Was he wrong to fear, then? Was it possible that the Golden were different somehow, that their awareness was unlike his own? No, that couldn’t be. He’d felt a flash of recognition in Paleran. Recognition, and anger. Not like the anger Verdant himself felt for the golden elves and for Koren, but anger at the wood elves who had killed him. A rage that deep couldn’t be ignored. It had to be acted on.
“Keep careful watch on him. Tomorrow is an important day. The others will make their final push to topple the castle. We must be ready.” Verdant turned his eyes toward the tall keep. “The defenders fought us back again, but I doubt they have enough strength for tomorrow.”
“I will watch him,” Siam said with a nod. He hesitated before leaving. “Take care tonight, Verdant. Something is in the wind.”
Verdant cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Nothing specific.” Siam stared at his hand, flexed it. “This body is different from what I remember. Even though you’ve awakened me with the spark, I don’t feel truly free. It’s like there is another voice inside me, demanding that I submit and obey. There are forces at work here we do not understand.”
Siam disappeared into the night then without another word or backward glance. Verdant waited alone at the fire. He and several of the others had talked about the spark and what it meant. Verdant thought it was a remnant of the Light in him, and that somehow it helped those touched by it break free from Koren’s will. The voice that Siam had spoken of was troubling. None of the others had mentioned it. Verdant sat quiet, listening to the feelings within. No voice spoke. Did that make Siam different, or himself? Too many questions without answers.
Turning his back to the flames, he stalked off into the forest. For some reason the trees and solitude beckoned those who were awakening. He was almost certain he’d sparked every wood elf or human Risen, but he needed to be sure. Tomorrow, they would need every fighter they could rally.
Minutes later, he saw a lone figure standing between two tall oaks. Moving closer, he reached out with his senses. Perhaps he’d been wrong. Maybe there are more allies to be freed. Five feet away he sensed the Risen clearly. A golden elf. He kept the disappointment from his face and walked on without slowing.
Trapped in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the other two Risen until they grabbed him by the arms. The spark flared up and he felt it flow into both of them. They jerked, but their hands held him fast. Verdant tried to break free, but the spark’s jolt always left him temporarily weakened.
A third Risen stepped from the shadow of a pine straight ahead. This one he recognized.
“So, Paleran was right. There is someone hunting among my creatures. I should have known it would be the usurper,” Slerian said.
The mage turned his attention to the two Risen still holding Verdant fast.
“How do you feel?”
“Aware. He…did something. It changed us. I remember more of the past now. I don’t hear your voice as clearly as before,” one said, his face a mess of confusion.
“It burns like a fire,” the other said, voice pitched high and panicked. “And I think I glimpsed his thoughts for a moment.”
Verdant struggled to free himself. If they read his mind they would know what he planned for tomorrow. He could not afford that.
“You,” Slerian barked, “come here.” He beckoned to the Risen Verdant had ignored. With a shuffle of its feet, it crept closer.
Slerian reached out and took hold of him. He shoved the Risen into Verdant and the spark flared a third time. Gasping, Verdant tried blocking his thoughts. He couldn’t let them see. Slerian spun the Risen around. Verdant’s knees buckled, but his captors kept him on his feet. So tired. He was so very tired.
“And how do you feel?” Slerian asked, eyeing the newly sparked Risen.
“Awake,” it responded. “I remember.”
Slerian turned, reached out, and clamped his hand over Verdant’s face. “Let me see for myself what secrets you hide in there, usurper.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Baroness, did you hear me?” Tem said.
“I did,” Sera said. She’d heard every word, clear as day. If she chose, she could repeat them. She looked at the faces of the nervous men and women gathered before her. These were good people, brave and true. They were afraid, though, and in their place she would have been the same—she was the same, but she didn’t have the luxury of giving in to fear.
Tem continued. “The mortar has held up well over the last few days, but they’ve gouged out handholds now. Tomorrow I expect them to swarm over, and we’ll be fighting full force in the courtyard. I think we should consider—”
“Consider what, master dwarf? Surrender? They don’t want surrender. They won’t allow it. We battle for survival. There will be no consideration or quarter given. They won’t allow us to live and, make no mistake, I won’t allow them to, either. I will not suffer a single demon to survive in this valley; neither them nor any of the abominations they’ve created. Tomorrow, we will open the gates and defeat them or we will all perish trying.”
Sera knew it wasn’t the dwarf’s fault. Her anger wasn’t directed at him, and she hoped he understood that.
“Open the gates?” Hexen said.
“Why not? Rather than fighting the length of the wall, better to channel them all through the gate. We’ll fill the wall with archers and they can pick them off as they fight inside,” Sera said.
“The Black Corps will hold the center, Baroness,” Regan said. His youthful face was set in stern determination, but Sera knew he was worried. If the defenders failed, as everyone feared, his mother would be among the dead. Sera could understand that. She thought of Rhone, taking his nap above. Her sweet little boy slept easy, not understanding the terrible danger outside the walls that was finally threatening to overwhelm them once and for all.
“Accepted,” she said. “The spellcasters will join with me. We will fight from the keep. Alpere, will your mages stand with us?”
“They would be honored,” Alpere replied, dipping his head in a nod.
“Baroness, you and the women and children should try to escape,” Tem said.
“I will not,” Sera said. “But the shapeshifters will carry the children out to the outlying villages.”
Cleeger nodded. Sera had tasked him with carrying Rhone to safety. His orders were to guard her son, as he had once guarded Sera’s father, and if the castle fell to leave the valley and carry Rhone to Dain’s people in the far-distant south. In an odd way, that thought gave her comfort. The rest of her family and nation might not survive, but her little boy would live on. Perhaps someday he would return to destroy the demons and avenge his parents.
“Dawn is but an hour away. We will send these demons back to hell,” Sera said, voice like tempered steel.
When the sun rose, Sera stood on the upper balcony. Three other spellcasters stood with her, all wood elves. To a degree, she’d come to trust the Golden, but she still didn’t want any right next to her if it could be helped. Councilor Alpere and Gashan, wrapped in an assortment of bandages, joined their own mages on the next balcony down.
A motley mix of humans, wood elves, and golden elves were formed up in the courtyard. Sera smiled at the irony. A great dream, finally realized—only who could have imagined that the elves would finally unite only to be destroyed by demons and their monsters?
Sera caught Tem’s eye and nodded. The sun was up, the last of the children had been smuggled safely away, and there was no reason to delay further. The dwarf crossed over to the gatehouse. The iron chains rattled in the clear morning air, and then the gate landed with a massive whump. A great puff of dust swirled out in a dozen twisting vortexes.
En masse, the demons started forward. Risen were sprinkled among them, their shambling steps differing notice
ably from the demons’ loping, predatory strides. Oddly, one group of Risen seemed reluctant. They milled about, then finally started forward well behind their companions.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Sera reached out with her abilities. She drew on the strength of the natural world all around her. As always, her senses sharpened almost painfully. When she was holding the magic she never felt more powerful, more alive. She felt the footfalls of her every enemy. She heard every vile, hate-filled breath.
At her command, the wind rose up. It howled around the castle and sent the first rank of demons flying. Sera coaxed it stronger and it peeled back the second row of howling beasts.
She reached into the warm earth beneath the demons and felt the rocks there. Stones sprang from the soil, snapping together like the gnashing teeth of a hungry monster buried beneath the ground.
As if on cue, one of the casters to Sera’s left summoned an elemental from the air. The swirling mass spun and slammed into a fast-moving group of demons, scattering them in all directions.
Lightning sizzled from the wood elf casters, and fire blasts erupted from the Golden. Between the dirt and lightning, the smoke and fire and ash, the demons faded from sight.
Sera let go of the magic and slumped against the wall. It had been too long since she’d drawn on so much power so frequently. Much too long. She scolded herself for not keeping her strength up.
The haze cleared and the demons reappeared. The spellcasters had done better than expected. They’d made a good dent in the demons’ numbers, but the defenders were still outnumbered four or five to one.
The demons rushed forward again, screeching in a chilling wave of sound. They exploded into the courtyard and the waiting defenders below. Steel and claw collided in a great roar. Bowmen on the walls fired continually, thinning out the attackers and granting those in the courtyard a fighting chance. A few of the casters hurled the rare lightning bolt or fireball where demons and Risen gathered below. A group of orcs marched inside the courtyard then, tight in formation. One of the mages with Alpere scattered them with a great, swirling ball of blue fire.
Sera fumbled, trying to draw on the magic once more. There was nothing more she could do. The truth was clear. They were committed. The fate of her people was sealed, and nothing would change that now.
Verdant, though blindfolded, heard the roars. He smelled the ash and soot and blood. The final push had begun.
Siam will have to act without me.
“Slerian, why are those Risen moving so slowly?” one of the golden elves said. Verdant thought it was Brisson, their general, but didn’t know the man’s voice well enough to be sure.
“I do not know. I suspect it has something to do with this one. He’s done something to them.”
“Explain,” the man Verdant thought to be Brisson said.
“It’s like he’s muffled the link from me to them. I can still control them, they still hear my voice in their souls and they must obey it, but the hold is tenuous.”
Verdant took a vicious kick in his side and fell over. The fall shifted the blindfold up and he caught a glimpse of bright sunshine.
“You two go out there and get them moving. This is the end for the wood elves. I want every Risen fighting,” Slerian said.
The end. Hope flared in Verdant’s chest. Slerian hadn’t been able to learn that Siam and the others were free from Koren and the great demon’s control. He still thought they would obey him. And now that the final push was occurring, that secret no longer mattered.
Verdant laughed in relief.
“Laugh, will you,” Slerian said. Another kick rocked Verdant’s head back. “Your precious wood elves are finished. After today, there will be no one to stop us. After today, we will scour the valley clean.”
“Unless it is you who are finished,” Verdant said. “We beat you all before, we might do so again.”
“They are moving now,” Brisson said. “All of the Risen are headed to the front as they should.”
Verdant’s hopes faltered. What if Slerian still had control of Siam and the others he’d sparked after all? What if, now that he was focused on them, the mage could suppress their freedom again?
But if that’s true, then why can’t he dominate me as well? I still can’t hear his commands.
A powerful blast of wind tore through the camp then. Slerian and the others covered their faces with their arms, trying to block the driving dirt and grit. Verdant struggled against his bonds but they bit painfully into the regrown flesh around his hands. He appreciated the irony. What good was flesh if it only imprisoned him? He flexed harder and the ropes tore deeper. He felt a wetness coat them. It wasn’t blood—he had neither blood nor a beating heart to pump it anymore—but the substance coated the rope, making it grow slick. He wrenched with his arms and felt something slip. He switched to working at his wrists. The ropes were loosened. One of the loops had slipped free, but two more still held him.
Lightning started crashing all around. The command tent they’d brought him to broke free of its moorings, vanishing as if it had never been.
Koren’s doppelganger took a thunderous bolt to the face. Without even time to scream, she fell near Verdant, her face a black, smoking ruin and her clothing caught aflame.
Verdant started to struggle against his bonds again. After a brief moment of grunting and twisting, he struck on a better idea. He inched closer to the fallen golden elf and arched his bound hands toward her.
Fire licked at his fingers and he stifled a scream. He hated the thought of ruining his regrown flesh, but he hated his bonds more. He smelled burning skin—his own, the doppelganger’s—mixed with the smell of the burning rope.
Straining harder, he felt a strand break, then another, then another. The ropes burst, and he was suddenly free.
He avoided looking at his ruined hands. Seeing them would only make them hurt worse, and he had too much to do. He needed to make sure Siam and the others were free to help the beleaguered wood elves. He now knew that this was the right thing to do, even if only to spite Koren and her army.
Verdant took two long strides and felt something crash into him from behind. He landed in a heap of dust and grime.
“Not so fast, my friend. I’ll make you watch while your precious wood elves are destroyed,” Slerian said. Blue fire danced above the mage’s outstretched fingertips. More lay scattered in a loose circle around Verdant.
“We are not beaten yet,” Verdant said. He sprang upright and started for the mage.
The fire tripping over Slerian’s hands blazed bright into a blue sphere. The mage flicked his palms open, and the sphere shot toward Verdant. It connected with the priest’s shoulder, twisting him around and throwing him into the dirt in a dusty heap.
Despite the pain, Verdant rose. He started running. He felt the spark in his chest rise up. He imagined a spell of his own and raised his hands. Instead of a sphere, a pulsing white spark formed. Mimicking Slerian’s motion, he sent it toward the mage.
Just inches from Slerian, it struck something unseen and winked out. The mage had a spellshield. Verdant summoned more of the spark, but the mage proved quicker. Verdant imagined a shield of his own and felt something gather strength around him an instant before Slerian’s spell struck. Blue flames burst outward, but none touched Verdant.
He was close now. Instead of trying another spell, he slugged Slerian in the mouth. The mage’s head popped back and Verdant followed with a second, rib-cracking punch to his side. Before he could do more, Slerian caught him with a counter to the jaw.
Priest and mage collapsed together in a flurry of punches and kicks. More blue fire covered Slerian’s fists, and his every blow sent shockwaves of pain through Verdant. Verdant’s own hands glowed white. They flared bright every time they struck out, the mage wincing under the blows.
Evenly matched, they fought on. Verdant heard fighting all around them. With a flush of joy he saw Siam whirling a long black staff and fending off a pack of demons. His friends were freed, then. At least he wouldn’t be overrun by those he’d awakened earlier. Another wood elf Risen went down under a pair of golden elves. A lumbering orc ventured too close to Verdant and the priest struck with a glowing fist and sent him flying. Slerian took the opening and slammed a fist into Verdant’s temple.
The priest fell, seeing black and white starbursts behind his eyelids. Slerian was instantly on top of him. Punches rained down from both sides. Wrenching open his eyes, Verdant tried to buck free, but the mage held him fast.
“Last time we fought,” Slerian spat, “you killed me with that cursed Light. Attacked me from behind. I remember that. Not so easy facing me now, is it?”
Verdant raised his hands to his head, crossing his forearms to dampen the blows. His mind was rattled, his concentration lost, and all he could think of was escape.
“Pathetic. How could you ever hope to beat me? Once you are gone the others will obey me again, I’m certain of it. There will be no freedom for them. The Risen will serve me forever.”
Deep in Verdant’s chest, the spark flared bright of its own volition once more. He needed more, more power to break free. The punches kept coming. He begged for more power. Tears ran down his face. He screamed, feeling the power answer at last. He felt it rushing from Slerian in a torrent. The punches started to slow, then to grow weaker.
“What is happening? What treachery is this?” the mage muttered. He stopped fighting altogether and stared, wide-eyed, at his trembling hands.
Verdant too stared at them. They glowed a faint white. The priest pulled more power from Slerian like a parched soldier dipping to slurp greedily from a cool stream.
Paladin's Fall: Kingdom's Forge Book 2 Page 42