom released the flow of energy maintaining the veil and his broken armor. The bones clattered into a pile at his feet. Without the drain on his magic, he raised his hands to the sides, lifting the pile of bones from his feet into the air. Rotating the flow of energy around him, they began to spin. When they were moving as quickly as he could manage, he pushed with all the power he could summon. The bones flew in all directions, slicing into the surrounding enemy. In the blink of an eye, he had downed fifty men. Those still standing were stunned or had bits of white sticking out from their bodies.

  Darian let out a low whistle. “Impressive. Why didn’t you start with that?”

  “Because it would require me to first be surrounded with no hope of escape,” Jaxom said

  “Well, that may prove problematic,” the ice mage said considering the idea.

  “Come on, the longer we stand here, the more men we lose,” Jaxom said. The riders were now flying above the buildings, shooting into the streets and alleys where the militia pressed the townsmen. Jaxom saw one rider dive his durgen into a group of stubborn attackers who had refused to be pushed back. The durgen’s six clawed legs and sharp teeth came away bloody after raking the group, killing two and sending the rest fleeing back to the gate.

  With room to cast, Jaxom brought his hands towards the gate, sending a column of the blight from each. The magic wrapped around the bodies of the attackers. He focused his thoughts, splitting the two columns into smaller tendrils that sought out the throats and limbs of yet more men. Those entangled struggled to break free as the magic rotted away any flesh it could find. Darian sent spears and daggers of ice at every man who attempted to attack the two mages. A group of five charged at Darian’s side while the mage was distracted. Seeing them at the last moment, the ice mage unleashed a blast of frost.

  Seeing his friend’s predicament, Jaxom released the flow of energy fueling his own cast. Drawing his sword again, he stepped around the ice mage to intercept the group who were slowed but not stopped by the magic. The first man’s sword was met by Jaxom’s, the enemy blade shattering from the frost. Following through with his strike, Jaxom tore through the man’s chest and shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground. The next two came at him together and from the sides. Feinting right, Jaxom plunged his sword into the stomach of a man who sported a jagged piece of bone from his shoulder. The one on the right was thrown back as a spear of ice pierced his chest. The remaining two, seeing their comrades downed so quickly, turned to flee. Jaxom cast the coil around the neck of one, jerking him to the ground, while the second made it a few steps further before two ice daggers bloomed red in his back. Releasing the coil, he cast, drawing out the bone embedded in the dead man’s shoulder. With a flick, it sped towards the last man who had regained his feet and burrowed into the base of his skull. The man’s body did not fall so much as collapse in a pile, his life instantly extinguished.

  All around, the riders overhead pushed the militia back to the charred gate. Seeing the tide turning, the townsmen rallied and pushed forward, helping speed the attackers’ retreat. Holding out a hand, Jaxom used his magic to reach out to the dead. He commanded them to stand and collect fallen weapons from the ground then cut down any of the militia that got in their way. He and Darian followed behind the risen as they pushed forward, the two mages striking down any that were missed. What remained of the militia crowded towards the gate but could go no further. Jaxom spotted Lexa atop her horse on the other side of the gate, flinging magic into the militia while Terikan soldiers kept them bottled up. Jaxom’s risen crashed into the rear, hacking and slashing at the enemy. Darian stood next to him, casting and creating large spikes of ice to trap the militia. Forced to fight on two sides, with arrows raining down from the durgen, the last of the militia had no chance.

  Chapter 11

  The cold headwind blew hard against Cribble’s face, forcing him to readjust his scarf. The snow lay several inches deep on the ground, not enough to slow down his small army, but sufficient to become annoying. He hated doing anything in the winter, let alone marching into another kingdom to deal with some upstarts who fancied themselves kings. Cribble had already met the militia in battle, removing them from the large towns where they had embedded themselves. He could hardly call the men soldiers. They fought with whatever pieces of armor and weapons they could find. It wasn’t even that they weren’t properly outfitted, a man made do with what he could get. it was the lack of discipline and leadership that got under Cribble’s skin. He had not even asked Tamrick and the two other mages he had brought with him to help crush the rabble. Most of the militia fled the field only minutes after battle was met.

  Once the towns had been liberated, he found the most respected and trusted members of the community to set up a council leadership before moving on. It was not a permanent solution, but Cribble was not here to pu
t someone on the throne of Denra. The King only wanted a relative peace so that the troubles would not spill over to Ale’adaria. Cribble had disagreed with the strategy, protesting that they were only patching a hole, not fixing the roof. In one year’s time, they would be back to remove whatever bad men had come to power. Corin had listened to his argument, giving Cribble’s words serious consideration, but in the end had decided that they did not have the time to help restore Denra.

  Regardless of what their future held, the townspeople held celebrations after the militia was gone. Many thanked Cribble and his men every chance they got. From talking to those people, Cribble knew that living under the yoke of the brutal men had been atrocious. Valuables had been stripped away from their owners, men randomly beaten for small slights, and women brutalized while their assailants laughed. Hearing these stories infuriated Cribble, and he looked forward to meeting the main host.

  He had been steadily moving his men towards Mendon, which had once been the seat of Denra’s throne. The Warlord Tamn who controlled the southern part of the Kingdom now occupied the capital. They were six days away at their current pace, with two large walled towns along the way. Once Tamn and his forces had been dealt with, Cribble’s army would move north to deal with the other would-be king. Brenin and his riders had been extremely useful in tracking down and dealing with smaller groups of militia that plagued the land, or leading Cribble to them when they were too large for his unit to handle effectively. Of course, he would never tell the annoying young captain that he was making this campaign easier. Brenin was a fine Guardsman and better leader, but the lad was too self-confident for Cribble’s taste. He spent too much of his time laughing and sharing stories of women with his men.

  “How far to the next town?” Tamrick asked.