by Ben Hale
Toron sent a burst of fire into the smoke but it shifted and continued to thicken. Scowling, Toron looked to Elsin, and saw the amplious was not active. The woman was holding back, keeping Galathon and the reaver in the room in order to kill them. With her magic she could escape the smoke unscathed.
“Galathon!” Toron roared. “She’s going to let the poison kill you!”
Elsin twisted to avoid the flashing axe and dived beneath the leaping reaver. The amplious brightened as she rose beneath the beast, her augmented strength charm allowing her to hold the reaver aloft. Then she cast a spike of fire and brought the reaver down on the weapon. The spike pierced its side and passed through its body, pinning the beast to the floor by its own weight.
Mortally wounded, the reaver clawed the air, but the spike was embedded in the floor and would not be moved. It roared, its movements growing more feeble until it finally went still. Galathon stared at Severon’s corpse, his eyes bright with horror.
“I’ve killed the dog,” Elsin sneered. “Now I kill the master.”
Galathon went mad, charging and striking Elsin in a bloodrage. Even with the amplious she struggled to survive, but the assault carried them into a pocket of green smoke, and Galathon began to slow.
“I’ll tear your flesh from your bones!” Galathon bellowed, but with every breath he drew in more of the poison.
Toron leapt through a shrinking gap between clouds of poison and reached the stairs. Then he cast a rope fire and sent it into the smoke, where it coiled around Galathon’s boot. Casting a horse entity, he sent the animal clattering down the stairs. The rope went taught and yanked Galathon from his feet, dragging him away from Elsin.
The troll’s shout was weak, his eyes fluttering as he struggled to swing his axe from the floor. Elsin made to follow but the sheer speed of Toron’s flight kept her from catching up, and the entity dragged the rock troll across the floor and down the stairs. Mounting the fire horse, Toron fled the prison, and didn’t stop until they reached the dock.
The nearly unconscious troll tried to roar at the betrayal, but Toron ordered the other pirates to help him aboard. Someone barked an order and the ship set sail while others scrambled for healing draughts. The poisoned air had impacted them all, and Toron coughed, struggling to keep his eyes open. Through his blurred vision he watched Galathon.
The mighty rock troll leaned against the mast, his shoulders hunched, his frame held aloft by beam and will. His men sought direction but he did not speak or look, and through bloodshot eyes he stared at the island shrinking in the distance. It was closest he’d heard of a rock troll brought to tears.
Galathon looked broken, but Toron saw the grim steel to his features, to his refusing to fall to the poisoned slumber. He’d lost his companion, his only family. Their eyes met and an understanding passed between them, the kinship of the devoted. Nothing was going to stop them from killing Elsin.
Chapter 36: Legacy
After their arrival at Dawnskeep the vestiges of the rebellion remained tense. Astin posted guards on the broken walls of the fortress, their role to watch without being spotted. Several times Empire patrols rode around the fortress, but none approached.
In the training cavern of the Runeguard the rebellion hid. Alydian spent much of her time in her farsight, trying to parcel out an avenue to victory. She frequently sat staring at the Requiems, wondering how to put them to use.
Astin and Shalric wisely ordered the soldiers to train together, the men and women falling into an uneasy routine. The tactic was obviously a ruse to avoid boredom, but none complained. It also cemented them as allies, with only Shalric and the Demon Dwarf still divided. They hated each other, but they both stood with Alydian.
Each night they extinguished all lights and huddled in the darkness of the abandoned citadel, moonlight cascading through the great hole in the ceiling. Alydian and a pair of elven light mages had tried to shield it from light but it was too large, and they couldn’t risk a passing patrol seeing lights in the ruins.
Alydian struggled to sleep in the darkened training hall. All around her the soldiers fell into uneasy sleep, the tension persisting through the night as all ears waited for the news that the Empire had come.
Alydian retreated to former Commander Othan’s office, which provided a view of the training hall. Dipping into her farsight, she sought to follow the future of her friends first, but she was unsuccessful. Her mother was all but absent. Toron’s future was plagued with doubt, making it impossible for her to divine his location or purpose. Raiden’s future was also obscured by indecision.
“May we speak?”
Alydian rotated to find Devkin entering the room. She sighed. “How did we fall so far?”
“What do you mean?”
“A few months ago we stood victorious at Skykeep. Now we hide in a hole like rats.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “but we are not defeated as long as we draw breath.”
“I just don’t understand,” she said, blowing out her breath. “How did Teriah do this?”
Devkin grabbed the chair behind Othan’s desk and brought it to sit by her. “As you said, she’s been planning for a hundred years. She created more than one plan to victory.”
“So where does that leave us?” she asked. “We need a plan, and everyone is counting on me.”
“Will you show me your prison?”
Surprised by the turn in conversation, she raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I’d like to see your greatest victory.”
She smiled and acquiesced with a nod. They departed the tower at the center of the hall and threaded through the forest of Requiem trees. Passing beyond the army, they made their way to the gaping holes in the ceiling and floor.
Sunlight streamed through the chasm, beaming into the cavern and illuminating the hole in the floor. With the magic of rage to empower her spells, she’d cast a dragon of stone that had ripped its way through the floor, leaving her an opening to the surface. Seventy feet across and surrounded by rubble, the opening plunged into the earth.
Alydian had avoided approaching the pit, unwilling to dredge up the memories of the past. But with Devkin at her side she picked her way through the ring of rubble to the opening, and cast a charm on the stone, summoning a platform that could lower them to the guard halls below.
The grinding of stone accompanied their descent, the sound echoing off the walls of the chasm. When the darkness grew thick she cast a candle charm and a flicker of light appeared to hover above them.
They reached the roof of the chasm below to find a pile of rubble going all the way to the ceiling, providing an unstable avenue of descent. Dirt and rock slipped under their feet, the sounds of pebbles clattering on the stone floor as they entered the eerie darkness.
Dust hung thick in the air, a haze that swirled as they reached the cavern floor. At one end a small fortress was all but destroyed, its battlements broken and cracked, the gate buried where the ceiling had caved in. Walls and stone were blackened, scorched by dragon fire.
Alydian shivered. “It’s worse than I remember.”
“Tell me.”
After a moment’s hesitation she did. In halting words she described the thunder of magic in her veins, the haunting power of rage. She pointed beneath the rubble, where the remains of another dragon lay, the one she’d destroyed with a single punch. Patches of dark earth showed where the dead had fallen, their bodies taken away by the Empire.
She spoke of the fury and power, like she could break mountains. She spoke of the bodies falling all about her, of the terrible fear in the eyes of her Verinai captors, the fear of the doomed. As she spoke they picked their way down the stairs to the second guard hall.
At the center of the second chamber a sphere of monitoring charms had watched her cell. Now it lay shattered, the enchantments glittering dully in the dust. Alydian recalled the dragon twisting, its barbed tail blasting through the sphere.
One of the walls lay in ruins, the stone
cracked and open where she’d called forth her dragon. The shape of its claws and arms were visible in the gloom. The entity would have taken hundreds of mages to conjure, but she’d cast it on a whim.
The dragon had clawed its way to the upper chamber but the ceiling had caved in, the rubble from above filling the opening and sloping to the cavern floor. Dried blood spotted the wall, interspersed by scorched rock from mage fire.
Alydian continued to describe her escape, her voice now flowing, the legacy of regret easier to shoulder with Devkin to listen. The sting of guilt had been fading for months, but walking in her past had brought it surging back.
They descended the final stairs, passing the kitchen where her foes had prepared her meals. She paused, her throat tightening as she spoke of Goyle, the shadow sentient she’d crafted. It had been her only friend until the magic of rage had spoken in her mind.
She laughed sourly. “Anyone watching would have seen me talking to myself.”
“You spent a year in solitude,” Devkin said. “It would have broken anyone else.”
“It did break me,” she said.
“Madness is weakness,” he replied. “Yet you used it like a tool to bring yourself to freedom. You didn’t fall to it, you became its master.”
Alydian smiled at his faith and descended the final steps to the small guard room that overlooked her cell. She brightened the candle charm to reveal a devastated chamber. The opening that had overlooked the anti-magic sphere was broken, cracks extending into the darkened abyss that had housed her cell.
A trio of tremendous chains connected to a fragment of anti-magic, a portion of the roof that was all that remained of her prison. Her cell had borne the brunt of her fury and she’d shattered its walls, leaving the pieces to tumble into the abyss.
Alydian flexed her augmented arm, feeling the hardness to her bones and flesh, the means of her escape. As she detailed what she’d done to enhance her body for her final, desperate attempt, she felt her first moment of pride. The cell had been built to contain even an oracle, yet she’d left it crushed.
When she finally fell silent, Devkin released a long breath. “Teriah doesn’t stand a chance.”
She snorted and turned to him. “This?” she swept her hand at the destroyed prison. “Was the magic of rage. It wasn’t me.”
“It is not the weapon that destroys,” he said pointedly. “It is the wielder.”
“You think I need a different weapon?”
He smiled. “Of course.”
Alydian sighed. “What sort of weapon can stop Teriah?”
“I’m just a soldier,” Devkin said with a laugh. “You’re the oracle.”
“Do you really think I can become an oracle battlemage?” she asked.
“If anyone can, it would be you,” he replied, pointing to the cell. “You paid the price, many times over.”
Alydian turned her eyes on the cell, seeing it for the first time as a triumph. She knew Devkin had brought her down as a reminder, and felt a surge of gratitude to her captain. He’d been her confidant and friend, helping her become a Runeguard when all she wanted was to protect herself. But here he was, still protecting her.
“I do not deserve you,” Alydian said.
He laughed and lifted his pant leg, revealing his shimmering foot, the one Elenyr had crafted for him. “I do not deserve this,” he said. “Yet it was given to me.”
“How did you know?” she asked as they began their way back to the army.
“Know what?”
“That showing me my cell would improve my mood?”
“You destroyed the unbreakable, defied an army trained to contain you, and mastered the madness of solitude. Never underestimate the might of memory.”
She laughed—and then his words sparked an idea. She frowned, mulling it over as she considered its potential. Then a slow smile spread on her face and she began to accelerate. Devkin grinned as he lengthened his stride.
“You know what to do,” he accused.
“I do,” she replied.
He plied her for answers but she refused. Ascending back the way they’d come, she cast her magic in the hole and they streaked up the side, their sheer speed causing Devkin to stumble. He righted himself and raised an eyebrow to her.
“It must be a good idea,” he said.
She merely smiled and slowed their ascent as they approached the training hall. Then she stepped free and picked her way across the rubble before hurrying towards the center pillar, her eyes on the trees holding great spheres.
The Requiems.
“Alydian?” Ora asked, noticing her expression and striding to join them.
The trees were one of the greatest secrets of the Runeguard, but when they’d reached the abandoned city Alydian had thought it pointless to hide the truth. At their request, she’d told her allies the purpose of the trees, to permit soldiers to dip into memories and fight from within, to train without fear of harm.
“My ancestor built these,” Alydian said. “Did I tell you that?”
Devkin gestured to the spheres. “How can they help us now?”
“Don’t you see?” Alydian asked. “They allow you to move your mind without your body, to fight without danger of death.”
“So?” Astin asked, joining them. “Fighting in a memory won’t help us now.”
“What if the spheres did not connect to a memory?” Alydian asked, rounding on them.
There was a moment of silence, and then Devkin began to laugh. “You want to link them to an entity.”
“Think of it,” Alydian said to Devkin. “I could craft a golem and attach its consciousness to the sphere, making it possible for you to fight inside a body more powerful than your own.”
“Just how many do you want to do?” Astin asked, his eyes gaining a calculating glint.
“All of them,” Alydian said. “We can turn our small force into a mighty army.”
“While I applaud the plan,” Shalric said. “It does not stop the plague. I would not kill my infected people with my own blade. Why would I do so in a war machine?”
“The plague will come to an end,” Alydian said. “And when it does, we will need an advantage against the Empire. Our forces are inside the walls already, and when the plague comes to an end we will fight. But they still have great entities and sentients, guardians and titans. The Verinai rely on magic, but we will blend magic with machine.”
“You expect to build the machines yourself?” Ora asked.
Alydian shook her head and turned to Shalric and the Demon Dwarf. “I can do the magic,” she said, “but I need dwarves to build the machine. Can you forge the armor and weapons?”
The two dwarves exchanged a smile. “If only for the opportunity to wield one,” the Demon Dwarf said.
Chapter 37: War Machine
Alydian’s idea galvanized the soldiers to action, and they went to work with an unbridled zeal. Under the direction of Shalric and Alydian, they began with stone and steel, both of which were in abundance. Gathering weapons from the abandoned armories, the soldiers placed them before Alydian and the dwarves with stone magic.
They began to melt and shape the steel and armor into great plates of metal, armor large enough for a giant. Breastplates and blades, leg plates, and boots, all were stacked on the side of the hall, each requiring several men to lift. Six men strained under the weight of a breastplate and dropped it onto the growing stack. When they had enough for ten of the mighty soldiers, Alydian went to work crafting the entities.
She’d considered the source material with great care, and resolved to craft the entities of water. Stone could be crushed and broken, while air did not have the necessary bindings to support the armor.
With Devkin at her side she descended to the well beneath the fortress. The enchantments on the water had once caused it to rise up into the broken fortress, but they had broken with the citadel’s fall.
The domed chamber contained a reservoir of crystalline water in a basin of grani
te, the walls of the basin extending deep into the earth. Light orbs in the ceiling reflected off the water to cast a bluish hue onto the walls of the cavern.
Alydian stepped to the edge of the reservoir and reached her magic into the water, summoning it to her will. A giant hand reached out and grasped the edge, the arm flexing to pull the enormous body above the surface.
Devkin sucked in his breath as the twenty-foot shape exited the water, the legs hardening as it stepped free. It straightened until its head nearly touching the ceiling. Water dripped off its body, splashing onto the floor as Alydian examined it for flaws. Then the real work began.
She began at the great golem’s feet, reshaping the water into bones, muscles, and sinews. For several hours she converted the enormous golem into aquaflesh, until finally she sat back with a sigh to examine her handiwork.
“Stunning,” Devkin said.
“It’s merely a lump of water,” Alydian said. “The hard part will be to link its consciousness to a Requiem.”
“An entity of this size would take months to cast,” Devkin said, reaching up to touch the soldier’s knee. “And if it was a sentient . . .?”
“A decade,” Alydian said, and smiled. “But I do not need to give them a mind.”
Devkin turned to her with a smile. “It will use ours.”
“Correct,” Alydian said. “The Requiems represent hundreds of years of painstakingly cast spells, and they can harness the infinite complexities of a human mind. I simply need to redirect its power to link to this flesh,” she tapped the golem’s leg, “instead of a memory.”
“Has that ever been done?”
“I will be the first,” Alydian said. “But I will merely be linking two magics together.”
“We should be grateful the Verinai did not think of this,” Devkin said.
Alydian nodded in agreement and directed the water giant to thread its way through the arched opening to the stairs. When it stepped into the training hall the rebellion forces went quiet, whispering in anticipation as they gathered to watch the giant of water walk to the Requiems. Alydian shifted it so the back was placed to the sphere and then stood below the sphere, allowing one of the tree branches to lift her inside.