Elfsorrow lotr-1

by James Barclay

  'You two, get out of here. See to your horses and wait for orders,' said Selik, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. 'And if you see Callom, get him in here quickly.'

  He watched them until they disappeared through the door out to the street.

  'Right. Where's the mage?'

  'Callom's got him. We're still working on him,' said Devun. 'Gods, but he's a tough bastard.'

  'Keep going. I want him cracked by the morning or his corpse in the ground.'

  'Yes, Captain,' said Edman, a Black Wing veteran; tall, well built with dark brown hair and a bushy beard flecked with grey.

  'Right, I've learned two things. First, the garrison here is small but has reasonable mage strength. However, it is isolated. Second, Blackthorne is definitely harbouring mages.

  'Things need to move fast now. It's eight days' ride to Blackthorne and I'll be leaving before dawn tomorrow. Give it half a day to talk to the Baron and scout the area and another eight days back and you have your timescale.'

  'Is it worth visiting Blackthorne, sir? After all, he won't join us,' said Edman.

  'I have to know the threat he poses to us, and I have to canvass opinion of our crusade in the outlying villages. Yes, it's worth it. And I have to try to convert him before declaring him an enemy. Think if I could persuade him against his beliefs.'

  'And the rest of the plan still holds?' asked Edman.

  'Yes. You and Callom each pick five good men. Mobilise support. Bring supply. Bring it here. I want the first true Balaians here by the time the garrison is cleared. I can give you a maximum of twenty days. Think you can do that?'

  'Yes, sir.' Edman nodded. 'And what about the garrison?'

  'Leave it to me. Don't worry. By the time you get back, we'll be in charge of Understone. Now pick your men, brief Callom when you see him, since he's obviously otherwise engaged now, and get some rest. You're leaving before me.'

  Edman nodded and trotted out of the inn. Selik turned to Devun and breathed out long.

  'Any alcohol in here?'

  'No, sir.' Devun smiled. 'We've looked.'

  'Cellars?'

  'Empty.'

  'Dammit.' Selik sat down heavily on the bench, which creaked alarmingly.

  'Are you worried, Captain?'

  Selik looked up into Devun's eyes and shook his head. 'Not really. But this is our best chance to bring down the colleges and I can't afford it to go wrong. We've got to crack that mage, make sure he takes our message. Their divisions need deepening.'

  'I'll see what I can do, Captain.' Devun cracked his knuckles for effect.

  'You're a good man, Devun,' said Selik. 'I'm glad you're with me. The sacrifices are many on the path to righteousness. Get to it.'

  Devun beamed, saluted and left.

  Selik smiled at his retreating back. Heryst, Lord Elder Mage of Lystern, slapped his riding gloves down on the table in the great hall of the college's vast tower complex and poured himself a large goblet of wine. He stared around at the tapestries of his forerunners while he calmed himself and waited for the council.

  Galloping through the quiet streets of Lystern in the early hours of the morning on the last day of his ride from Dordover, Heryst had felt the anger redouble in him. This city was dragging itself back from the brink of famine. Its people had worked hard and believed in the rationing that had kept them alive. They had taken in refugees by the thousand, gone without to do so, and still there had been little disorder.

  The streets were clean, the markets still bought and sold, trade was just beginning to show some recovery and he had seen real optimism in the faces of those he had passed.

  And now it was being threatened. Pointlessly threatened.

  Draining his goblet, he poured more, enjoying the taste of the wine so early in the day, feeling it warming his mind and easing his frayed temper. He walked to one of the great arched windows and looked down over his college.

  The great hall sat at the top of the wide low tower that was the centre of Lysternan magic. Only forty feet high, with a plain tiled conical roof, it had a diameter three times its height and an intricate beam system bound by magic that kept the roof from collapsing. Beneath the great hall, ceremonial chambers, lecture theatres and laboratories were dug deep into the earth surrounding the Heart of the college.

  Like the spokes of a wheel, seven stone corridors spread from the tower to an outer circle of offices and classrooms, and between the corridors were seven stunning gardens, places of contemplation reserved for the senior mages of the college. Orchards, shrubberies, rock gardens, pools and fantastic arrays of flowers; the mood of the mage and the season dictated where one might be found walking or sitting.

  Linked to the outer circle, arcs of buildings spread hundreds of yards in all directions: the library, refectories, cold room, mana bowl, long rooms and chambers of those resident. Only Heryst himself had his rooms and offices in the tower. All built to a focused design, Lysternan magic found power in the geometry of its buildings, their precise architecture and the angles of walls and roofs. Heryst didn't claim to know a great deal about the origins of the knowledge, he only knew he was not going to let it be torn apart.

  He sat in his luxuriously upholstered and very high-backed chair, all deep greens and blood reds, and looked around the circular table, with its diamond-patterned marquetry and its hollows where the elbows of ages had worn its scratched but polished surface. What decisions had been taken here over the centuries, what great projects had been discussed. History hung in the air; you could all but smell it. But no subject could have been more important than the one about to be aired now.

  Doors opened all along the semicircular corridor that bordered the great hall on one side and in came the council. Thirty men and women, expectant but a little anxious at being called from their beds so early. Each took his or her allotted place at the table. Not a one spoke aloud though Heryst could feel the odd surge of Communion as some tried to get a hint of what was to come from friends they thought in higher places than themselves.

  'My friends, I apologise for the intrusion on your rest this morning and for my appearance,' said Heryst, when all were seated. He had no doubt the fact he was still dusty and sweaty from the road had raised a few eyebrows. 'But there are things I need to know and you need to hear.'

  There was a murmur around the table. Heryst looked to his immediate left, straight into the eyes of his mentor, Kayvel. He touched the arm of the white-haired strong old man, smiled and nodded.

  'It has come,' he said quietly.

  Kayvel sighed, his grey eyes sparkling in the sun and lantern light. 'And in my lifetime.'

  'And I thank the Gods you are here to advise me.'

  'Speak,' Kayvel said.

  Heryst turned to the council table and spoke.

  'My friends, you will know I am just returned from Dordover. I had thought to seek assurances from Vuldaroq that the conflict at Arlen was at an end before riding to Xetesk to seek the same from Dystran.

  'Instead, I find that we are facing our gravest crisis for hundreds of years. We have suffered animosities and skirmishes in my lifetime but all these disputes were settled by negotiation. What we are facing now, my friends, is war. War between powerful colleges at a time when the very existence of magic is being questioned on Balaia. At a time when surely we should be pulling together to repair the damage magic has done to our land, two colleges seek to rip us all to shreds. All over a dead girl and the information two dying elves can give.

  'Should we have been surprised? Possibly not. After all, we have seen Xetesk and Dordover battle over Lyanna; we have seen Dordover betray Erienne, one of their own, to the witch hunters; and we have seen our own General Darrick so sickened by our liaison with Dordover that he deserted his command. And the results of what Xetesk's Protector army did to Arlen are there today for all to see.'

  'But is it war?' A voice sounded from the far side of the table. 'Could this not be another flexing of muscles?'

  'I rode here and p
robably killed my horse in the process because it is war. Both colleges want it and we will be swept up in it, whether we like it or not. I fear for us and I fear for Julatsa because I do not believe this fight will end when either Xetesk or Dordover is beaten. The balance of magic will be irrevocably altered and the victor will inevitably desire dominion.

  'Vuldaroq informs me that Xetesk has cleared its refugee camps by riding the people out like animals. They have scattered, many towards the Dord to the north. Some will inevitably come here.

  'Kayvel, I need you to contact our deputation in Xetesk. Make sure they are unharmed and free. Are there any questions?'

  He looked around the table. No one spoke.

  'Good. I am going to rest and change. You are going to stay here and begin planning. And remember, if war comes to our borders and our negotiations come to nothing, we may have to defend not just ourselves but Julatsa too.'

  The doors at the end of the chamber opened with a crash.

  'My Lord Heryst, council. I apologise but I must speak.'

  Heryst stilled the irritated murmur with a hand and acknowledged the head of his mana spectrum monitoring team.

  'Go ahead, Dunera.'

  'My Lord.' She nodded. 'We've got a problem in the spectrum over Arlen.'

  'What is it?'

  'I don't know,' she said. 'But whatever it is, people are going to die. Lots of them.'

  'And the signature?' asked Kayvel.

  'The mana is in flux, density increasing. It's huge, or it will be. And it's offensive in nature, no doubt of it.'

  'Who's casting it?'

  'Xetesk.'

  'Do we have anyone in the vicinity?' Heryst kneaded his forehead.

  'Yes. We have representatives with the Dordovans,' said Dunera, head dropping to her chest. 'They have refused to leave and I have already commended their souls.' Commander Senese ran along the back of the Dordovan lines, urging his men to greater efforts. Three days they'd repulsed comfortably the Xeteskians' attempts to push them out of the northern streets. But now this.

  Dawn had seen fierce fighting on three fronts, with Protectors in every attack. His men were holding but only just, keeping key intersections secure as well as the southern edge of the Park of the Martyrs. But in the mana spectrum, something much, much worse.

  They'd been following its development for hours; a cooperative spell that must be taking the combined stamina of over fifty mages. And planning defence and reaction was taking most of his magical resource, leaving this as a battle almost entirely without spell attack. Somehow, though, he had to break the enemy onslaught.

  'Don't falter!' he called. 'Push on. You can break them.'

  The power of the Protectors was awesome. Huge men, masked and silent, their dual sword and axe attacks directed by the soul mind so quickly and accurately. But Dordover had to stand up to them. To be exact, the scared men in front of him had to.

  One of those men took an axe in his chest. He was cast into those behind, threatening for a moment to cause a breach in the line, but Senese filled it, sword deflecting a low strike.

  'Keep going!'

  Their commander's presence fighting alongside galvanised those near him. The din of order and weapon increased, and the Xeteskians' grinding advance was halted. Senese wheeled his blade and drove it at a Protector's heart. Without looking, the masked man whipped his axe across to block, following up with a sweep of his sword. Senese ducked, yelling a warning. The blade whistled just over him, slicing through stray hairs on his head and burying itself in the skull of the man next to him at the end of its arc.

  Blood and brain sprayed into the air. The victim tumbled sideways to the ground. The Protectors stepped up their pace. Senese moved to block and thrust again and felt a presence at his right shoulder.

  'Sir!' It was one of his field captains, a brave young man named Hinar. 'Drop back. You're needed at command!'

  Senese flat-bladed a Protector across the mask, sending him staggering. Hinar saw his opportunity and thrust forward, his point piercing the enemy's armour and penetrating his stomach.

  'Go, we can hold!' Hinar re-gathered himself to turn away an axe, the heavy blow making him gasp.

  Senese forced a regular Xeteskian soldier back and ducked out of the combat, another man immediately moving to take his place. He ran back towards the ruined bakery in which he'd set up his command post. The lead mage met him halfway.

  'We've got to pull back,' said Indesi, his face terrified, his hands grabbing at Senese's jerkin. 'We can't defend against this spell.'

  'Find a way,' barked Senese. 'We are not running.'

  'It's too big, it'll destroy us.'

  'Then combine your shields and talk up your mages.' Senese stopped and spun Indesi round to look at the fighting. 'See those men? Up against it but they believe. Start believing yourself.'

  'But-'

  'And where will we run to, eh? Those bastards will chase us all the way to Dordover. We can't let them run the supply route from here to Xetesk. I will not yield.'

  'Then break through right now or they will win anyway.' Indesi's voice was toneless, dead almost. 'You don't understand.'

  'I understand we cannot afford to lose this town. That's what I understand.'

  A piercing scream from inside the command post went straight through Senese.

  'What the-'

  But Indesi wasn't listening. He turned and ran to the door, shouted into its lantern-lit interior.

  'Weave the defence grid. No gaps, dual skin.' He looked back over his shoulder at Senese before disappearing inside. 'It's coming. I warned you.'

  Senese shuddered and began to run back towards the line. Perhaps there was still a chance. There were still men running across the small courtyard to the line he was defending. The enemy mages had to be right behind the Protectors. Surely the spell would be targeted by line of sight.

  He opened his mouth to shout but swallowed it. A blue glow, brighter than the sun, washed over the buildings ahead, casting stark shadows down alleys, behind trees and across the courtyard. The fighting changed in tone. Voices lost their authority, blades fell with less power.

  'No!' he shouted. 'Fight. Now you've got to fight!'

  He began to run forward again but his men were wavering. The Protectors would slaughter them. But they weren't moving, satisfied to stand by and watch. And the reason became all too clear.

  Above the level of tree and building rose a globe of fire, tinged deep Xeteskian blue and ringed by sparks and sheets of what looked like lightning but Senese knew was unstable mana.

  'Oh dear Gods,' said Senese, staring up as the globe rose smoothly, its radiance glaring harsh, its size, bigger than a ship, awesome and stupefying. His men were starting to break. 'Stay under the shielding. It's your only chance!'

  But while the Xeteskians stood and watched, the Dordovans scattered beneath the globe and the stillness that accompanied it.

  'Stand firm!' screamed Senese, but they weren't listening to him.

  Weapons fell from nerveless hands, brave men stumbled and sprawled, legs pumping as they tried to flee, not heeding the most obvious fact. There was nowhere to run. Hinar came to his side.

  'Where are the mages?' he shouted into the pounding of feet and cries of fear.

  'Trying to shield us. Pray Gods they can make it stick.'

  Hinar nodded as the two men backed away, watching the globe gathering speed and, impossibly, size as it rushed over the heads of the Xeteskians.

  'Come on, Indesi,' breathed Senese. 'Come on.'

  The globe struck the Dordovan outer shield. Mana flared and spat, the globe flattened over the curved surface, bulged down over them. Senese felt a sudden intense heat as the shield gave way.

  He put his hands above him and crouched reflexively but the globe didn't travel far, striking the second skin, but hard. The temperature was like the inside of an oven, the blazing heat of the Southern Continent desert and increasing. From the command post, Senese could hear screaming and voic
es urging effort.

  'They aren't going to do it,' said Senese, breaking at last. 'Run.' The two men turned, but at the same moment the second shield collapsed, the great globe crashing down into the courtyard. Senese was blown from his feet by the rush of displaced air and connected hard with the wall of a building. It jarred his back and he crumpled into a half seated position, winded and groggy. He focussed his eyes as the globe struck the ground.

  Fire washed across the cobblestones, surging up the sides of buildings and blasting through windows and weakened timbers. Across the courtyard, a damaged tenement shattered under the blast, the rending of wood and squealing of nails torn from stays lost in the roar of flame. Everywhere, men, helpless under the spell, were rolled over or plucked from the ground, clothing and flesh charred in a heartbeat.

  The heat in the courtyard intensified still further. Sword metal glowed red, stones blackened, timber disintegrated, glass dissolved. Roof tiles flew high into the sky as the globe breached another building, tearing it apart. A great pall of smoke billowed in the superheated wind, which took the screams of the dying and whipped them away like chaff in a breeze. A burning corpse struck the wall by Senese and broke apart, gaping skull pleading.

  Indesi had been right; this was no ordinary FlameOrb construct. There was too much heat, too much energy. It consumed everything in its path, scoured the ground clean as would the fires of hell.

  And as the heat lashed the moisture from his body Senese's last view was of the Xeteskians, standing and waiting, their fire breaking over their mana shields which glowed blue and dissipated its power.

  'What have you done?' he rasped.

  The flame wall rolled over him like an angry sea.

  Chapter 15

  It was night. Yron was standing alone in the centre of the stone apron outside the ring of guard fires. Behind him, his men either stood nervous guard or tried to rest as best they could in the increasing humidity and heat that had penetrated the temple in the last few days. Presumably, the atmosphere had been spoiled by the removal of the doors but Yron thought there was probably more to it than that. It was like the ambience in the rainforest; he couldn't put his finger on it but he knew all was not well.