Battle Mage

by Peter Flannery

  Alex’s heart swelled with elation but the sense of achievement was instantly quashed as the demon turned to face him.

  Someone had defiled its skirt of pain.

  Someone had stolen one of its souls.

  Someone was about to pay.

  The Exiles recoiled in terror as the demon turned its black eyes upon them. Alex reached down to grab the chain linked to Quirren and winced from the scorching heat that turned the sweat on his gauntlets to steam. Those beside him tried to help and together they dragged Quirren away as the rest of the Exiles did their best to cover their retreat. They formed a defensive line, but then the Gaoler took hold of another chain and swung the mass of encased flesh like an enormous club.

  Still dragging Quirren backwards Alex looked up as the Exiles were scattered. They could not stop the white skinned demon and now a dark shape was rising behind it. The first demon that Falco had defeated was getting back to its feet. The spent souls had done their foul work and the fear in the air grew even thicker as the injured demon was restored.

  Alex knew that they were lost, but there was still one thing he could do before the Possessed claimed him. He could free his brother from his unthinkable suffering.

  Looking down at the mass of flesh at his feet he raised his sword. Beneath a mask of dried blood and earth he could just make out the shape of Quirren’s face. For a moment his courage almost failed him, but then he gripped his sword in both hands with the blade pointing downwards.

  As the Gaoler advanced towards him Alex Klingemann steeled his will.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he breathed and then he plunged his sword down into his brother’s chest.

  The blade sank deep and Quirren’s lips cracked open with a gasp of pain, but to Alex’s horror he did not die. The chain might have been severed but Quirren’s soul was still ensnared. With a keening wail of despair Alex dropped his sword and fell to his knees. Tears flooded down his cheeks and his heart was finally devoid of hope as the Gaoler loomed before him.

  The demon looked down and its eyes narrowed as if it suddenly understood the connection between this human and the soul it had tried to save. Something like amusement crept into its heavy browed gaze and then it raised one of the newly emptied bags. It had fulfilled its mission to heal the injured demon. Now it would replenish its skirt with new wells of suffering. Soon it would have two brothers trailing from its belt.

  Unable to move, Alex watched as the Gaoler reached for him. He had a horrifying glimpse of the agony that lay in store, but then he felt a gust of air and the Gaoler staggered as something streaked between them. At the same time Alex saw a dragon-shaped mass slam into the black skinned demon that had just got back to its feet. That demon disappeared from view while the Gaoler stared in puzzlement at the deep gash that had suddenly appeared in its chest.

  Glancing to his left Alex saw a figure rise to his feet, dark armour, barbute helm, round-shield and sword. Alex could not see the expression on his friend’s face, but in some ways, the fury emanating from Falco was more terrifying than even the demons of hell.

  The Gaoler was either too stupid or too arrogant to recognise the agent of its doom, but Alex knew that the monster that had taken his brother was about to die.

  *

  Marshal Breton hardly dared believe it as he felt the fear recede. The allied forces had begun to crumble but now they stood firm and their morale lifted as they felt Falco’s reassuring presence return.

  ‘He’s alive,’ said the marshal, turning to Lord Cabal who sat astride his horse close by.

  ‘I know,’ said the Lord Commander. ‘But it might be too late to save the left wing.’

  Marshal Breton looked over to the left where the defensive line of the Irregulars was in tatters. They had reformed into blocks but the Possessed surged around them, attacking from all sides.

  ‘There’s no way we can resist a second assault if we can’t restore the line,’ said Lord Cabal and Marshal Breton nodded.

  ‘Go,’ he said and with a nod Lord Cabal turned his horse away.

  With a wave of his hand he drew the Knights of Wrath into formation. The aim was to sweep in front of the Irregulars and give them the chance to reform a solid line of defence. Lord Cabal’s jaw was set with confident resolve. Four hundred knights were more than enough to achieve their aim. He was about to give the signal to charge when Malaki appeared beside him.

  ‘My Lord. There are two units out of position,’ said Malaki, trying to conceal the desperate need in his voice. ‘The Dalwhinnies and the Exiles. They’ve been cut off from the army.’

  Lord Cabal turned to look at the two allied units that were just visible beyond the closer ranks of Sciritae. The Exiles were so close to the gaoler that they were clearly beyond help. The Dalwhinnies on the other hand were trapped in a relatively calm area of the battlefield, but now a block of a thousand Kardakae was closing on the archers and there was no way they would be able to stop it.

  ‘You will never make it in time,’ said Lord Cabal as he guessed what Malaki had in mind.

  ‘But not to try...’ said Malaki and Lord Cabal’s eyes narrowed at the challenge implied in those four simple words.

  For a moment he was on the verge of denying the request but there was something naively valiant about this young knight with the birthmark face, something that should not be denied. With a wave of his hand Lord Cabal divided his squadron of knights into two. He would lead one half to help the Irregulars while the other would follow the Knight of the Crimson Helm.

  Malaki gave the leader of his order a bow and wasted no time in bringing his squadron to the front of the line. Ahead of him a unit of spearmen prepared to ‘open the way’ for them to charge through.

  ‘Malaki!’ shouted Huthgarl. ‘We’ll never reach them in time. There are too many Possessed between us.’

  Malaki knew he was right. It would take time for them to cleave their way through the Sciritae and by then the Kardakae would have cut the Dalwhinnies to pieces. There was only one way it might be possible and Malaki could only hope that Bryna would guess what he had in mind. Turning away from Huthgarl he gave the order to sound equitatus.

  ‘And sound it loud!’ he bellowed.

  The horns blared the signal for a cavalry charge and for a few anxious seconds Malaki waited to see if there was any reaction. Maybe the Dalwhinnies were too far away to hear the call. But then he saw movement and faces turning in his direction.

  ‘Open the way!’ he cried out and as the spearmen drew back Malaki led the Knights of Wrath into the fray.

  *

  The knife was steady in Patrick Feckler’s hand. He knew that what he was doing was right. The Kardakae were getting closer and soon there would be no time to act. He was just reaching for Bryna’s neck when she turned. From the allied lines behind them she had heard the sound of horns.

  Paddy paused. As ruthless as he was, he could not slit her throat while he could see her face.

  ‘They’re sounding the call for equitatus,’ said Bryna.

  Her eyes scanned the allied lines and then she froze.

  ‘Malaki, no!’ she breathed as she saw the spearmen open up to reveal a squadron of two hundred knights.

  ‘The damn fool!’ said Paddy as he realised what Malaki and the Knights of Wrath were planning to do. ‘There’s no way he’ll reach us in time.’

  Bryna’s face was suddenly flushed with anxiety, but then a faint possibility dawned in her mind and she glanced at the approaching Kardakae before turning back to look at the mass of Sciritae lying between them and the Knights of Wrath. Their arrows would have little effect against the heavily armoured Kardakae, but they could still do some significant damage to the Sciritae.

  Ignoring the imminent threat, Bryna gave the order for the Dalwhinnies to turn away from the approaching Kardakae.

  ‘Rolling volley, reducing range,’ cried Bryna.

  Paddy was appalled at what she intended to do but still he echoed the order.

  ‘Mark, three h
undred paces!’ he bellowed. ‘And don’t shoot the fucking horses!’ he added as the Knights of Wrath began their charge.

  ‘Loose!’ cried Bryna and the Dalwhinnies shot a volley of arrows into the mass of Sciritae between them and the Knights of Wrath.

  Not all of their arrows found a mark but it was enough to ease the path for Malaki and his knights. With each volley the Dalwhinnies reduced their range, trying to match the advance of the rapidly approaching horses. The knights came on rapidly, but now the Dalwhinnies could hear the stomping advance of the Kardakae. In her mind Bryna could see the wall of dark warriors looming closer, but she dared not turn round to look. She knew that if she did she would not be able to resist turning her arrows on the impending threat, but only the knights could stop the Kardakae, and only if they arrived in time.

  The noise of the approaching enemy grew so loud that Bryna could barely think, but the Dalwhinnies could not stop now, the Knights of Wrath were almost through.

  It was only as they finally burst through the last of the Sciritae that Paddy realised their mistake. The path the Dalwhinnies had cleared led directly to themselves. There was no way the charging knights would be able to swerve around them to reach the Kardakae. They were about to be trampled to death by their own heavy cavalry, but then he saw Bryna step forward and with a stab of horror he realised what she intended to do.

  ‘DALWHINNIES!’ cried Bryna. ‘TRAVERSER, SUR MOI!’

  To attempt the traverser manoeuvre at this speed was utter madness but they literally had no choice. Any second now the Kardakae would begin cleaving their way into the archers.

  Teetering on the cusp of panic the Dalwhinnies faced in the direction of their insane captain and formed themselves into columns just two arm-lengths apart. Ahead of them loomed a wall of thundering horses while behind them came murder in the form of a dense block of heavily armoured Kardakae.

  Ever since the training accident that killed young Daniel, Bryna had been unnerved by the drumming sound of cavalry. Just one clip from a steel shod hoof could crack a human’s skull and now two hundred armoured knights were bearing down upon them at full speed. All it would take was for someone to move out of line and the manoeuvre would end in disaster.

  ‘DOWN AND CLOSE!’ Paddy roared and Bryna heard a ripple of movement as the Dalwhinnies bent down to make themselves as small as possible, burying their faces in the small of the next archer’s back, but not Bryna. She was transfixed by the terrifying and glorious sight of the armoured horses thundering towards them. Behind her she heard screams of pain as the first of the Dalwhinnies were cut down by the Kardakae, but Bryna stood tall as the Knights of Wrath charged towards her.

  ‘Ride straight, my love,’ she breathed and then she closed her eyes.

  *

  Malaki’s heart lifted as they smashed their way through the last of the Sciritae. They were going to make it. Beyond the Dalwhinnies he could see the great mass of Kardakae had almost reached the Dalwhinnies, but now the knights were flying over the ground at full attack speed.

  ‘Now, Bryna... Do it now!’ he whispered and he let out a sigh of relief as he saw the archers form into columns and bow down against the ground. All that is, save one.

  Standing at the front of the Dalwhinnies he saw the slight figure of his wife, curls of auburn hair blowing in the breeze. At this speed the gaps between the archers seemed impossibly tight but they led straight through to the Kardakae and it was the only route that they could take.

  ‘Ride straight, brothers,’ thought Malaki and as he lowered his lance he glanced down at his wife. Her face was turned up towards him and even as he sped towards her, he could see that her eyes were closed.

  ‘In the quiet of the night,’ he breathed.

  ‘And in the raging heat of battle,’ echoed Bryna.

  ‘I will love you,’ they uttered together.

  And the world exploded in a deafening crunch of colliding force.

  *

  Alex did not see the Knights of Wrath thread a lethal path through the Dalwhinnies and slam into the massed block of Kardakae. He was watching an encounter of a more intimate and terrifying nature. Feeling numb and detached he saw Falco come in for the attack. As he started forward the Gaoler dropped the chain it had been holding and thrust out both its hands. A storm of burning shale blasted towards Falco but he did not even try to avoid it. Summoning a wedge of shimmering energy he surged forward. Head lowered, with sword and shield in hand, he ran directly into the screaming blizzard of brimstone.

  The Gaoler hardly had time to react before Falco reached it. The nine foot demon seemed taken aback by the directness of his charge and, shutting off the flow of fire, it raised a hand to club him down, but it was far too slow to stop someone who had trained at the Academy of War. It staggered as Falco’s sword cut across its thigh before whipping back to open a gash in its side. With a groan of pain the demon tried to strike Falco down with its chisel-like claws, but Falco parried the first attack with his shield and stopped the second by severing the Gaoler’s right hand at the wrist.

  The demon screamed as black blood gushed from the stump of its arm, but Falco was not done. Moving with lethal fluidity he delivered a deep cut to the inside of the Gaoler’s right knee and as it stumbled he slashed the metal belt from around its waist. The accursed steel was no match for Falco’s sword and the demon roared in outrage as its skirt of pain was cut free. Again it reached for him, but Falco avoided its grasp with ease. Dodging to one side he hacked at the demon’s elbow before driving the point of his sword deep into the Gaoler’s ribs. The demon slumped to its knees and as it did so Falco removed his sword, pivoted quickly, and with a backhanded blow, he struck the Gaoler’s head from its neck.

  The mass of bone and ash-white skin hit the ground with a thump, the Gaoler’s black eyes staring at nothing as it rolled to a stop, only fixed with an expression of surprise at the swiftness of its demise.

  Falco stood still as the Gaoler’s corpse collapsed beside him, his body thrumming with the force of vengeance. A burst of fire caught his attention and he raised his gaze a short distance to where Sidian was currently dispatching the demon that they had previously neglected to kill.

  In an avalanche of claws and steel hard scales the dragon had struck the demon, driving it into the earth. Imbued with new life the demon tried to rise, but Sidian was not about to leave it alive a second time and using all his weight he drove the demon’s face into the earth. With one massive paw he grabbed the demon’s shoulder; with the other he gripped the back of its coal black head. Then he opened his mouth and breathed a jet of flame into the back of the demon’s neck. The demon roared and struggled to break free but Sidian did not release his grip or reduce the stream of devouring fire.

  So fierce was the heat of that breath that Sidian’s claws began to glow as the demon’s flesh was stripped away from its bones. The dark vertebrae of its spine were laid bare then with a gristly sound of tearing the tendons gave way as Sidian snapped its neck. Only then did the dragon draw a breath and raise his head to look for Falco.

  The twinned souls locked eyes and their gaze was dark as they acknowledged the force of violence that was required to defeat the demons of the Possessed. Such was the terrible power of the great souls that protected humankind. But not all the powers of a battle mage are so destructive. With a new feeling of determination Falco turned to face Alex Klingemann who still knelt over the chained body of his brother.

  Returning from the realm of vengeance Falco started towards him and the force of his presence was so strong that Alex actually recoiled. But then Falco removed his helm and dropped to one knee beside Quirren’s tortured body. Suddenly Alex could see the young man that he had met in Wrath, the man that had come to be his friend.

  Looking down at Quirren’s mangled body Falco could scarcely believe what they had done to him and tears of guilt and compassion swam in his eyes.

  ‘He can’t die,’ said Alex, his voice hoarse with despair.


  Falco noticed the fresh sword wound in Quirren’s chest and for a moment he was puzzled. The demon that had taken Quirren was dead; surely his soul should have been released from the unholy grip of the Possessed. But then Falco understood. The Gaoler had been collecting souls, not for himself, but for another, for the demon that was now striding into the valley. But Falco did not care.

  He could sense the lightless world of agony in which Quirren was trapped and he would not allow him to suffer for a moment longer. Laying down his sword Falco reached out his hand and placed it on Quirren’s mangled body. Using his powers he might be able to kill Quirren but he could not bear the thought of him dying in pain and so Falco reached into his friend’s tortured mind and took all that suffering unto himself.

  Alex gave a sob of disbelief as he saw something in his brother’s disfigured face relax. A sigh escaped his cracked lips as if the tension of unbearable torment had suddenly been released. It was too much to say that he was at peace, but Alex was able to believe that Quirren was no longer in pain.

  But for Falco, the agony was now so overwhelming that his body convulsed and he almost lost control. With a trembling hand he reached for the chain trailing from the bag in which Quirren’s body was encased. With a huge effort he climbed to his feet then gripping the chain he allowed the tingling sensation of power to surge in his chest.

  ‘Stand back,’ he gasped through gritted teeth, and Alex stumbled to get clear.

  Falco allowed the power to build until it burned white hot and then he sent it flowing into the foul chains that imprisoned his friend. The heavy metal began to glow and the searing energy progressed until the entire mass of Quirren’s body was engulfed. Falco could not believe the strength of the will holding Quirren in this anguished limbo, but he refused to be daunted. With ever increasing intensity he channelled his power into Quirren and so bright was the conflagration that Alex had to shield his eyes. His brother’s body had become a mass of golden light and finally Falco could take no more.