Battlemage

by Stephen Aryan

  There were stories of ancient things that existed beyond the Veil, monstrous immortal beings who granted immense power in return for favours, usually the person’s immortal soul. As with all fables the risk outweighed the reward to any sane person, but the Warlock seemed beyond caring. He would risk all and expose the entire world to something beyond anyone’s control or comprehension in order to win. What if while they fought one another something tried to come through from the other side?

  The Warlock had to be stopped at any cost before it was too late.

  Balfruss threw a lance of power at the Warlock to distract him with one hand while he pulled at some trailing threads of the vortex with the other. He didn’t know how it had been constructed, but that didn’t matter. All he needed to do was keep the Warlock occupied as he ripped the binding apart. Balfruss felt that he was walking along the razor’s edge, threatening to push himself too far and be consumed by the Source, but he didn’t hesitate in mounting a ferocious assault on the Warlock. Lance after lance of raw energy hammered into the Warlock’s shield while Balfruss kept severing the tear with a narrow filament of power.

  As the last thread snapped, the portal vanished with a loud crack that echoed across the sky. A wave of energy flowed outwards from the source like ripples on a pond. When the swell passed through Balfruss it made him shiver involuntarily as a spasm ran through his muscles.

  Screaming in hatred the Warlock brought his full power to bear, throwing it against Balfruss, who struggled to keep it at bay. Balfruss pushed back with his power, drawing more and more energy from the Source. Gone were the tricks, the lost Talents and the word games intended to weaken his resolve. In his mind’s eye he saw the Warlock’s power as a giant wave trying to drown him. The pressure made his ears pop, and now he was truly deaf to the outside world. At the same time he knew that the Warlock was also under stress as the full weight of his strength sought to crush him to dust.

  Silently they battled back and forth, first one gaining an advantage and then the other. Time had no meaning. The world was swept away and nothing remained except the Warlock. Balfruss could feel his opponent’s will pushing against him, pressing and squeezing as it sought to tear him apart and squash him to naught all at once. Huge mounds of earth erupted as if they were volcanoes, and stones the size of horses flew through the air. Lightning forked down towards one and then the other, suddenly moving aside at the last second, splitting earth and stone. The rain began to beat down harder, and the wind began to swirl into a small typhoon in the middle of the battlefield. Bodies and weapons were thrown into the air and just as suddenly the wind died and everything fell to the earth. Apart from small gestures neither man moved during the battle as the world fell apart around them.

  Despite the wind and rain, sweat poured down his face from the pressure, and Balfruss knew the Warlock would be feeling the same. It could not go on for much longer. Channelling this much power was starting to take a physical toll. Balfruss could feel his skin hardening and becoming brittle like glass. Soon his flesh would begin to peel, or perhaps whole limbs would shatter and break off. His mind was slowing and his insides felt as if they were simultaneously being squeezed and stretched at the same time.

  As his mind started to become fuddled, the truth finally became apparent. They were evenly matched in strength. He was struggling but still managing to hold the Warlock at bay. With that realisation he let go of any remaining fear and doubt. He embraced the power that was a part of him and rejoiced in his connection to the living heart of creation. The Source coursed through his veins. It echoed in his mind with a pulse louder than his own. He marvelled in its majesty and surrendered himself to it completely.

  Reaching down into the Source, into the deepest corners of his being, Balfruss summoned even more power until he went beyond his breaking point. The air burned as it moved in and out of his failing lungs. His eyes seemed too big for his skull, and it felt as if his head would explode from the pressure building up inside. His heart pounded in his chest, louder and louder, until it was ready to burst. A scream ripped its way out of his body, and with every fibre of his being he directed every drop of power towards the Warlock.

  The energy surged from Balfruss’s body, flowing out of his eyes, mouth and nose, and with it came an agonised, unholy scream that echoed across the valley and beyond. The force of his attack shattered the Warlock’s shield as raw energy from the Source ripped through his body, consuming what little was left of his soul and destroying his fragile mind. The Warlock’s body flew back a hundred feet and landed with a sodden thump on the bloody grass. He was dead long before he hit the ground.

  The Warlock’s glazed eyes stared at nothing. The storm broke and the rain tapered off, but a pool began to gather in the dead man’s gaping mouth.

  Besides the rain all else was silent and still.

  Walking slowly and with purpose, Balfruss stepped down from the rock and turned to face the western army. Some fell to their knees in supplication, others screamed in terror and many dropped their weapons and ran. Balfruss watched them for a moment and then with slow and deliberate steps, made his way across the shattered battlefield towards the city.

  The gates stood open, and like a conquering army of one, he walked into Charas unopposed. Everywhere faces watched him, from the walls and along the streets, but they were all a blur. Something kept him moving forward, but he didn’t know where he was going. His mind was moving in circles that were becoming slower and slower. It was only when he felt the cold stones against his cheek that Balfruss realised he’d fallen down.

  Vannok was saying something. Maybe it was to do with his mother. She didn’t like it when they played out after dark. They should have set off for home a long time ago. He didn’t like to worry her. But he was so tired, and his whole body felt so heavy. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little nap. He closed his eyes and the darkness swallowed him.

  CHAPTER 45

  The bell above the door chimed and Gunder, once more dressed in his merchant disguise, looked up from his seat behind the counter. Schooling his expression had become second nature, but a smile briefly quirked across his face at the sight of his visitor.

  “Good morning, my Lady,” he said with a small bow. “How may I serve the Palace on this glorious day?”

  “You honour me, but I am not a Lady,” said Roza, dressed once more as a palace servant. “I’m here with thanks from her Majesty.”

  “I’m delighted, but very surprised her Majesty would notice a humble spice merchant, such as I.”

  Roza glanced around the shop, her expression never changing. “Is someone else here?”

  “No, we’re alone,” he said, escorting her to the padded seats by the window. “But I’m sure it won’t be long before someone is watching. Better to maintain appearances.”

  “Very well.”

  Roza waited patiently while he brewed a pot of tea and then served it with a plate of pastries. After serving, Gunder remained silent for a while, enjoying the quiet in his shop. The streets outside were also extremely quiet in the wake of the revolt. It wouldn’t be long before the city recovered and the normal hustle of city life returned.

  “Any news from the palace?” he said finally.

  Roza put down her glass, folding her hands in her lap. “The Watch is still on high alert. Most of the bodies have been cleared away and people are starting to return to a normal routine. The Guardians of the Peace have been busy investigating as well. It seems there were a number of murders during the revolt. Some of the bodies were not discovered until this morning.”

  “Fascinating.”

  One of Roza’s eyebrows quirked up. “Several of those killed were high-profile people in the city, including three foreign ambassadors.”

  “That’s shocking,” said Gunder, taking a slurp of his tea, “but I suspect replacements will be dispatched very soon. Or perhaps not, since relations between nations in the west are so difficult at the moment.”

  “That will chan
ge.”

  “Of course, but it buys Shani some time to get more of our people in place.”

  “There’s also a rumour that six of those killed were operatives from other nations.”

  Gunder eyed the pastries and finally gave in to temptation. He gobbled one in two bites and resisted the urge to lick his fingers. After wiping his mouth he noticed Roza was still waiting for an answer. “What?”

  “Was that authorised?” she asked, and Gunder made a vague dismissive gesture. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

  “Dangerous?” he said, and all hints of the fat merchant drained from his expression and body language. Roza leaned back in shock at the sudden change until he relaxed and forced a friendly smile. A tense silence stretched between them.

  “I hear most of the Drassi are on their way home,” Roza offered.

  “It made sense to release them. The Queen cannot be seen to be relying too heavily on foreign support to retake the rest of the country. What remains of her army is on its way back, but their numbers are severely depleted. I suspect the recruiting offices for the Watch and the Queen’s army will be busy in the next few months.”

  “There’s also talk of subtly improving the city’s defences, but nothing overt. Now, more than ever, trade is going to be vital, so they can’t put up walls.”

  “How soon before the Queen reopens trade with Seveldrom and the far east?”

  Roza shrugged. “Officially I’d guess another week, ten days at most. Missives are being drafted as we speak. Celebrations are planned for the next four days with a tour of the cities. Once that’s done, and everyone has settled down, I would expect them to reopen.”

  “Good. I’ve asked Shani to send a few new faces. We need to shake things up a bit.”

  “Was that why you wanted to see me?”

  “I’m retiring from the spice business and you will take over the shop.”

  “Am I being punished?” snarled Roza. “Do you have any reason to complain about my work?”

  Gunder held up his hands in an attempt to placate her. “No, I’ve received no complaints.”

  “Then what is it?”

  At first he didn’t answer, but eventually he found the words. “During the revolt, I was dressed as a member of the Watch.”

  “I know. I helped with the boots for the uniform.”

  “For the first time in two years, I felt free.” Roza’s frown was not unexpected but she didn’t comment. “This disguise has become something else.”

  “That happens to everyone,” she said with a relieved sigh. “Maybe you need to take a little time. Close the shop for a few weeks. Blame it on the war and just go and be yourself.”

  “You don’t understand. You’re being promoted.”

  Roza stared into his eyes for a moment then looked away. “You’re not joking.”

  “No. You will run the network in Yerskania. I’ve sent word to Shani about the change. Congratulations,” he said, but Roza wouldn’t be distracted.

  “What are you going to do instead?”

  “The same. I’ll still be around and will offer advice, if you need it.”

  Roza looked appalled. “You’re going freelance?”

  “No, no. My loyalties haven’t changed, I’m just taking some time, but afterwards I won’t be returning to the spice business,” he said with a gesture at the racks.

  “What happened?” pressed Roza, sitting forward on her chair until she was slightly too close for comfort. “Something changed. You’ve been different for a while now.”

  “It’s not important.”

  “Regori, tell me,” she said, laying a hand on top of his.

  He considered brushing her off, but then changed his mind. They’d known each other for many years before he’d come to Yerskania, and they had been close friends at one point in the distant past.

  “It was during the revolt, or just afterwards.” He scratched at his head through the felt cap. He couldn’t wait to be rid of it and the garish clothes. “The Chosen had been defeated and I’d dismissed the Drassi. As I was walking home through the chaos, I saw a lot of damaged buildings, burned-out shops, and piles of bodies. And then I had a terrible thought.”

  “You were disturbed by the destruction.”

  “Hmm, oh, no. I’ve not developed a weak stomach. Something far worse than that,” he said with a laugh that held no mirth. “I realised that all of the shops and buildings would need to be repaired. Then there’s also the priests and grave diggers that would be kept busy for weeks. No, in the midst of all the chaos, I smelt profit.”

  “Profit.”

  “Money. That was my first thought. Not how we could exploit the situation to benefit our cause.” He disgusted himself. Regori straightened his back, standing at his full height for the first time in years. “I’ve been Gunder the fat merchant for too long. I’m starting to think like him. No, he has to die. We’ll blame it on his weight and heart. You, his niece, will inherit the business.”

  “But, what about my contacts? And my other identities? I’ve made some good connections.”

  “Pass on those you can to others, burn the rest.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “In a few days. I’ll give you time to wrap things up, but leave no trace.” It was clear she didn’t like it, but eventually Roza nodded. “Come by in a couple of days and we’ll sort out the details of my death. As my niece you’ll inherit the house as well, but you can decide if you want to live there or somewhere else.”

  He walked her to the front door before holding it open. Roza stared at him for a while with an unreadable expression before going through. She probably thought he’d lost his mind. That, in itself, was part of the problem. He didn’t know his own mind any more.

  Despite the padded suit, Regori felt much lighter as he walked back to the home of Gunder the merchant for the last time.

  CHAPTER 46

  Talandra picked up the latest report from the top of the pile and sat back in her chair to read it. She was tempted to put her feet on the desk, but apparently it wasn’t something a Queen should do, according to the head steward who’d caught her yesterday.

  Putting the report to one side for a moment, her eyes were drawn back to the letter she’d received this morning. She didn’t need to read it again as she’d memorised the words. Even so she couldn’t stop staring at it. She knew it was only the first of many. It would change everything, just when she was beginning to build a new life for herself.

  She left the report on the desk, opened a window and stared out at her city. It was two days since the war had officially ended. Two days since a delegation from the western army had approached the city under a flag of peace and offered their formal surrender. Two days without the ring of steel and the cry of the dying men echoing in her ears. Their pleas still found her, in the darkest hour of the night, but she no longer had to watch men die on the walls.

  At least the city was starting to return to a semblance of normality. Most of those evacuated before the siege had returned, although there was still a stream at the city gates each day. Businesses were reopening, and already a slow but steady trickle of caravans were readying to leave for the west. Despite the official declaration none of the merchants were taking any chances, as each train was protected by a Fist of Drassi, mercenaries or private guards.

  Several delegations had already left for the west, Morrin and Zecorran citizens, as well as ambassadors who’d been trapped here during the conflict. Somewhere on her desk were several letters from enraged citizens complaining about the intolerable living conditions they’d been forced to endure, including one from Ambassador Kortairlen of Morrinow. He’d been happy to receive her protection once the fighting had begun, but now claimed he had been held in squalor. According to Shani, the Morrin ambassador was fond of indulging, and Kortairlen had spent the whole war getting drunk and receiving visits from expensive escorts.

  In two days General Vannok would lead several thousand men into th
e west, where they would join up with soldiers from Yerskania. Her father had made a promise to Sandan Thule that she intended to keep. Shael was still a nation in chaos. Several cities had been liberated by Shael’s rebel forces, but the Vorga were not like other people. They would not simply walk away if they lost one battle. The end of the war meant nothing to them. Given what she knew about the Vorga, she doubted they’d ever agreed to be ruled by Taikon. The Mad King had simply included them in his plans. Always happy to test their strength and skill in battle, the Vorga had agreed to march into Seveldrom.

  Although so far she’d only exchanged a few short messages with the Queen of Yerskania, Talandra felt she could learn a great deal from her as she had successfully ruled for many years. From the tone of her messages, Talandra also sensed a sharp mind and a dark sense of humour. She believed they were going to get on very well in the future.

  Standing at the window, her eyes drifted over the rooftops, and the great spire of the Maker, before coming to rest on the city walls. They were still washing off the blood and many of the stones by the gates were indelibly stained from the siege. A few apothecaries were offering their skills to remove the marks, mixing potions that made the stone sizzle and crack as it ate into the surface. City engineers were on hand as well, talking about tearing down a whole section and rebuilding it bigger and stronger than before, with a few nasty surprises. For now, she left them alone to test their theories. Eventually they would stop squabbling and come to her with all of the options, and then she would make a decision.

  Yesterday she’d walked along the wall where countless warriors had died, the hem of her gown dragging across the bloody stones. The dress was still hanging outside the wardrobe in her bedroom, and she’d forbidden her maid from taking it away. It served as a reminder, but she knew it was only temporary. Something more permanent was required, not just for her, but for everyone who lived in the city, as well as those who came to visit.