Ignoring them Balfruss strode away, trying to put as much distance between him and the mourners as possible. After passing through a heavy door he emerged in a busy area bustling with surgeons, nurses and Sisters of Mercy. Bodies lay at the edge of the room, row after row covered with white shrouds. Priests of every denomination said prayers over the dead, while others tried to extricate the recently deceased from sobbing relatives. There was too much activity for people to notice him, but even so Balfruss kept his head down.
“They all know who you are. You can’t hide from them,” said a voice in his head.
Balfruss stopped and frantically looked at the faces of the people around him. The thought was not his own.
“Thule?”
“I am here.”
“Where?”
A nurse gave him a peculiar look, but hurried away when she recognised him. Balfruss stormed along the hospital corridors and out into the street. It was past midday and the sky was a hazy blue clogged with grey clouds. The streets immediately surrounding the hospital were busy with a constant flow of people, making it difficult for him to find somewhere quiet. Choosing streets and alleys at random he kept moving east, deeper into the heart of the Old City.
Eventually Balfruss found himself in a quiet square surrounded on three sides by shops that sold fruit, pulses and vegetables. The fourth side of the square held an ancient shrine devoted to the turning of the seasons. Balanced on its edge stood a seven-foot stone disc. Its surface was worn and pitted by the weather, but he could still see the old markings. Offerings of food, flowers and even wine sat at the base of the stone disc, but no thief would ever steal them.
Mercifully the square seemed deserted. Balfruss sat down on one of the benches in front of the shrine, scanning nearby windows for faces before speaking.
“Thule?”
“I am here.”
“Where? Where is here? Are you alive?”
“No,” said the now familiar voice in Balfruss’s mind.
“I don’t understand.”
“When we first met, I shared a piece of myself with you. It was the only way for the others to hear about the plight of my people. Now that I am dead, this small echo is all that remains. But it too will fade in time.”
The desperate spark of hope that Thule lived was extinguished.
“I’m glad to hear your voice. At least I won’t be completely alone for what’s about to happen.”
“What’s that?” asked Thule.
“I’m going to kill the Warlock, but it will cost me my own life.”
“It may not come to that.”
“Perhaps,” said Balfruss. Images of Thule and Eloise falling from the wall wreathed in flame rose in his mind. He pictured the city gates being blown open and the western army marching in, slaughtering everyone in their path. Crouched among the dead, Balfruss saw Vannok cradling the bodies of his wife and children. A thousand pairs of unblinking eyes stared at him as his city started to burn. Deep inside, buried beneath layers of self-control, a river of rage started to bubble up.
Balfruss looked up at the sky, where clouds were starting to gather. It wouldn’t be long now.
“Why are you so certain that you will die?” asked Thule.
“I’ve never pushed myself to the absolute limit. I’m afraid of what might happen.”
“You will still be in control.”
“Maybe, but I’m more worried because I know the Warlock and I share the same hunger. When I controlled the Link I felt unstoppable, that there wasn’t anything I couldn’t achieve. What if I become addicted to the power? What if I want more?”
“The Warlock might be a reflection of you, but he is not you. You will come back from the edge.”
The sound of running feet made Balfruss look up, but a part of him already knew it was time.
A boy with long legs and flapping feet sprinted into the square, skidding to a halt. He was out of breath and it took a while before he could speak.
“General Vannok,” gasped the boy. “The Warlock—”
“It’s all right,” said Balfruss, getting to his feet. “I know. Lead the way.”
The boy took another deep breath then started off at a slow jog. Balfruss followed at a more sedate pace.
“There’s no need to run.”
The boy stopped and looked over his shoulder. “But the Warlock is waiting.”
Balfruss maintained his pace. “Let him wait.”
CHAPTER 44
A light rain started to fall as Balfruss marched through the capital. On every street, people were lining up to see him pass: merchants, labourers, children and groups of warriors. Their expressions were a mix of admiration, excitement, worry and fear. Most were afraid. An eerie hush fell on every group as he passed, but occasionally someone would cheer or shout a few words of encouragement. Mostly it was the children who seemed unafraid and he smiled or waved back at them.
Instead of heading to the battlements, he carried on along the main street towards the gates. The messenger kept talking, but Balfruss couldn’t hear him. There was a rushing sound in his ears, like the tide rolling back and forth. All other sounds in the world faded away until he was alone with the Source. It was always there, just out of reach, an ocean of power waiting for him.
As he approached the gates Balfruss expected an argument. Instead he found Vannok, his face set in an expression of grim determination. Several times his friend tried to say something, but couldn’t find the words. In the end he settled for gripping Balfruss by the shoulder. Then Vannok turned away and gestured at someone in the gatehouse.
A dull throb ran through his bones and with a high-pitched squeal the city gates slowly opened. As Balfruss walked out of the city he barely registered the carnage. Piles of rotting corpses, chunks of men, and bits of pink and purple meat were stacked up against the outer wall. The scavengers had been busy, as many bodies were missing limbs and coils of intestines were stretched out across the ground. At his passing a huge blanket of flies lifted from the bloody mounds, then settled again to recommence their feast.
Faint voices cried out, broken men on the border between life and death, desperate for succour or release from their torment. Their pleas went unanswered and soon they were behind him as he strode across the stained grassland. Here and there the grass was smeared with blood, but mostly it had been ground up into a huge muddy bog from thousands of feet. A massive black crater stood out ahead. It was the only thing that remained of Finn, a stark reminder of what Balfruss now faced.
He continued walking away from the city, and as the land sloped upwards his sides started to burn and sweat rolled down his face. When he reached the top of the hill he paused and turned his face towards the sky. The drizzle cooled his head and eased some of the flush from his cheeks. With eyes closed he felt the tiny droplets tapping against his eyelids and deeply inhaled the cool misty air of his homeland. He savoured the feeling as it crept into his lungs.
Opening his eyes to the madness once more, Balfruss raised his voice and bellowed a challenge that rang out across the plains. The call was heard and then answered as the Warlock, dressed in his crimson robes, made his way towards Balfruss. The western army drew back, slowly at first, and then with increasing speed as many realised they were still too close. A full rout began with men throwing away weapons and armour, anything that slowed them down, in their panic to escape. Soon the two men were alone, facing each other across a shallow valley.
Striding forward Balfruss climbed onto a large grey rock on the western rim. A gentle wind tugged at his clothes and cloak, making it flap about him like a black sail. As he thought about the last few weeks, and what the Warlock had cost him, Balfruss’s face twisted into a mask of fury. The only thing that stopped him from lashing out in anger was his training. It took considerable effort, but slowly he forced the rigid muscles of his face, shoulders and neck to relax. The grimace eased until he faced the Warlock with absolute calm and without any expression.
The W
arlock was saying something. His words were amplified so that they carried to Balfruss’s ears, but the only voices he heard were the ones inside. The dead spoke to him. He recited their names as a prayer to stay in control. He thought of all the people inside the city. He thought of Vannok and his family, the Queen and her brothers, even his father. He thought of all the lives that would be destroyed if the madman before him was allowed to live.
As he drew more and more power from the Source, his eyesight sharpened until he could see the Warlock’s irritated expression across the valley. His mouth was still flapping, no doubt with words meant to provoke Balfruss into acting rashly, or to erode any remaining hope. Today, all words were just meaningless noise. The only things that mattered were strength and will.
When the Warlock finally realised he was wasting his time with talk, a faint smile touched Balfruss’s face. Opening himself to the Source he drank even more deeply, until power emanated from every pore in his body. The sky darkened as he gathered his will and energy built up in the air. Tiny bolts of lightning flashed down around him, splitting stones and tearing up chunks of earth, but he didn’t care. Black clouds rolled in from the east and the wind started to blow stronger, flattening the grass and driving rain into the face of his enemy.
Across the valley the air started to crackle as both men brought their will to bear. Overhead the heavens echoed in response and thunder rumbled over and over again like a giant drum.
As he approached his limit, Balfruss took a moment to marvel at how his view of the world had changed. Even though he’d not moved, it felt as if he were looking down on the plains and everyone on it from on high. Everything looked so small. The people in his city were like insects, hiding in an anthill and just as easily crushed underfoot. The western army was nothing but a pack of wild dogs, easily scattered by a loud noise. For the length of a heartbeat he teetered on the brink, but quickly stepped away, coming back to earth. Even at this distance he could feel the Warlock’s disappointment.
Stretching out with both arms, as if trying to reach for the Warlock, he directed all of his power towards his hated enemy. At the same time the Warlock unleashed his power and the two forces collided with a clap of thunder that shook the earth. A twenty-foot crevice opened in the middle of the valley between them. Balfruss stumbled but managed to stay on his feet.
The recoil made them both pause for a moment. Then as Balfruss began to frantically weave a shield with one hand, the Warlock launched a green ball of something at him. The emerald comet screamed as it blazed towards him, leaving a brown streak across the sky in its wake. Redoubling his efforts Balfruss focused on his shield, sketching another on the ground, a trick he’d learned from Ecko.
The comet slammed into his shield, but instead of breaking apart on impact it started to congeal and swell in size. The slimy substance stretched and grew, coating his shield like a layer of skin. He could hear a faint whispering at the edge of his mind and quickly realised the pulsating slime was alive. It seemed to be feeding on the energy from his shield and continued increasing in size and mass. A few seconds later it had him completely surrounded and his entire view of the world had been blotted out. When the air inside his shield started to get warm Balfruss began to worry. Fire seemed like the obvious response, but if the creature fed on energy he doubted it would work. As the air became difficult to breathe Balfruss dropped to his knees.
Drawing heat from the air made breathing worse still, but as he only had a few breaths left it didn’t matter. A layer of ice coated the rock beneath his feet and his hands started to stick to the surface. As a layer of ice crystals crept up the inside of his shield, Balfruss felt the creature squirm in discomfort.
He took one last long deep breath, held it and drew more heavily on the Source, pulling all heat from the air. A thick crust of ice raced up the shield on all sides until he was encased in a solid block that began to thicken. Ice formed on the end of his nose, snowflakes clung to his eyelashes and his hands and legs started to shake uncontrollably as any exposed skin started to turn blue. What little air remained in his lungs began to burn and black spots danced across his vision. The creature’s screams grew louder and more high pitched until he felt it shatter, with a final wail, into a thousand tiny pieces.
In honour of Finn he summoned a hammer, shattered the ice dome and stood up, drawing in deep breaths of fresh air. The Warlock didn’t wait for Balfruss to recover as a fireball streaked towards him, followed closely by a second and then a third. Even as he regained his breath Balfruss shook his head in dismay. Rather than attempt to block the fireballs he deflected them, turning them around and using their momentum until they were hurtling towards the Warlock.
While he had a moment to gather his thoughts Balfruss wove something together and immediately released it. By the time the Warlock had turned the fireballs aside, a small blue ball the size of a grape was flying towards him from Balfruss’s outstretched hand. It struck him on the side of the face, bounced off his ear and rolled away before dissolving on the ground.
The Warlock’s smile turned into a chuckle and then a full-belly laugh as he started to pull something together. His good humour slipped and then disappeared as he stumbled and fell to one knee. The tainted water trickled further into his ear canal and he dropped to the ground, vomiting all over himself. With a twist of one hand Balfruss squeezed the Warlock’s weak shield, popping it like a soap bubble. A flick of his wrist looped a hook of energy around one of the Warlock’s ankles, lifting him upside down into the air. Twirling one finger he made the Warlock spin vertically, over and over again, just slow enough to increase the vertigo and nausea. A vicious smile stretched across Balfruss’s face as he watched the Warlock wail and retch, splashing bile onto his face, skin and clothes.
As the Warlock continued to spin, Balfruss stretched out one hand towards a large boulder the size of a horse. At first nothing happened, forcing him to draw yet more power from the Source until his skin felt stretched to its breaking point and all of his joints started to ache. Slowly the boulder lifted out of the squelching mud and then it too began to rotate, bits of mud and grass flying off in all directions.
Splitting his focus proved more difficult than Balfruss had anticipated and a fresh wave of sweat burst from his pores, soaking his already damp clothing. Putting all of his energy behind its momentum Balfruss hurled the boulder towards the Warlock with a scream of rage.
Despite being covered in his own filth, somehow the Warlock saw it coming. He slashed the cord of power holding him upside down and frantically started weaving a shield to protect himself. He hit the ground in a heap but quickly rolled to one side and came upright, swaying from side to side. A second later the boulder struck his shield full on, shattering it like an eggshell. The granite cracked and started to break apart, but not before it slammed into the right side of the Warlock’s body. With his enhanced vision Balfruss saw it shatter the bones in the Warlock’s right arm, snap his shoulder, and smash half of his pelvis and upper leg into bone fragments. This time when the Warlock collapsed onto the ground Balfruss knew he would not be getting up again.
It was time to end it. Looking towards the sky Balfruss began to summon the lingering storm, knitting the clouds together, and somewhere thunder began to rumble in the distance. A whistling sound was his only warning before something punched him in the side. Looking down Balfruss saw the hilt of a dagger protruding from his body above his belt. Before he could react he felt it shift and fall to the ground. The weapon had been badly thrown, and the wound wasn’t deep or life threatening.
Across the valley the Warlock had managed to get himself into a sitting position. Balfruss had thought him done but despite having no colour in his face the Warlock had managed to blot out his pain and summon power from the Source. He made several flipping motions with his one good arm and more discarded weapons on the battlefield were lifting off the ground. Working as fast as he could Balfruss wove a shield, adding layer upon layer. A second later a spear c
ollided with the invisible barrier, crumpling on impact with a screech of metal. Several axes and maces thumped into it next, and although none broke through, Balfruss felt each blow bruise him and make his concentration wobble. Sensing weakness the Warlock increased the barrage, pulling every discarded weapon out of the mud as far as the eye could see. More weapons bounced off Balfruss’s shield until the ground in all directions was littered with hundreds of weapons.
In what he thought could be the final minutes of his life Balfruss took a moment to think back over everything that had brought him to this moment. All of his struggles, the countless hours of studying, the arguments, the friendships, the tragic losses and brief moments of peace in a lifetime of struggling for acceptance and a sense of belonging. He thought about his father and the rage that had been his only companion. It had cost Graegor much and left him bitter and alone.
Taking a deep breath Balfruss pushed away all of his anger, unwilling to become his father, driven by emotions instead of intellect. As another cloud of swirling weapons flew towards him Balfruss shook his head and idly flicked them aside. Childish tricks from an immature mind.
Using a broken spear as a crutch the Warlock pushed himself upright. An ugly leer pulled his features tight as he started to create something Balfruss had never seen before. Huge amounts of power were being poured into a tiny black vortex that hung in the air beside the Warlock. A sharp stabbing pain just under his navel made Balfruss look down, but he wasn’t injured. His body and mind had reacted on a primordial level to the horrifically unnatural tear in the fabric of the world.
The Warlock’s abilities had always seemed superior to those of any Battlemage, beyond even the Grey Council, but this was the manifestation of the darkest rumours any pupil of the Red Tower had ever dared utter. Opening a doorway to somewhere else beyond the Veil.
Battlemage Page 39