Endrance shrugged. “Oh, yes.” He said aloud. “Your Spengur has returned to tell you, people of Balator, of a great evil he had discovered in your kingdom!”
As he spoke he walked away from the table into the crowds of people, who scattered several feet away from him out of fear. One of the royal guard tried lunging at the mage with a spear, but Joven caught the haft with a gauntleted hand and shook his head disapprovingly before shoving him back. Gullin descended from his spot in the sky to land on the wizard’s extended arm.
“I’m here to tell you of something involving magic!” Endrance continued. King Kalenden’s fist tightened, cracking the wooden arm of his chair as he shoved it away from him. “And it is most grave news indeed! I have discovered someone has been trafficking in demons in your kingdom!”
A collective assortment of shock and disgust echoed back from the crowd of commoners. Whispers carried the news back farther, and soon everything he was saying was being carried on hushed lips beyond the crowd into the temples nearby. King Kalenden trembled with rage, his face reddening and the veins on his neck bulging as he was doing everything he could to keep from throwing the whole table out of the way and strangling the scrawny mage on the spot.
“I did not declare King Kalenden’s son to be the child of prophecy, and for it he tried to have me killed! He then told you all that I and my servants had died in a fire!” Endrance exclaimed loudly.
The wizard turned and pointed an accusatory finger at the king. He paused just long enough to allow the people of Balator to see clearly who he was pointing at before he spoke.
“There is the user of magic!” He exclaimed. “There is the one who has summoned demons and is using spells, other than I, your chosen Spengur!”
“Lies!” The king roared. His men began advancing on the young mage. “You try to shake my people’s faith in me?”
“I need not!” Endrance responded. “Here is your proof!”
The mage pulled from his pocket a small stick of wood, six inches long and one wide, hardly a quarter inch thick. On the flat face of it was carved sigils of arcane script. Endrance held the object in both hands over his head, and with deliberate action, broke it in two. It was similar to the crystal sphere that his master Kaelob had used long ago during his final tests in that it was a one use object containing a spell. A pulse of invisible power burst out from that point, washing out in an expanding sphere of influence.
He felt the magic of the object he created take hold as the spell swept over the area. It was an old trick of magic, something that the first Spengur had known and shared in his book but had been lost to generations since. It was specifically meant to reset wildly fluctuating power in an area, basically smooth out rumples in a weave of cloth. This effect was relatively unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t have any magical talent, since it was something only the initiated could sense. However another mage would be almost immediately aware of the secondary property the spell had. In stabilizing the flows of power, it canceled out working magic.
The effect didn’t work on objects infused with magic, like the tattoos on his skin or the bracer on his arm, but it did work on illusions or other spells that had to be ‘maintained’ by the caster. As the pulse passed by, the world seemed untouched. Where in Ironsoul, someone’s makeup might have vanished, a straight nose would have bent again, or the color of a woman’s hair would have returned to its original hue, here the people were entirely unaffected by the spell’s effect.
When the spell washed over the king and his entourage, a profoundly noticeable change struck. Like a cloud of smoke being blown away by the breeze, the illusions were stripped away from the queen and the entirety of the royal guards. Fair skin and dark hair fluttered away to reveal pebbled skin with a deep red undertone and violet locks with jutting horns that swept a foot into the air above the queen’s head. Red square pupil eyes replaced brown soulful ones, and clean straight white teeth stripped away to reveal fanged ones framing a forked tongue. Webbed wings projected from her back, folded closely to her form.
The royal guards had been similarly transformed, but not in so nearly a dramatic a fashion. Their hair and eyes shifted, becoming similar to the demoness in color and quality, but remained otherwise unchanged. Selene had been similarly affected, but the people were already in such a panic over the appearance of the demoness that the commoners near her didn’t notice.
Kalenden blinked several times as the pulse lashed away the half dozen spells he had put up to protect himself before making this appearance. The move was something he hadn’t even known was possible. The demons who had taught him had never even hinted at the possibility of such broad counter-spell. His shock registered on his face before he could grab control of his emotions again. The brat had more power to him than even the Sha’hdi had deigned to mention.
“You see!” Endrance cried out, Gullin hopping into the air again as he flung his arms out in exclamation. “Your king carried a terrible secret! He called up demons, and even made one his bride!” He pointed to the demoness, who had finally been motivated to stand menacingly, her wings spreading while the nails of her fingers lengthened into talons.
The commoners proved themselves to Endrance that moment. Where he expected they would flee out of fear and some did, the bulk of them rallied, becoming enraged. Their people being led not only by someone who used magic but made deals with demons? It was unacceptable to them. Endrance saw some of the very men who had been proud to serve the king draw their weapons and shout. Hundreds of barbarians were quickly forming into a mob.
The king had just had his people taken from him. The very thing he had spent years making preparations for had not only been dashed, but had also brought all of his dirty secrets into the light. He strained to contain his rage as he stared at the young man who had turned everything on its head. He had underestimated the student of Kaelob. No, he had accounted for the brat’s training; even his demonic tutors had assured him of that. There was something about him that was different.
The king spotted something that he had not noticed before, and it finally made sense. The king puffed his chest up and bellowed as loudly as he could. “ENOUGH!”
The advancing mob hesitated, and Kalenden took the moment to grab the succubus by the arm and haul her and the baby towards the castle approach. The royal guard, though outnumbered, jumped in between the king and his people. Over their heads rocks sailed through the air as people behind the front lines pushed the whole forward.
Endrance and his companions watched as the king beat a retreat towards the castle. Every royal guard under his command filled in the pass to the eighth bowl, fortifying it against attack as the king passed. He looked his friends over, and finally saw the change that had been made in Selene.
“Selene, you’ve changed as well.” He said, taking her hand. “Do not panic, it is a little thing.”
Selene grasped a few strands of her hair and held it before her. “The spell revealed my real form?” She asked.
“It stripped away whatever natural magic was being used to conceal it, for now.” Endrance replied. The mob had all but forgotten about them, and for the moment that was what the mage wanted. “You will learn how to hide and reveal that part of your heritage as you become aware of it.”
“The rest of the royal guard,” She said. “They were Nephilim like me.”
“Yes.” Endrance said. “It seems the king had been collecting them. Maybe even breeding them.”
“Do you think I’m one of those?” She asked. “One that had been bred?”
“If you were, would that change anything?” The young mage asked. “If you were you still ended up here, beside me. I wouldn’t have you anywhere else.”
She realized as he held her against his side that she no longer felt the aggression or anxiety she had experienced in his presence before. It had vanished sometime since the day she woke up from the fire. She leaned her head against his, and felt a moment of peace she had not in months since the Spengu
r had arrived in Balator.
The five of them stood and watched as the people rallied against their once king, having seen him for what he really was. At first the mob seemed to make headway, but the approach to the eighth bowl was made so that armies could be held off with only a few men at the turns and twists of the passes. The king’s army had turned on him in moments, but he still had his royal guard, whom had fallen back on the king’s tail, guarding him as he retreated to the castle.
“I don’t get it.” Endrance said after a few minutes of watching the masses of men and women assembling to try to batter down the first of many gates up the pass.
“What?” Joven asked, whistling in appreciation as dozens more gathered. People were pouring in from lower levels of the city as word spread faster than a flash fire.
“Why did he retreat up to the castle?” Endrance asked.
“Well it’s the best defended structure.” Joven explained. “The design of the passes-”
“That’s not it.” Endrance interrupted. “He has nowhere to go. He could hold off the people for a few days, or a month. But he would eventually run out of food. They would eventually overpower the guards or outlast them and get in. He put himself in a bad position.”
Joven shrugged. “People make mistakes when cornered.”
“No it can’t be that easy.” Endrance said, shaking his head. “Kalenden is a shrewd and clever man. He wouldn’t have gone up there unless it gave him some advantage.”
“Do you think he’s going to use magic to run?” Anna asked. The mage shook his head in response.
“He wouldn’t give up on all he has here that easily.” Joven agreed.
Endrance thought as hard and as fast as he ever had before. Something was wrong here, and he was the only one who could put it all together. The king retreated to the castle. He didn’t prefer to fight an extended battle in Endrance’s home terrain. He has to have some advantage in the castle.
And then it clicked in his head. The last few pieces fell into place, forming a picture that made him realize it may be too late.
“We need to get up there immediately!” Endrance exclaimed, shock registering on his face. “I just figured it out!”
“What?” Joven asked.
“No time!” Endrance shouted, rushing forward towards the front of the mob. “We need to get there before it is too late!”
The four caught up to the young man quickly, and together they rushed up to the front of the crowd as they prepared a renewed assault against the gates. They were shouldering a battering ram made of a stone pillar they must have torn down from somewhere. Endrance skid in front of them, his hands held out to stop them.
“Wait!” he shouted as loud as he could. The roar of the mob was too loud, and they started to move forward, most of them haven’t even seen the mage.
Joven stepped in front, thrust a hand against the front of the ram, and with a deep breath bellowed at the top of his lungs. “WAIT!”
This time, the people of Balator stopped. The mob wasn’t broken, but enough in front heard him and stopped, causing the rest to gradually subside as they realized nothing was happening.
“The Spengur wants to address you.” Joven continued, stepping aside. Endrance took a breath and shouted to be heard over the masses of people milling before him.
“People of Balator!” Endrance called. “I am your Spengur, am I not?” He was met with shouts saying that he was more or less correct. “Then you have tasked me with the job of handling problems involving magic, have you not?” Again, those who could hear him agreed. Word quickly started filtering backwards through the ranks of the mob.
“Then I ask you, why are you trying to do my job for me?” He asked, provoking mixed responses from the crowds. “Let me handle the king, and protect you all against this magic user whom you used to trust!” The crowd seemed unsure, but Endrance was unable to tell more than what the people a few dozen feet in front of him were feeling about his speech.
“Let me go ahead of you, if in an hour’s time I haven’t solved the problem, come and finish the task. But at least let me open the way for you.” He pleaded.
The men and women of Balator looked down at the scrawny whelp of a man, someone whom nearly any of their own stood well over and outweighed by several pounds. If they were not able to force their way past the royal guard, what was he able to do? Their puzzlement was obvious on their faces.
The wizard sighed, and turned to Joven. “Please watch my back.” He said with resignation. The bodyguard interposed himself between Endrance and the crowds of barbarians. He approached within a hundred feet of the gates. He could hear the rattle of several crossbows being levered and brought to bear against him.
Endrance looked over the walls and could count several crossbowman ready to fire upon him. While the wall was over a hundred feet away, the sky was clear and the wind was low, they would be able to hit him quite easily with their training. He smiled, for the conditions were perfect.
The wizard waved his left hand in a sweep in front of him from right to left as he slung a spell. “Peltaeus!”
The snow at the mage’s feet drew up as more crystallized from the air around him, forming a transparent shield of ice a centimeter thick. The ice thickened as the crossbowmen unleashed the bolts in their crossbows. The lethal bolts cracked through the air, and embedded into the ice shield, punching into but not entirely through the barrier. Cracks shot through the ice in a web like pattern.
The royal guard paused, surprised by the power of the spell. Endrance noted that he had to use far less energy than he had to use than during the trial he had fought to earn his title. He wondered for a brief moment if that trial had been in fact meant to prepare him for this day. He held up his right hand and touched the creaking and crackling curve of ice before him.
Without an active thought, he drew in power from his aura, formed the spell within his mind, and spoke the final word of power. “Cularus.” He spoke, his voice resonant with power.
The unseen force of his launching spell built up for a split second in his chest, and rocketed down his arm, sweeping out his palm and into the ice. Instead of shattering the fine webbing of broken ice, its force swept up the ice and bolts alike flinging them back at the archers like a thousand tiny flechettes made of slivers of glass.
The men ducked too late, and all but a few were caught in the spray of wickedly sharp ammunition. While it didn’t have enough force to kill someone as tough as the Nephilim at the gates, it was quite strong enough to blind or incapacitate enough that he could approach closer. He reached the gates themselves unhindered by any further crossbow bolts.
Now too close to use bolts, it would be a perfect time to use boiling tar or hot oil of some sort. But the gates had just locked up less than a half hour before; even if someone had thought to put some cauldrons of oil to boil, it wouldn’t be hot enough to do any damage yet. Endrance pushed hard at the gate once, testing it. Heavy iron banded wooden doors a foot thick barred his passage.
He couldn’t see through the crack between the doors, but Gullin could. The bird circled in the sky above him, providing him with more information than he would normally be able to acquire.
The bar is a foot thick, three feet off the ground. It appears to be dropped into place. Gullin reported, sailing up in the wintry air.
Is there a bar lock? Endrance asked.
Yes.
Then I’ll have to blow the door down.
May I suggest allowing the barbarians to do the hard work for that part? You should save your strength for the king.
Endrance turned to the mob that waited impatiently for him. He waved to the men holding the pillar. “Go ahead.” He said.
The fourteen men hefting the massive pillar made of a single piece of carved stone rushed forward, charging at full speed and strength. Their charge met the barred door, and wood cracked and splintered. The door bowed in, but didn’t cave under the initial blow. It took the men a moment to reset their grip,
but they resumed battering the door with a steady pace. Minutes later, the door finally broke open, splintered and bent as the barbarians broke through.
Men poured through the gates around Endrance, their own weapons from their service in the military, and several of them were still in their service armor. Joven kept an eye on his charge, just in case any of the men would rather take a swing at the only magic user they were supposed to allow in their kingdom. They seemed instead more interested in finishing off the royal guard at this stage of the switchback.
It took an hour of fighting to get through to the castle courtyard. There the mob was repelled by the black iron portcullis and the assembled fighting force of the rest of Kalenden’s guard. Endrance and Joven could not see a way past this without doing significant damage to the castle and risking tiring the mage out.
The fighting degraded into a stalemate, where the men inside with their pikes and crossbows could keep the mob away for hours. It seemed that Endrance would have to seriously hurt or kill all these men just to get inside, when a familiar form on the other side came into view.
“Balen!” Joven called out, moving out to the front of the mob. The general shoved some of his own men aside and strode up to the gate. “Joven!” he called back.
Joven moved until he was just on the other side of the portcullis from his brother. “Balen!” he exclaimed. “You have to let us pass!”
Balen shook his head. “I can’t let you do that brother. Stop this madness, and give up. I cannot let you attack the king, even if he was wrong about your death!”
“What?” Joven asked.
“The king said you faked your deaths. Why?” Balen asked. “Were you trying to make an opening to take the throne?”
Joven shook his head, confused. “What?” he repeated. “The king tried to kill us! And he’s summoning demons using magic!”
Balen frowned at him. “What nonsense are you speaking of? I heard that your Spengur there cursed the queen into that hideous form.”
Spellscribed: Provenance Page 45