by CS Sealey
“Sounds dire,” Rasmus muttered. “I sent a man along to the lower city wall with orders to open the harborside gates. The housing district we passed through was pure carnage. The people had nowhere to go! Hopefully, if they manage to escape down to the harbor, we’ll have less casualties on our hands.”
“Good thinking,” Kaster said. “I saw one of those flying demons earlier but I haven’t spotted one for a while now. Hope that means one of your brother’s lot has dealt with him.”
“It’s definitely on their list!”
“Oh, I can smell it, Auran,” the general said, taking in a deep breath. “The city’s almost ours again.”
Rasmus nodded. It was true, they had gained momentum, district by district, and now there were only two more buildings left to liberate. Though pockets of fighting still dotted the lower districts of the city, their main goal had shifted to the castle and their unwanted consul.
A crackle and flash of light drew their attention back to the gate. The cooking oil had been lit and flames were now licking around the stone archway, consuming the wooden gate slowly but surely. Rasmus spotted the silhouetted figure of Cassios instructing the soldiers to move back from the flames. A great column of gray smoke was steadily rising into the air to add to the already large cloud above the city. He glanced up at the castle and saw the occasional flash of a spell light up the inner walls of the towers. The mages were still fighting. He hoped there would not be too many of them by the time he, General Kaster and the troops reached the castle gates, for none of them had any sort of defense against even the simplest of spells.
“There she goes!” the general cried in triumph.
The upper city gates bent inward and collapsed with a loud creak and crash. The allies cheered.
“Right, men!” Kaster said, hurrying toward the flaming breach. “Formations! Shields up! Let’s give these Ayon dogs everything we’ve got!”
*
Vrór growled as his third summoned beast exploded into a shower of sparks, and immediately began to summon again. The quadrangle was thinly shrouded with smoke and several deep gashes marred the lawn where Tiderius had swung Anathris. He had never faced such a prolonged assault against a leika before. Defying weariness, Tiderius darted out of the path of the charging beasts and dealt them blow after blow with deadly accuracy.
“Was it a wolf you were trying to transform yourself into, Vrór?” he taunted. “Or a weasel?”
Vrór roared with anger and leaped into another summoning, one he completed unnervingly fast. The jet of green sparks formed a great hound, its teeth sharp and glistening with saliva. Tiderius held his sword up in readiness, his eyes fixed on the beast. He was only vaguely conscious of Vrór angling his staff down once more before his vision filled with blinding white light and he was blown off his feet. He heard his head crack as he crashed into a crumbling stone pillar, and groaned. He lifted his free hand and felt his head but was unsure of the damage. A throbbing pain in his leg drew his eyes down. The leather guards from his right leg had been ripped off by the blast and he was bleeding.
Seeing Vrór’s beast advancing on him, Tiderius pushed aside the pain and hurried unsteadily to an opening in the temple ruin. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the summoned creature following, its jaws gaping. Tiderius slipped inside the ruin, glancing back every few steps. In front of him was some kind of ancient platform with a sunken basin in its center, filled with unpleasantly dark, murky water. Raising his sword, Tiderius skirted around the basin, waiting for the beast to appear. He heard it growling moments before it finally emerged, its tongue hanging from its jaws, saliva dripping onto the ancient stones of the temple ruin.
Tiderius took a defensive stance. He had perfected a method of attack against the beasts who knew nothing but the instinct to kill. The best way to defeat them was not to attack them first but to wait for them to strike. The hound ran blindly toward him, ignorant of the fate of its many predecessors. Tiderius let it come to within a couple of yards before springing aside. The reflexes of the summoned beast were quick but not quick enough. It skidded to slow itself down, but as it did so, Tiderius slashed his sword across the hound’s exposed flank. The beast howled as Anathris pierced its flesh and sliced through both muscle and bone. With an agonized wail, the hound’s legs collapsed beneath its sleek body, then it disintegrated into a cloud of green sparks.
Breathing deeply, Tiderius took a much needed moment of respite. He leaned against one of the crumbling walls that enclosed the basin and inspected his head once more. The spot where he had hit the pillar was beginning to swell, but the skin had not broken.
It was some time before he looked around for Vrór. The Ayon leika was not an opponent who would waste time on a subtle attack, instead opting for a vicious frontal assault. Tiderius listened but could hear nothing but the distant shouts of the battle waging in the city below. He crossed the temple ruin and looked back through the opening, expecting to see Vrór hard at work summoning again, but the leika was not there. The quadrangle, as far as he could see, was completely deserted.
Surely he hasn’t left.
Tiderius withdrew his head and turned back to the basin. Something moved within the water and he frowned, taking a few quick steps toward it. Too late did he realize it had been a reflection and, at the edge of his sight, he saw a dark shape spring toward him from atop the temple wall. He dodged but a searing pain streaked across his cheek and neck as five long claws dug into his skin. He raised his sword and faced Vrór, whose fingers were dripping with his blood. A growl issued from between the leika’s pointed teeth as his lips twisted into a grin. Tiderius heard a light thud behind him and turned quickly to see one of Vrór’s creatures poised to attack, blocking the only way back out to the quadrangle.
“You can only focus sss on one of us,” Vrór said gleefully. “Which will it be, Ronnesian?”
“That’s an obvious choice,” Tiderius said, glancing between the beast and its master. “If I kill you, it will cease to be.”
“But its claws sss are very real. The bite of a summoned animal is supposedly more painful than any spell or weapon.”
“We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”
He turned his back on the beast and lunged at Vrór. The leika was agile but Tiderius kept the man in his sights and swiped at him again and again. The summoned hound pursued him around the basin as he fought Vrór, snapping at his legs and leaping at him whenever he glanced away.
“Not so easy, is it?” Vrór taunted.
Just as Tiderius deflected another attack from the hound, Vrór crouched and kicked his legs out from under him. The Ronnesian swordsman fell flat on his back with a shout, cracking his head once more against stone. Almost instantly, the hound’s teeth sunk into the flesh of his shoulder. With a cry of agony, Tiderius raised his sword and slashed at the beast’s face and neck. It withdrew with a howl and split apart.
Tiderius tried to rise, his head throbbing, but his limbs had grown weak and were unwilling to move. Sprawled on his back, he craned his neck and saw Vrór sitting on his haunches a few feet away.
“See? What did I tell you?” Vrór said gleefully, his tail swishing behind him. “Some have said the bite sss shocks the victim with acute pain. What do you think? Are you in pain?”
Tiderius groaned and tried to move his legs but they still would not obey. The bite was agonizing. The sensation reminded him of the siege of Te’Roek in which he had been shot with a poisoned arrow in that very same shoulder. Angora had healed him then but she would not be able to help him now. She was no doubt sitting uncomfortably in their second headquarters, an abandoned inn, one hand resting on the bulge that was their unborn child, her eyes gazing worriedly out of a window.
He screwed up his face, closed his eyes and tried to push aside the pain ripping through his body.
I’m done, he thought despairingly. I know it. This time, there’s no one to save me.
Behind his eyelids, Tiderius saw all the faces of
those he would meet if he let the pain of his wounds overcome him. He saw his father standing in a green meadow dotted with flowers. He was grinning widely and beckoning to him. He saw both his aunts sitting together a little further away, talking animatedly to each other. They looked up, spotted him and waved, their faces breaking into expressions of pure delight. Then further away in the meadow, he saw the stooped figures of his grandparents. A gentle breeze drifted across the field and teased his hair. He turned and then stopped dead. Angora stood there, her long, dark hair swaying like a curtain in the breeze. She was not looking at him but seemed captivated by a flower growing amid the long stalks of grass at her bare feet. She raised a hand and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear before finally looking up and seeing him. A sad expression crossed her beautiful face, then she held out her hand to him and nodded.
Suddenly, the prospect of leaving the mortal plane to wander in the unknown world beyond did not seem so frightening. Though he was confused at seeing Angora there, he realized everyone he had ever known would eventually join him. He would not be alone.
“Come on, then,” he said weakly, opening his eyes and fixing them on Vrór. “Kill me. Do it now and be quick about it.”
Vrór hesitated, looking skeptical, as though sensing a trap. Slowly, the leika drew a thin knife from his belt and moved to Tiderius’s side. Looking down at his victim, the leika raised the weapon above Tiderius’s chest.
“Do it,” Tiderius urged, his voice scarcely more than a whisper but no less fierce than a shout. “Come on, you mangy animal. Do it! Do it now!”
Anger flashed in Vrór’s eyes and he snarled, bringing the knife down. But Tiderius, his hand clamped tightly on Anathris, summoned all his remaining strength and thrust the weapon up into Vrór’s stomach. The resulting scream was that of an animal. The fire in the sword flared and licked at Vrór’s skin and clothes, quickly consuming every inch of his writhing body. Those parts of him that were animal, the result of his disastrous experimentation, disintegrated like one of his many summonings, while the fragments of his human body merely blackened and shriveled. Moments later, he was nothing more than a charred corpse.
Tiderius withdrew his sword and pushed Vrór’s body into the putrid water of the stone basin, where it sank like a stone. The pain in his shoulder was increasing and he could feel blood soaking through his clothes. A light breeze ruffled his hair and rippled the once blue surcoat on top of his ripped and slashed leather armor. He could hear distant, anxious voices in the monastery quadrangle. Evidently, the monks were emerging from their hiding places to come and inspect the result of the battle that had invaded their sanctuary. Wearily, Tiderius closed his eyes and let his head slump to one side. His grip on Anathris loosened and the illusory fire upon the blade flickered defiantly, then dispersed.
“Sir Auran?” he heard a man call from so far away. “Gods, fetch a healer! Sir Auran! Wake up!”
Angora stood before him in the meadow of everlasting sunshine. She had picked a bunch of yellow and red flowers and was busy plaiting them into her hair. He watched her for a while before calling out her name. His voice sounded strange in this mysteriously land, as though he was shouting down a deserted corridor. With the echoes of his shout still lingering in the air, Angora looked up.
“I did it,” he said, reaching out to her. “I killed him for you.”
Her smile was grim. “You are here before your time,” she said sadly. “You must be tired. Come, sit with me.”
Beside the basin in the temple ruin, Tiderius’s cracked and bloodied lips twitched into a smile for a fraction of a second, then his muscles relaxed and he released his very last breath.
CHAPTER 76
The sorcerer strode toward her, lashing out again and again. With each swipe, a whip-like coil of red light slashed through the air, ripping at Kayte’s already blood-soaked body. Varren’s face wore a manic expression of pleasure and great cries of delight issued from his lips at her feeble attempts to defend herself.
It felt as though they had been battling for hours, and for all she knew, they had been. A strong wind had sprung up, blowing the vast smoke cloud away from the city, allowing the afternoon sun to break through at last. Yet its rays could provide Kayte very little energy. She had long since given up hope of defeating Varren. He had given her the chance to prove herself and she had fought with every ounce of her strength, but she was simply not powerful enough to win.
He had experimented and practiced with his gift since boyhood and had perfected it to a deadly art, but she had always considered her gift merely an instrument of protection. Until Varren, she had never wanted to physically harm anyone. He watched as she once more squirmed in agony and screamed till her voice grew hoarse. Kayte tried to protect herself from his onslaught but not even the air could give her the strength she needed now. She was utterly drained.
“I grow tired of this,” Varren said eventually. “I gave you the opportunity to destroy me, but you failed. I am wasting my time here.”
He approached her, shaking back the sleeves of his dark robe, and raised his arms to the heavens. Kayte watched him weakly, knowing that the killing blow would soon come. She felt her eyes begin to sting with tears. She had hoped for so much from her life but so few of her dreams had come to pass. She had not known the joys of motherhood or the rush of passion of loving a man. She had dedicated her life to protecting Queen Zennia and then Sorcha, yet that purpose seemed so shallow now. She was too young to die. She released a sob of regret and felt hot tears slide down her face and hit the stone roof.
“Please…” she managed to say, lifting her head a fraction of an inch. “Just make it quick.”
Varren laughed once more and lowered his hands, balls of white fire flickering in his palms. “Quick? What makes you assume you deserve my mercy?”
He thrust his arms forward and released his magic. The flames hit her unprotected body and licked at her blood-drenched clothes. The cry that issued from her lips was little more than a moan.
Kayte imagined Markus and Emil standing sturdily against the wrath and cunning of Lhunannon and Tarvenna. Then she pictured Tiderius fighting eagerly against Vrór, Anathris blazing like a firebrand. Then she saw herself, sprawled on the deserted, flat rooftop of the castle, far above the real conflict in the city, defeated and alone. She felt ashamed.
“This day is ending,” Varren was saying. “It’s a pity you won’t live to see another.”
She did not have the will to retort. She could no longer feel her legs below her knees and even her fingers were hard to move.
“I’m disappointed in you,” the sorcerer continued, crouching down in front of her. “You are not worthy to be called my double. Not one single threat, not one single scratch from you! And I was so looking forward to this – I waited for years and this is the best you could give me? I feel cheated! Cheated!”
She watched as he talked to himself and then to her but his words grew ever more distant. At one point, he grasped her jaw and turned her head to him, fury etched across his face, but she did not reply. Varren straightened up and looked away across the city as though hearing a call. His brow furrowed deeply as he glanced back at her. His mouth moved in an angered monologue but Kayte did not hear a word of it. Then he rearranged his cloak and disappeared in a flurry of smoke.
Sprawled on the hard rooftop, Kayte looked up at the clouds as they passed. Every now and then, a gust of wind would send smoke drifting across her vision. She could smell burning wood and churned up earth. As sunset approached, she spotted the first splashes of orange light appear on the parapets and tint the underside of the clouds.
“Spirits, let me pass,” she whimpered, staring up at the sky, hoping beyond hope that the Spirits could hear her. “Spare me this slow end. Please…”
She listened to the distant sounds of battle from the city below. There was no sound of magical battle in the courtyard and she prayed with all her heart that both Markus and Emil had survived it. She tried aga
in to move her legs but found them unresponsive. She realized she would never know the outcome of that battle or the uprising. Her life would end in a cloud of uncertainty. Where had Varren gone? How many of her friends and companions were still alive? Would the blue Ronnesian flags fly again above the castle towers?
The sun began its final descent toward the horizon and rich red slid across the sky. Between the clouds, she spotted a few twinkling stars. It was hard to breathe now and, after a while, she found she could no longer keep her eyes open. Her whole body was numb. It, like her very spirit, was slowly but surely giving in.
So this is it, she thought solemnly. This is my time, my place to die.
But when she was certain she would feel the Spirits close in around her and lift her soul up into their arms, she heard something else, a distant voice and hurried footsteps. With her last ounce of strength, she opened her eyes a sliver and saw a blurred figure sprinting across the rooftop, his torn and blackened robe billowing and his braids whipping behind him.
“Emil…”
The shaman was there, crouching by her side, face and clothes covered in blood and dirt.
“Kayte!” he cried, panting heavily. “Can you hear me? Say something!”
“I tried, Emil…I tried my hardest.”
Emil looked down at her and shook his head. He closed his eyes and held his hands above her body. A glowing green light pulsed from his palms and he guided it down her body to her feet. Kayte felt the muscles in her weary limbs twitch slightly but she knew the healing spell would not work on her now. Muttering anxiously to himself, the shaman tried another enchantment, but to no avail. Despairing, he pulled her up into his lap and held her tightly in his strong arms.
“It’s my fault, I should have got here sooner!”
“He was like a madman. You could have done nothing to stop him.”
“Where is he?” Emil asked furiously, looking around. “He won’t escape us this time!”