Equilibrium: Episode 6

by CS Sealey

  “Vrór?” Tiderius shouted. He turned around, his eyes seeking out all the available hiding places. “Come out, you animal!”

  “Want an animal?” Vrór hissed, his voice echoing eerily around the quadrangle and crumbling stones. “Then you can have one!”

  A loud roar made Tiderius start as a giant, horned, bear-shaped creature charged from amid the crumbling stones. He acted fast, deftly leaping over the head of the beast. Before it had passed him entirely, he twisted his upper body and struck the summoning’s hind quarters with Anathris.

  The animal shrieked and several red sparks erupted from the wound, but it wheeled around for another attack. Tiderius stood his ground, holding his sword steady, the blade parallel to the grass. He could feel the earth beneath his feet tremble as the beast charged. When it was but a few yards from him, he quickly dived aside and drove his sword deep into its ribs. The force of the creature’s own speed sent the weapon slicing through its thick magical hide. In an instant, the summoning was a blaze of particles and then, in a flash, it had disintegrated with an ear-piercing screech.

  “Show yourself!” Tiderius commanded. “Fight me face to face!”

  “With pleasure.”

  The Ayon leika emerged from behind a crumbling pillar on the opposite side of the quadrangle. His frame was stooped, his eyes were narrowed with savage glee and his furry tail twitched slightly in anticipation.

  “Why has my double failed to show?” Vrór asked. “I know she’s sss still in the capital. Have I finally scared her away?”

  “She’s not afraid of you!”

  “No matter. I’ll sss seek her out after I deal with you. That won’t take very long.”

  “I’ll have your head!”

  “We shall see.” The leika grinned, showing his yellow, pointed teeth.

  Tiderius’s stomach turned unpleasantly, for he had never seen the once-man up close before. He truly was more beast than human. His grip on Anathris tightened and his knuckles turned white. With a snarl, Vrór dived into a summoning dance and the illusory fire rippled down Tiderius’s sword. A moment later, a burst of red particles shot out of the end of Vrór’s crude staff and coiled itself into a misshapen monster from the leika’s imagination. The creature spotted Tiderius, growled, then came thundering across the grass at him, its eyes gleaming like two pools of the hottest fire.

  *

  The sky began to darken and the air grew warmer, as though a summer’s breeze had wafted over the city. Emil Latrett anxiously lowered his hands and dispersed his shield. The last traces of Kayte’s spell had died, but his ears were still ringing. He glanced around, but there was no sign of her nor Archis Varren.

  Standing before him now, speckled with dirt and blackened from spells, were the dark-skinned witch and the aging enchanter. Emil glanced at Markus, who was slowly getting to his feet, and thrust his arms forward with a great cry, sending a river of fire running across the soil toward the witch. She leaped into the air in a graceful and unnaturally high curve as the fire rushed beneath her. She spread her arms wide as she descended and extinguished the shaman’s spell before her boots hit the ground with a dull thud.

  Lhunannon spun quickly on his heel, drawing an invisible circle about him with his outstretched fingers. Next, he flung his arms skyward and, with a great rumble, an explosion of earth erupted around him. The enchanter quickly fashioned the earth into projectiles of soil and clay and hurled them Emil’s way. Unprepared, Emil only just managed to dive out of their path unscathed. But he was quick to answer the attack, rolling out of his dive and splaying his hands into the dirt to send another spurt of fire at Tarvenna. The witch, who had been concentrating on her own fight with Markus, was caught unawares and blown off her feet. Her shriek pierced the air but was cut short when she hit the ground, her tunic smoking.

  As Emil wiped his forehead and flung back his braids, a flash flew past his face and he felt a hot, searing sensation. He looked down and found two glowing red coils entwined about his wrists and forearms. He struggled against it but saw, to his dismay, that with each tug, the spell tightened about him. No matter how he twisted and pulled, the coils would not give way. He had used this spell many times on others but never before had he felt its binding power himself.

  Groaning in anger, he twisted his wrists, grabbed the hot rope and pulled. Lhunannon was dragged forward. Emil was by far the stronger man and by twisting the rope around his wrists and arms, he drew the enchanter closer. Inch by inch, Emil pulled him across the courtyard lawn until, forced to relinquish the spell, Lhunannon broke off and staggered away. Emil was left feeling sore and drained of power, yet he produced a long knife from his belt and leaped at the older man, who was only just quick enough to dart out of the way of his first swipe and place a low hedge between them.

  “You can’t hide behind your great lord general now! You’re nothing but an old man with a few cheap tricks!” Emil cried, summoning a weak ball of fire and hurling it at the enchanter.

  “You may think that,” the enchanter yelled, twisting out of harm’s way. Lhunannon crouched and took two handfuls of loose earth. Rising, he threw the dirt into the air between them and shouted a few words in a language unknown to the shaman. As the dirt fell, it slowed and coiled into a spinning vortex, that converged upon Emil, churned up the loose earth and grass at his feet and lifted it into the air, creating a tornado around him. He was blind to everything but the swirling soil, and the whistling of the wind in his ears deafened him. He attempted to move but the wind was so strong it held him in place. Realizing his knife had slipped from his fingers, Emil felt frighteningly vulnerable. He tried to blast the vortex apart with fire and bolts of compressed air but his spells harmlessly fizzled away.

  A flash to one side attracted his attention. The swirling coil fell away and Emil stumbled forward. But before he could summon any kind of protective shield, Lhunannon appeared with the shaman’s own knife in his grasp and thrust the blade into Emil’s side. A searing pain ripped through his body and he staggered, hands clutching at the wound. Lhunannon stabbed again, but this time, Emil was able to duck out the way and swing his elbow into the back of the enchanter’s head, bringing him down. The knife spun out of his grasp.

  With one hand held tightly to his side, the shaman tucked a heavy boot under the enchanter and flipped him onto his back. Lhunannon was dazed from the blow to the head, his eyelids flickering and lips moving in unspoken words. Despite his power, he was still an old man. Emil crouched beside him and placed his palm flat on the man’s chest. He could feel the enchanter’s heart beating defiantly beneath his ribs. Emil narrowed his eyes and produced a great surge of power, which he forced down his arm and out through his fingers. Lhunannon twitched and his eyes flew open. Blue sparks of pure energy scattered from the tips of Emil’s fingers and pierced the enchanter’s flesh. A moment later, Lhunannon tensed and his mouth opened in a silent scream, then he slumped back, dead.

  Emil rose. The darkened mark of his hand still smoked on the enchanter’s robes. He turned and saw Markus and Tarvenna locked in fierce battle. Even from this distance, it was clear that Markus was tiring from the assault. Biting back the pain of his wound, Emil summoned what little power he still possessed. As his fingers began to flicker with blue fire, the wizard staggered, his forehead dotted with sweat. Tarvenna shrieked in victory. A ball of raw power now shimmering in his palm, Emil flung the spell at her, groaning in pain as his wound ached anew.

  So intent on her battle against the weakening Markus was Tarvenna that she never saw the spell. She raised her arms, summoning what looked like a bolt of lightning above her head and Markus looked up at it with an expression of dread upon his tired, lined face. But then Emil’s spell struck – the bolt of energy thundered into the witch’s side, lifting her off her feet, searing her flesh, seeking her heart and lungs. She screamed in pain, but by the time her body hit the earth, she too was dead.

  Emil took in several deep breaths before looking over at Markus. They s
tudied each other’s faces briefly in silence and then Emil managed a laugh. Markus checked himself over before sharing in Emil’s laughter. But when he caught sight of the shaman’s knife wound, his expression grew suddenly grave.

  “You are hurt!” he exclaimed. “Here, let me see.”

  “No!” he said, gesturing with his head toward Tarvenna. “Make sure she’s dead this time.”

  Markus glanced at the witch and reluctantly moved over to her. Emil watched as he crouched cautiously and checked for a pulse. He paused and then rose, shaking his head. Emil sighed with relief.

  “Now let me see that,” Markus said.

  Emil moved his bloodied hand and clenched his jaw as Markus carefully pulled the ripped tunic away from his damaged flesh.

  “You need seeing to.”

  “No time for that. What of the others? Where’s Kayte?”

  “I don’t know,” Markus admitted. “Can you stop the bleeding?”

  Emil pressed his hand more firmly against his side and tried to summon enough power to command the wound to close but his energy reserves were quite depleted. He shook his head.

  “Here…” Markus ripped the tunic open wider and pressed his palm firmly against the wound, drawing a pained groan from Emil’s throat. However, he knew enough of Markus’s gift not to protest. He felt a cold chill creep over his left side, numbing the pain. Slowly, the bleeding began to lessen.

  “There,” Markus said. “That should hold for a while, but you’ll need proper medical attention soon.”

  They looked at the devastation the battle had caused in the courtyard. Most of the bushes had been burned, the patches of lawn looked like farmer’s paddocks awaiting new crops, several of the stone benches had cracked and crumbled, and the columns and walls surrounding the courtyard were dotted with black smudges where spells had hit them.

  “We have to find Varren,” Emil said, turning to Markus. “With him dead, the Ayons will have nobody to turn to.”

  “The castle gates are still shut,” Markus noticed. “They must be in here somewhere.”

  “Then search every corridor and room!” Emil said. “Kayte won’t be able to keep him at bay for long!”

  *

  A blue dart of fire hurtled from Kayte’s open palm and met Varren’s own spell with a flash. A shockwave blasted from the point of impact and Kayte was thrown off her feet, landing heavily against the parapets. She coughed and several drops of blood splattered on to the stone roof.

  The last of the Ayon archers disappeared down the staircase, evidently unwilling to remain in such danger. Clouds of thick smoke were still rising from the city below, obscuring the sun’s rays. It must have been early afternoon by now but it seemed like night. From this angle, it was impossible to see who had the upper hand in the fight to liberate the city but at least the resistance was still fighting.

  “Come on!” Varren cried. “Again!”

  Kayte looked up at her double. It worried her that Varren did not seem to be fighting with the intent to kill. Instead, he seemed to be playing with her, much like a young wildcat would play with its prey before dealing the killing blow. It was as though he was enjoying the fight too much to see it end.

  I must distract him from the fight downstairs, she told herself. I know Emil and Markus can overcome their doubles, so I must weaken Varren for them, I must!

  His expression of pure pleasure chilled her to the bone. In an instant, she was bombarded by yet another influx of enchantments. For every spell she could conjure, Varren seemed capable of summoning three. How could he possibly be so strong? She deflected those she could and leaped out of the path of the others, but she felt her strength waning. Never before had she been this vulnerable. A bead of sweat slid down her temple and she brushed it away with her sleeve.

  None of Varren’s spells were particularly complex but the sheer number of them were slowly but surely wearing her down. Again, she was blasted off her feet by a spell that had slipped past her defenses. She moaned as she hit the ground and held a hand to the back of her throbbing head. It took a great effort to rise and a wave of dizziness forced her back to her knees.

  “What’s the matter?” Varren asked exultantly, opening his arms wide. “Feeling weak? Feeling fragile?”

  “Weak?” Kayte asked and coughed again. “I’m just warming up.”

  Varren’s laugh was loud and cruel. Kayte clambered back to her feet, dragging air fiercely into her lungs to deter another bout of giddiness.

  “Your persistence is admirable,” Varren said, inclining his head toward her in mock respect, “but your efforts are in vain. I hope you enjoy the view, for it’ll be the last thing you see.”

  He held his hand out, palm upturned, before slowly closing it into a fist. At first, Kayte wondered what he was doing, for no spell flickered there. Taking the opportunity, she began to form an enchantment of her own. Blue energy licked at her fingers but it quickly fizzled away into nothing. She gasped and hunched over, clutching at her chest – her heart was burning. She tried to silence her cry by clenching her jaw but it was impossible. She had never felt pain so acutely in all her life. Her legs gave way and she fell onto the hard stones of the rooftop, her fingers digging deep into her tunic where her heart was blazing with pain.

  Archis Varren approached her, his hand almost fully clenched.

  “You feel that, don’t you?” he said. “I could give you the option to turn from your course and join mine, spare your life…but I already know you would never betray your friends. I could close my fist and silence you forever. But, no, that would give me little entertainment.”

  He laughed contemptuously and lowered his arm, opening his fist. Kayte gasped in relief and drew ragged, hurried breaths. Her heart beat frantically in her chest; she could hear it loudly thudding in her ears. She propped herself up and began to stand, one hand held before her in readiness, but Varren shook his head.

  “I will give you the chance to stand and fight me. The Spirits chose you for a reason. I must assume you have greater power than you have, as yet, demonstrated. Fight me! Show me you are worthy to share my gift! Let’s show the Spirits what their children can do!”

  Kayte took a few weary steps backward as she tried to balance herself. Her limbs were slow to respond and she felt terribly weak. Varren’s expression was one of malicious delight.

  “Come on!” he shouted, opening his arms wide. “Fight me!”

  “Spirits, give me strength,” Kayte whispered and raised her face to the sky. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. The wind fluttered lightly past her and she spread her fingers to feel its passage across her skin. She could smell the scent of burning wood from the courtyard below and the aroma of churned-up earth. She heard the distant roar of a summoned beast and the shouts of battle from the city.

  She stood there for a long while, soaking up the energy from the air, savoring the renewed strength that flowed through her veins and muscles. When she lowered her head and turned to face Varren, she saw in his eyes that he had recognized the transformation; his thin mouth curled into a smile.

  “You wish to see if I am worthy?” Kayte asked, glowering. “You’d better be prepared!”

  She crouched, planting her palms firmly on the ground. Varren moved when she did, spreading his arms out wide and sucking energy from the air into his hands. His robes billowed about him as two balls of white fire took form in his hands. But Kayte rose first, trailing two coils of water, moisture sucked straight from the air itself. Raising her hands and flicking her wrists, she sent the coils hurtling toward her double, the water solidifying into jagged icicles.

  Varren palmed his hands together and shot his flickering balls of fire toward the projectiles, shattering them midair. Some of the smaller shards careened his way and he was forced to duck to prevent them piercing his skin.

  “Good, good!” he yelled, rising again. “More of this! Yes, more!’

  CHAPTER 75

  Rasmus mopped his brow with his sleeve and
looked around. The last few Ayons still resisting were being brought down one by one. He spied Cassios a dozen yards away punching a man in the face, then retrieving his sword from a nearby body to finish him off. The middle city courtyard where Rasmus had been led to the scaffold was now strewn with corpses.

  He heard the sharp passage of an arrow, then a dull thud and saw a nearby Ayon, who had been staggering back to his feet, fall to the ground with a wooden shaft protruding from his chest. He looked up and spotted a lone archer standing on the rooftop of Berri Tavern. Rasmus was only momentarily surprised to recognize the man as the tavern’s regular bartender.

  “Captain!” came a cry from further down the slope.

  Rasmus turned and quickly saluted. “General.”

  “I’ve gathered what men I could find,” Kaster said, panting slightly. “Another three score. Not too many but it should be enough to push on to the upper city. How’s the ram going?”

  Rasmus turned in the direction of the upper city wall. Two dozen men had been laying a thick ram into the reinforced gate for almost an hour. Though the door was showing signs of strain, he was frustrated that they had not made better progress.

  “We haven’t got any pitch to speed the process along,” Rasmus explained. “Could do with Emil or Markus now, but they’ve gone on ahead to deal with Varren.”

  “Pray they succeed,” General Kaster said, then looked over his shoulder and beckoned to a pair of soldiers heaving a barrel with them up the hill. “We found this. Seems to be cooking oil. Never spent much time in a kitchen myself but I reckon this’ll work just fine.”

  Rasmus nodded as the soldiers passed and weaved their way through the maze of bodies to the gate.

  “Lower city’s a mess,” the general said, folding his arms. “Don’t know what happened in the market district but half of it’s gone up in flames! A lot of civilians were taking shelter in some of the larger warehouses but they had to flee when the fire reached that area. Most of them are sheltering in the gardens now.”