“Have you spoken to him?” asked Eloise, as if she’d read his thoughts.
Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes red rimmed and bloodshot from crying and lack of sleep. The black robes of mourning made her look gaunt, and for a second she reminded him of a Splinter. A spark of life remained in her eyes, but she’d buried it beneath a mountain of grief.
“No.”
“Is he your father?”
As much as he wanted to deny it Balfruss knew the truth. Vannok had known for a while and had been trying to find the right moment to tell him. “Yes,” he said finally.
“Then you should talk to him soon,” insisted Eloise.
“Why?”
“Because tomorrow one of you could die.” The words were spoken gently but he knew they must have hurt a great deal. Balfruss gripped one of her hands in a vain attempt to offer a meagre form of comfort. He kept his eyes on the altar, afraid that looking at her would bring all the emotions he’d buried in the desert back to the surface.
A part of him still didn’t believe Darius was really dead. It just didn’t seem possible. Any moment he expected his bluff friend to casually wander into the church and sit down beside them. It seemed like only days ago that he’d walked into the distant city of Korumshah as a stranger. It was Darius who had made him feel welcome, taken him into his home and taught him the local customs. It was through him that Balfruss had met Eloise, and later earned his place at court by impressing the Desert King. His impact had been so significant the King allowed Darius to make him a Blood Brother. Dark thoughts of what that meant, now that Darius was dead, swam to the surface. Balfruss looked around for a distraction but there were none. A part of him felt that the church had been designed that way on purpose, so that no one could avoid the truths they would not speak aloud.
“I can’t promise anything,” said Balfruss.
“Why?”
“He abandoned us.” Even after all this time it surprised Balfruss how much it still hurt. “I was just a boy when he left, but they’d been married for years before I was born. Once he’d been gone for a couple of years I didn’t really notice, but sometimes I’d hear my mother crying at night. I didn’t know why until I was old enough to understand. She never gave up on him and she never recovered.”
“He never tried to get in touch?”
Balfruss sighed and took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Just before she died I found a few letters. He always mentioned coming home, but was vague about when.” The Red Tower had given him leave to visit his dying mother in her final days. By that time he barely recognised her. The pox had robbed her of any beauty and stripped the meat from her bones, leaving behind only a grey-skinned wraith. For as long as he could remember there’d always been sadness in her eyes, but in her final days the last spark of hope had been extinguished. She’d died broken-hearted and in pain, but proud of his accomplishments.
“It was too little too late,” said Balfruss, gritting his teeth. “He made his choice. He has to live with the consequences.”
“Don’t turn your back on family,” Eloise urged him.
“I’m here for the family that matters,” he said, unwilling to yield on this matter. “I’m here for you.”
“Have you come to claim your property?” asked Eloise, offering up both wrists in a gesture of supplication.
“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low.
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“As his Blood Brother you’re expected to marry his widow.” Eloise adopted an expression of docile servitude. “How can I serve you, my beloved?”
“Stop it.”
“Should I get on all fours and bark like a dog? Or do you want me on all fours for another reason?” she asked, giving him a dirty look.
“Don’t!” His voice echoed off stone walls, drawing curious and hostile looks.
As he walked out of the church Balfruss heard someone following, but didn’t turn around.
“Wait!” said Eloise, but he ignored her and pressed on.
A hazy orange sun cast long shadows down the streets. Balfruss maintained a fast pace, passing through sunbeams and icy pools of shadow that made spots dance in front of his eyes. When he was a few streets away from the church he came to a market square where vendors were unpacking their wares and setting up for the day. Many of them were preparing food and delicious smells came from several of the stalls. Balfruss approached a baker’s table and picked out a couple of cinnamon pastries. The merchant recognised him and Balfruss had to insist on paying, but even then the man looked deeply troubled. He was afraid of incurring the anger of a Battlemage. A lot of people gave him nervous glances when they thought he wasn’t looking.
In the centre of the square he discovered a small abandoned fountain. The statue of the woman was so old and corroded he could make out little of her features. She could have been an idol to an ancient God or a famous Queen. Either way no one remembered who she was or why they had erected a statue in her honour. Balfruss sat down on the stone lip surrounding the fountain, munching on his pastry and enjoying the banter of the merchants.
A few minutes later Eloise sat down. He passed her the other pastry and they ate in silence, soaking up the morning sun. After a few minutes Balfruss started to sweat but the heat barely affected Eloise, despite her being dressed in black. Compared to the desert this was probably a cool winter’s day.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry about.”
“But—”
“It’s forgotten.”
The silence returned, but this time he felt no awkwardness between them. Taking a deep breath he inhaled the familiar and heady aromas of the city as it came awake.
Balfruss watched as a young boy helped his father slice up fruit with uncanny speed, his knife flashing in a silver arc like a ritualised dance. The diced pieces were skewered and dipped into a pot of honey, sugar and herbs and then left to dry in the sun. One day the boy would inherit the business, his father’s legacy to him. He wondered what his legacy would be and how he would be remembered by others in years to come.
“He loved you so much and would want you to be happy.”
“I don’t know how to do that without him,” said Eloise.
A long silence settled on them for a while and once again Balfruss wondered who would mourn for him if he died.
“Will you go back east?” he asked eventually. Eloise was also watching the boy, her eyes full of terrible longing.
“I don’t know if I belong there, or here. I’m of both countries and neither. I just can’t think about any of it now.”
“If I can do anything, you only need ask.” Balfruss dusted the crumbs off his fingers and stood. “I have to go, they think the first attack will come early.”
“I’m ready.”
“Are you sure?” asked Balfruss.
“No, but I can’t lock myself away while other people are dying. I’m needed, and can do something to help. I can prevent other husbands and wives from feeling this way.”
Balfruss wanted to comfort his friend, or tell her how lucky Darius had been, but he didn’t feel that he could do either. Instead he said nothing, leading the way towards the walls where the Warlock and his Splinters would be waiting.
The fighting started an hour after dawn with the western army bolstered by the arrival of the Zecorran troops. The fresh soldiers seemed to invigorate the others, as fighting on the walls was frenzied and savage. Rivers of blood ran down the battlements and the endless screams of the dying carried to Balfruss’s ears on the easterly wind. His arms were red to the elbows from helping field surgeons stem bleeding wounds. Most of the warriors he assisted with died regardless of their efforts. One died while he still had a hand inside the man’s abdomen, pinching shut a gushing artery.
It was approaching midday when the enemy soldiers finally withdrew. At first it seemed like a brief pause, but then the warriors started
looking expectantly in his direction. By the time Balfruss reached the battlements the western army was pulling back, while four cowled figures walked through their ranks towards the city.
“We must end it. Today,” said Thule in his head.
Thule was better at concealing his grief and anger than most, but after sharing his thoughts for so long Balfruss could sense his emotions. Finn’s expression was grim, and although he’d recovered from his night of heavy drinking, the experience with the Forge Masters and his sword had irreparably changed him. He seemed equally determined to put an end to the Warlock, once and for all.
To his left Eloise threw back her black hood. The tattoo on her face seemed livid against her pale skin, more like a fresh brand than a mark of honour, and he would not have been surprised if blood had run from it. Her grief could not be measured, weighed or balanced. Nothing would ease it. Not even victory.
“It has to end today,” said Balfruss, echoing Thule’s thoughts, and the others gave signs of agreement. He called for a runner and a few minutes later all of the Seve warriors started scrambling off the battlements. They didn’t stop until they were a couple of streets away. They’d all seen what had previously happened to an unlucky few caught in the crossfire.
As he stared out over the walls of his city, Balfruss knew that somewhere out there the Warlock would be watching. He was controlling his puppets from a distance, making them fight in his stead while he looked for weaknesses. Ecko had outsmarted him once and Balfruss knew the Warlock would not allow himself to be tricked in the same way a second time.
“Coward,” he muttered.
“We should attack them,” spat Finn. “We shouldn’t wait and just defend.”
Balfruss took a deep breath and drew on the Source until it infused every fibre of his being. His senses sharpened exponentially and the rotting faces of the Splinters leapt into focus. Despite the spark of energy that kept their bodies moving, the decay was worse than ever. Their skin had turned purple and green in places. One Splinter had empty eye sockets and another had bitten clean through its tongue. It was no longer possible to tell which had once been men or women. All were bald and little more than shambling skeletons wrapped in a cloak. A cloud of flies followed in the wake of each, and none of them tried to stop themselves being eaten alive. They would not hold together for much longer. It would be a mercy to destroy them.
“He’s right. We must take the fight to them,” said Balfruss.
“Are you sure?” asked Thule.
“Do you see another way?” he asked, but no answers were forthcoming. A defensive posture would protect the city, but there was no guarantee any of the Splinters would die. That would only happen if they were overpowered. “Then we fight.”
“Whatever happens, I want you to remember you’re nothing like him. Whatever words come out of his mouth, they are always one part truth and two parts lies.”
Balfruss looked along the wall, trying to catch his eye, but Thule was staring towards the Splinters. With a faint smile Thule drew on the Source and his golden skin seemed to shimmer as power infused his being.
“You don’t think we can beat them?” whispered Balfruss. He didn’t need to speak out loud, but still wasn’t comfortable communicating mind to mind.
“Not without paying a price.” Thule finally met his gaze, and in his eyes Balfruss saw deep sadness and a terrible sense of knowing. “The Splinters have no will, except that which he gives them. They will not stop because they are tired or in pain. They will only stop when they are dead. You know there is only one way that we can win. We must destroy them utterly.”
As Balfruss stared at his friends the weight of what must happen settled on his shoulders. His concentration wavered and he almost lost his grip on the Source. Gritting his teeth Balfruss focused on steadying his will as he swallowed the bitter taste of bile. This is what Ecko had faced in his final moments, and yet he’d managed to marshal his courage and fight. After having travelled so far and already lost so much, Balfruss couldn’t imagine the loss of another friend. Now he faced losing three more. There was so much he still wanted to say to them, but there was no more time.
“Eloise,” he said, trying to find the words. She turned towards him and fresh tears were already running down her face.
“I know,” was all she said.
“Here they come,” shouted Finn. Energy crackled in the air around him as blue fire ran across his bare arms. With a cry of rage he unleashed something red and black towards the Splinter nearest him. It spiralled down from the walls towards the cloaked figure, gathering speed and size as it went. The meteor shattered against a shield with a shower of angry red sparks. Finn continued his assault, battering away at the Splinter, over and over again like a smith hammering at a piece of metal. The Splinter was driven to its knees by the force of his blows but its defence never wavered.
Thule didn’t move a muscle, but Balfruss felt a surge of power, then a narrow fissure opened beneath the feet of another Splinter. Without a sound it fell into the hole, disappearing from view. Thule didn’t hesitate and threw a pebble towards the crevice. Ice crystals formed around the stone as it fell until an unstoppable icy boulder was hurtling towards the Splinter. Just as the skeletal figure climbed out of the hole it was struck full in the face and knocked backwards.
Eloise was faring just as well against her opponent. It was being driven backwards under the blunt force of her will, as if being squeezed by a giant hand. The Splinter was on its knees, arms crossed in front of its face, as white and blue sparks sheared off its shield as she tried to crush it.
The last Splinter remained immobile and had made no aggressive moves. No doubt the Warlock was already having great difficulty fighting three separate battles that he’d forgotten about the fourth Splinter. Looking down the line Balfruss expected to see Darius beside his wife and for a few seconds he forgot why he wasn’t there. With a bestial roar he threw a black spear forged from his hatred of the Warlock at the last Splinter. Before the Warlock could raise a shield the spear struck the Splinter, burying itself deep in the creature’s chest. No blood ran from the wound and if the Splinter noticed the injury it showed no outward sign. A blue egg-shaped shield flickered to life then turned opaque, shearing off the spear. Balfruss’s next projectile shattered on its surface, but it left behind a spider web of fractures that were slow to repair themselves.
The battle had only just begun and already it was turning in their favour. All of them kept hammering away at their opponents, driving them back, making them work harder and harder to maintain their defences. Even though the Splinters were not really alive any more and incapable of feeling pain, a faint murmur of life remained within them. None of their wounds bled, but when an arm was broken by one of Thule’s boulders, it stayed bent at an impossible angle and the Splinter’s shield became unsteady.
A stray thought entered Balfruss’s mind, and for the briefest moment he thought they could win without any more losses. As if the Warlock were capable of reading his thoughts as easily as Thule, all of the Splinters dropped their shields at the same moment. Everyone’s attacks faltered, but only momentarily before resuming with renewed fever. Even as their magical weapons struck the decaying shells, fire blossomed in the palms of all four Splinters. One of them was thrown onto its back by one of Finn’s blows, and another was impaled by one of his spears, but it seemed to make no difference. Blue and yellow balls of flame became cherry red, flowing across the Splinters’ bodies before flying out towards the Battlemages. Eight streams of flame joined together into one monstrous cloud, rising higher and higher on a phantom wind. Even before the fire drew close, Balfruss could hear it crackling and feel an intense heat. The walls of the city shuddered and the battlements moved under his feet. This was no ordinary inferno, but something far beyond his understanding of firecrafting.
At the source of the flame the Splinters’ robes started to smoulder, black greasy smoke drifting up from two of them. The one lying on its back was
writhing and arching its back as if in its death throes, but the Warlock would not relent. More and more power was channelled through the Splinters into the fire, even as it consumed what little remained of their minds and bodies.
A huge wall of blood-red fire rose above Balfruss’s head, then hung in the air for the count of three heartbeats. In that moment, as he stared into the heart of the fire, all of his hope evaporated. And with the loss of the future came acceptance of his fate. A peculiar calm settled over Balfruss and his fears drained away, leaving behind only the deepest of regrets.
Even though a part of him knew it would be too late, Balfruss stretched forth with his mind and drew heavily on the Source, drinking deeper than he’d ever dared before. Weaving a shield made of layer upon layer of the hardest substance he could imagine, he took a wide stance on the battlements and braced himself against the onslaught.
Something heavy slammed into him with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. A blistering heat wrapped itself around his shield on all sides and the air inside became unbearably hot. He gulped in a deep breath and felt the air burn all the way down his throat and then settle into his lungs. As he struggled to breathe, Balfruss fell to his knees gasping and choking. In his desperation he considered lowering the shield for some fresh air, but part of his mind knew it would be madness and would kill him instantly.
The stone beneath his feet began to blister and crack. Even through the protective layer of his shield the stone scorched the skin on his hands and knees.
A high-pitched scream split the air, drawing his attention along the wall. It was a sound he didn’t know another human being could make.
Thule was burning.
Somewhere inside his mind Balfruss felt something flicker and then ignite. Echoes of Thule’s agonised thoughts ran through his head, sending fresh jolts of pain lancing around his skull. Somehow it felt as if the fire was inside his head. His eyes began to water, his thoughts turning sluggish as if his brain were melting into grey sludge. The flames outside his shield were still raging, but this was more than just magically conjured flame. It was a fire of the mind, and through his link he shared in Thule’s agony.
Battlemage Page 34