Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3)

by Berardinelli, James

  The dragon’s goal wasn’t in the city, at least not to start with, although that didn’t stop it from making a single strafing run across its length before assailing its primary objective. Its victims were few since most of those in the open had the sense to take cover. And, because the buildings had tile roofs and stone exteriors, fire damage was minimal. Destruction wasn’t the dragon’s aim, however - at least not in that grand initial pass. It was generating fear: a beast out of dark mythology come to the modern world to visit fiery devastation upon humanity’s last great bastion.

  Spewing flames hot enough to melt iron, the dragon flew above the eastern wall’s promontory from south to north, roasting alive every archer who stood his ground. For those men, there was nowhere to go save over the edge. Given a choice of death by dragon fire or a last desperate plunge into unyielding ground, some chose the latter. Those who tried to flee were killed on the stairs and ladders. With a sickening certainty, Carannan saw the trap, although far, far too late. Obis was about to lose three-quarters of its bowmen. Gone was Carannan’s original strategy to have them fall back when the walls began to topple, find perches on rooftops, and rain death on the enemy as they roamed the streets.

  As bad as the death of more than one thousand soldiers was, the collateral damage was worse. As the dragon’s breath came in contact with the unused stores of anti-djinn ammunition, they erupted with predictable results. Huge chunks were blown out of the top of the wall. By the time the dragon completed its run, the city’s once indomitable front facade looked to be on the verge of collapse and the surviving defenders atop it were in a state of unbridled panic. When it reached the northeastern corner of the city, the dragon executed a mid-air pivot and retraced its path in the opposite direction. This time, there was less damage because the devastation had already been so great.

  Once the dragon had sewn its destruction, the djinn returned. This time, they didn’t fan out to equidistant locations as before. Instead, they came as one, focusing their attacks on a single portion of the wall - the area immediately below the point of maximum damage from fire-detonated ammunition. There was no one left to oppose them and, even if there had been, the means to fight them was gone. There was nothing anyone could do but watch the djinn pound the wall until the inevitable happened.

  The eastern wall came down in two great pieces. The concerted attack on the weakened section caused a gaping crack to split the edifice from top to base; the resulting stress resulted in a structural failure. Moments after the crack had developed, the smaller segment, undermined by damage from the djinns’ relentless attack and unable to support its own substantial weight, crumbled into rubble. The roar of the collapse was deafening and a cloud of brownish-white dust blossomed skyward. For a few minutes, nothing could be seen through the obscuring curtain then, just as the stiff northwesterly wind was clearing the area, the rest of the wall, including the gate, crashed outward, coming apart as it fell. The farming community nestled in Obis’ protective shadow, already damaged by the invaders’ attentions, was obliterated.

  Carannan heard more than saw what was happening. The loud concussion confirmed that little or nothing remained of the eastern wall; Obis lay open and vulnerable to the opposing army with only a fraction of her defenders in place. The battle plan had been developed with the expectation there would be breaches but its architects had never considered the possibility of the entire wall collapsing. The number of casualties was already dire but Carannan recognized that, unless something could be done to at least slow the flood of enemy soldiers into the city, the death rate would turn catastrophic. Now, instead of twenty-thousand men being funneled into a few narrow streets, all of Obis’ wide eastern side was laid bare.

  The attack didn’t start immediately. The poor visibility hampered the attackers as much as the defenders, but Carannan didn’t expect a lengthy reprieve. Justin would press the advantage. Carannan’s only consolation was that The Lord of Fire was likely expecting to meet a force roughly equal to his own and that would make him cautious. Right now, Obis needed time. More specifically, Sorial needed time. Carannan hoped he could provide it.

  The Winter winds were clearing the air, blowing the dust out over the fields and hills surrounding Obis. Near the wall, there was complete devastation but just a few blocks away, everything was eerily normal - normal except that the only people scurrying around were soldiers. If there was one thing to be thankful for, it was that the wall had fallen outward rather than inward.

  A least a half-dozen messengers were standing a respectful distance from the overcommander, awaiting orders. Even a cataclysm of this magnitude couldn’t shake the devotion to duty shown by these men. “All remaining archers are to abandon their current posts and report to rooftop positions. Infantry is to regroup at east-facing defensive fallback positions. Pitch locations are to be lit as soon as the enemy advances to those points.” Citizens had been evacuated from the most vulnerable sites in the eastern portion of the city, but there weren’t enough secure buildings to hold them all in the event of a full-scale invasion. The temple, whose grounds abutted the western wall, was full to the point of overflowing; the priests couldn’t accept another person. The loss of life among the non-military would be horrible. Carannan had expected enemy soldiers in the city, but not this many and not all at once. “Sound the general alarm. At least let the citizenry know that we’re going to be overrun.”

  Carannan was about to issue another series of orders when a young lieutenant croaked a terrified “Sir!” The overcommander’s line of vision followed his pointing finger.

  The dragon had returned, entering the city, picking off ground targets at will. Now, its attention was riveted by a more enticing mark, something imposing. It rolled over in mid-air, shot upward, and then drove directly for The Citadel, belching fire as it roared a challenge. Carannan barely had time to holler “Down!” and dive for the floor before the creature, with its claws extended, smashed into the tallest and most arresting structure in Obis.

  * * *

  Sorial and Alicia were alone, waiting just inside the ragged mouth of the tunnel. Their escort had departed, leaving them behind while they scouted ahead with the intention of confronting Justin’s contingent if they were where Sorial believed them to be. It wouldn’t be an easy battle; there were too many variables to predict the outcome. Even without knowing the mettle of The Lord of Fire’s human soldiers, Sorial recognized that the djinn would be the greatest challenge. A pair could eliminate a squadron and Sorial’s guards numbered fewer than that. Although his protectors were armed with the same explosive material that had been distributed among the archers lining the city’s eastern wall, there was no guarantee they would be able to use it effectively in close quarters. Although Justin would be irrelevant in any skirmish for as long as magic was not a factor, he almost surely had kept his most capable fighters by his side.

  The eighteen militiamen sent ahead were sacrifices. There was no other way to describe them, at least no honest one. Sorial hated that as much as he acknowledged its necessity. It was unlikely more than a few would survive, if that. At least they were volunteers and knew the perils inherent in their task. They did this out of a sense of duty and love of city but that didn’t lessen the guilt for Sorial. He hated that men had to die for him. In his heart, he hoped the weight of remorse marked a difference between him and Ferguson who, if he had been alive, would point to this action as a confirmation of the commonality of their methods.

  He and Alicia were on constant alert. If the djinn fell and Justin felt himself to be in mortal danger, he would lift the void if he was capable of doing so. In that event, they would have a limited window in which to act. All they needed was a few minutes to create a situation in which The Lord of Fire would have no choice but to confront them with their powers intact. Then, despite his greater experience, they might have a chance.

  It was equally possible, and perhaps more likely, that Justin wouldn’t lift the void. In that case, Sorial and Alici
a would have to assume a significant risk. They would have to chance a physical confrontation they would be manifestly unprepared to win. If even one of the djinn survived the confrontation with their escort, their chances of triumphing over Justin were infinitesimal. The odds didn’t improve significantly if the djinn were down but several of The Lord of Fire’s mercenaries survived.

  “It feels peculiar, straining with my ears,” said Alicia. He knew what she meant. He had become so accustomed to having magic augment his senses that they felt fuzzy and dull without it.

  There was much to hear but the sounds were all distant; the immediate vicinity was strangely quiet. The cacophony emanating from the city’s direction represented an indistinct echo of explosions. The ground began to quiver as what started as a dull, rolling roar built to a shattering crescendo. As that faded, another, even louder pulse developed in its wake. The tunnel behind the wizards, destabilized by the quaking, began to collapse, dirt and rocks pouring from the roof in an avalanche while the unbuttressed walls proved unable to support the shifting weight. Sorial and Alicia were forced to move into the open to avoid being buried alive.

  “The city walls came down,” said Sorial, instinctively recognizing what had happened and not needing magic to confirm it.

  “How bad?”

  “Impossible to say, but those weren’t just big chunks. I’d say two whole segments collapsed, maybe even the entire eastern wall. It doesn’t change what we have to do, though.”

  “We could lose the city but win the war?”

  Sorial nodded. “Justin’s our objective. Saving the city is up to your father and his generals. We can’t panic and act rashly because Obis is in jeopardy. That was part of the problem at Vantok. We didn’t think things through properly. We reacted and that gave Justin the upper hand at every turn. You and I were lured away; we should have rejected the bait and stood our ground. Maybe things would have turned out differently.”

  In the aftermath of the thunderous collapse, an unnatural silence descended. It didn’t last long, however, as a new, closer clamor broke out. This comprised the sound of armed men contending - the clang of steel on steel and the screams of the injured and dying. There were several small explosions followed by a series of louder ones. This went on for several minutes until the quiet returned. It remained unbroken.

  Sorial and Alicia waited for their escort’s return. No one came. After remaining in position for a half-hour, they realized that, if there were survivors, they weren’t able to come back. The northwesterly wind blew in smoke and dust, hampering visibility.

  “We have to see,” said Sorial. They had known all along this was a possibility: going blind to confront a situation that might mean death for them both. Never had Sorial more desperately wished for his lost limbs. To be able to stride forward on two legs with a sword grasped in his hands… to confront this situation as a hale man rather than a cripple.

  “The void is still in place.”

  It was true, but Sorial didn’t attribute much meaning to that. It could be that Justin had never been sufficiently intimidated by the situation to lift it or it could be that his death had come with a swiftness that hadn’t allowed him to activate his magic. Either was plausible but the answer might mean the difference between life and death for them.

  “Let’s go. One way or another, this is what we came for. Time to end this thing,” said Sorial.

  The terrain between here and Justin’s camp wasn’t difficult to navigate, but the stone leg made travel challenging, especially with so many icy patches. Sorial wasn’t used to its dead weight; he had become accustomed to it functioning as an extension of his body rather than something whose sole purpose was to prevent him from toppling over. Alicia tried to help him but he shook her off. Live or die, when it came to facing Justin, he would do it standing, not leaning on his wife. Pride demanded that much.

  The dust from Obis made it seem like they were walking through either a fog or a light snow. Considering the temperatures, the latter was more appropriate. If anything fell from the sky, it would be frozen. In the distance, indistinct sounds of battle could be heard as the outnumbered defenders attempted to repel Justin’s invaders. They wouldn’t be able to do it, at least not without the reinforcements currently waiting at Sutter’s Hill. Those might be on the move shortly. It was all about timing.

  Justin had chosen the crown of a gentle hill for his observation spot. It was a good location, offering an unobstructed view of the city while allowing him to remain a fair distance away. While climbing the hill, Sorial caught his first glimpse of Obis since the wall had fallen and, despite his expectation that the damage would be severe, its catastrophic nature nevertheless arrested his attention. The view was partially obscured by the dusty haze, but he could see that there was no eastern wall. The entire façade had collapsed. The Citadel looked badly damaged, with its roof and top few floors torn off. There were fires but, since few buildings in Obis were composed of combustible material, that wasn’t a great concern. At this distance, he couldn’t see the djinn so it was impossible to determine how many still lived. The distant bellowing of the dragon told him the creature was active in the devastation.

  As they crested the hill, the killing field came into view. The first thing Sorial noticed was the fire - a large conflagration burning in a pit, designed to provide warmth for the men gathered in the camp and fuel for Justin’s magic. There was little snow to be found atop the hill - just mud turned rust-color by the mixing in of blood. Scattered around were bodies. The two djinn - twisted, blackened husks that steamed in the cold air - were immediately visible. In addition, there were approximately thirty men, none moving. Sorial recognized the nearest corpse only after studying it for a long moment. It was Lieutenant Fangot, the leader of his escort. He was badly burned with parts of his uniform seared off and other parts fused with his flesh. His sword, which lay beside him, was an unrecognizable lump of metal.

  Sorial and Alicia advanced warily, scanning bodies for signs of life, their boots making sucking noises in the freshly churned mud. Some of the men showed the kinds of bloody wounds one would expect in a battle. Others were charred beyond recognition. The djinn had done significant damage before perishing, but they had died, apparently brought down by the flammable rocks the men had carried.

  “There,” whispered Alicia, pointing to a slight figure on the opposite side of the fire pit. Prone and unmoving, it was Justin, or at least it appeared to be. The emaciated form was unmistakable. For a fraction of a second, Sorial found himself wondering if it could truly be over. Had they defied the odds and actually won? Then the reality of the situation evaporated the quicksilver hope. The hilltop was littered with corpses but Justin’s body wasn’t as lifeless as those around him.

  The Lord of Fire rose calmly, taking the time to brush the dirt from his simple wardrobe of trousers and a loose-fitting shirt. That he was uninjured marked this as a masquerade, part of a trap whose nature Sorial couldn’t yet identify. Why pretend to be dead only to rise when his opponents approached? What advantage did he have that Sorial was missing?

  The answer came swiftly when the form next to Justin also rose. Unlike the frail, wizened fire-wizard, this was a giant of a man - a brute whose size dwarfed the likes of Vagrum, the sadistic Langashin, and Overcommander Vikon. He brandished a fearsome cudgel and the only signs of injury he exhibited were minor cuts to his bare left forearm and right cheek. Sorial saw the mortal danger of the situation. The jaws of the trap were revealed now that they were ready to snap shut.

  “We meet as was fated,” said Justin, his tone casual. He spoke as if this was a banal conversation, not an encounter upon which the future rested. “I wish it could have been different. Truly, I do. You can’t conceive how distasteful I find all this waste. But you’re both obstacles to a greater goal and obstacles must be removed.” Turning to his companion, he commanded, “Do what must be done, General Gerthak. With dignity if possible but without mercy.”

  * * *
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  Not dead yet. It had become the refrain of his life, it seemed. How many near-death situations had he survived? Not dead, but damn it hurts! His legs, buried under debris, were broken, perhaps crushed. His ears detected someone moaning; it might have been him. He supposed there could be someone else alive up here, in the ruins of what had been The Citadel’s observation room. The odds of surviving a dragon attack like that weren’t good but, if he had done it, why not someone else?

  Carannan was atop The Citadel but half-buried under the remains of the upper two or three stories, which had been demolished by the dragon in the three passes it had made. He was trapped in such a way that he had a clear view to the east but couldn’t see much beyond broken stone in any other direction. Although he couldn’t detect any other survivors atop The Citadel, there was a severed hand not more than two feet from him and, close to that, what looked like a crushed head in a helmet without an attached torso.

  He supposed the pain he felt in his lower extremities was a good thing since it meant he wasn’t paralyzed from the waist down. The salty tang in his mouth argued that he was bleeding within - not unexpected for someone who had fallen fifteen feet through a collapsed floor and been landed on by a huge slab of rock. It appeared he was not destined to die in combat. He had been denied the opportunity in Vantok, had lost it again in Widow’s Pass, and there was no possible way he could defend himself if confronted in this situation. He might still survive this but the odds didn’t look good at the moment.

  Enemy soldiers were swarming across the blasted remains of the eastern wall like insects. Two feet of jagged rock - roughly all that remained of the once-mighty barrier - proved far more manageable than fifty feet. There appeared to be little resistance from within, although it was difficult to be sure in the confusion. Carannan could hear the clanging of steel-on-steel although his field of vision wasn’t sufficient to determine its source. His men probably thought he was dead. He took some consolation from the realization that, even if he had still been in charge, there was little he could have done. In street-to-street fighting, the orders from a centralized command meant little. It was every man for himself.