by H. A. Harvey
The rider to the baron’s left was the one who drew Malor’s fixed attention. Perhaps the first Falon he had ever seen that could be called hideous, the figure rode next to the baron’s horses astride a sable gryphon. Horrid burn scars ran along the entire right side of the fellow’s body, save for his wing, which seemed untouched. This told Malor immediately that the gryphon rider descended from a Falon bloodline known as Steelwings. Less skilled in flight than any of their brethren, the members of the bloodline carried a boon from the Divine Dragons of old, for the feathers of their wings were not feathers at all, but hard and tough as drake scales. The Steelwing’s right hand crackled with energy, and Malor deduced in a moment that he held some manner of counter-magic at the ready.
The baron held up a hand and waved in signal. Immediately, the three riders on either flank of the command trio spurred their horses to trot toward them. As they approached, the baron called aloud.
“Before we accept your surrender, there is tha slight matter of disarming the two of you who are still dangerous.” He called out as the riders dismounted, five approaching Axios somewhat apprehensively each holding a heavy set of manacled steel chains. The sixth bore a contraption that looked like a pair of elbow-length iron mittens that had been welded together. “I honestly hadn’t expected tha Orc to surrender. It seemed more likely you all would do me tha favor of executing him on my behalf. Still, I like to be prepared for all occasions. Tell me, wizard, are you familiar with this device?”
“A mage gauntlet.” Malor replied grimly with a nod. The contraption was developed in the far-off Magiocracy of Farrun. It had, over time, become a thing utilized by any with Talented enemies they needed to disable and the means to acquire or build one. He had seen one at the Imperial Academy. The interior of the gauntlet was like a geode of mechanical blades, and a small mythril spring at its core would react to any magic channeled through the wearer or the gauntlets themselves. Attempting to pull one’s hands out, once inserted, likewise triggered the device. Once triggered, the effect was said to be more a shredding of the arms than severing, and those who did not die instantly of shock would bleed out rapidly. The academy had a standing prize of a powerfully enchanted staff of the rarest varrun wood to the student who could escape the gauntlet. Malor had never felt foolish enough to try, and only one student in his stay had done so. After two days locked in the device, the headmaster used the key to release the humbled youth.
Malor took a breath and slid his hands into the gauntlet. His skin crawled as he felt hair-thin levers flick into place along his arms and the tips of razors within prick at his flesh with even the slightest flex of muscle. He curled his fingers around the support handle he found within the deepest part of the mitts and heard the device emit a nerve-wracking, high-pitched ping as the mythril spring shot into place.
The five other soldiers closed on Axios, and Malor could see the fight return to his eyes for a moment. A quiet shake of the head from Kaiden calmed him, and the soldiers bound his arms and legs in the heavy chains. Two sets of shackles bound his arms at the wrists and elbows. Two more hobbled him at the ankles and just below the knees, while the fifth line tethered the arm chains to those about his legs. Malor’s soldier bound a leather cord around his head as a gag while the others untied Penn and helped her to mount one of their horses. Malor cursed his luck silently. He had expected to be gagged, but hoped Penn would be taken first and give him an opportunity to whisper some hint of his plan to the others. Perhaps it was just as well. He had not expected the baron to have a mage gauntlet, and now his plan hinged upon his own threshold for pain, as yet untested beyond the occasional paper cut or stubbed toe.
Meanwhile, the baron and his party advanced, at last being satisfied that Malor and Axios were no longer a threat. The disfigured Falon still held his counter spell at the ready. The fellow was rightfully cautious when dealing with a wizard. Malor needed to find a way to dissipate that protection before he made his move, for he would not have a chance to improvise.
“Well, Malor,” The Falon spoke first as they drew up in front of the captive Tyrians. “It seems the Baroness of Penance was not exaggerating her ability to deliver a young, ambitious wizard to us as part of the prize. I imagine you have been given an opportunity to sample a taste of the Masters’ power, and you’d not be worth the trouble if I had to explain the choice set before you.”
Malor ventured a glance over to Penn, who glared triumphantly back at him. He knew by reputation the ruler of the Spireward Barony of Penance. One of his few friends at the academy had been from the Noorwood realm of Woodhall, and told stories of her. Baroness Idala had seized power from the previous Baron, turning his own men against him and rising from consort to little short of a queen overnight. After her coup, a little over a decade ago, she had renamed the Barony of Nightgale and begun a relentless campaign to expand into the sacred Spireward woodland, disregarding ancient treaties and shattering over a hundred years of peace along Baeden’s Spireward border. It seems her goal all along had been to deliver him, exhausted but unharmed, to her winged master.
As to the power she wielded, the Baroness’ goal had, it seemed, not been to kill the captain at all, but to force Malor to interact with the strange energy, to entice him with a power outside his own when no power was beyond the reach of a wizard. However, Malor wanted nothing to do with the twisted energy they wielded. Many people feared or were altogether repulsed by the power of Entropy, but Malor understood the vital and wholesome role the inevitable decay of all things played in Creation and had no fear of wielding such energy. But even to brush against this other power in healing Kaiden had felt like he was being violated. Whatever its source, the power wielded by the baroness and her master was twisted, dark, and had no place in Creation. Malor stiffened his back and, staring defiantly at the burned man, took a deliberate step backward.
“That can be your answer for now,” The Falon nodded, “We will have a longer conversation in the city of Kadis.”
The baron laughed through the visor of his helm and, ignoring Kaiden, looked over at Axios intently. “Tha mighty Scourge of Shaleridge. Your head has been worth its weight in gold for decades, my ugly friend.”
Axios flexed slightly, perhaps testing his chains, but remained silent and staring at some point a dozen leagues beyond the Kadis forces. In the weighted silence, Malor heard a distant collection of cries drift from the city. Venturing a glance over his shoulder, he saw the column of Tyrian troops already well outside the gates as they marched through the parted ranks of Baedites. As the first curls of smoke drifted up from Broadstone, he realized with horror that the Spireward forces had entered the city and were slaughtering their own countrymen.
“You know, orc,” The baron continued calmly, “My father was still Baron of Kadisvale when you burned Shaleridge to tha ground. At tha time, I wanted to ride out and exact vengeance. My brother was squire to Baron Doltor at the time, you see, and perished at your hand.”
“Den yer brudda wuz slaver scum loike da rest.” Axios replied levelly without shifting his glance, “We run’d off any decent folk ‘fore lighten dem firez.”
“Indeed you did,” The baron returned after a moment of silence, a restrained note of anger in his voice. “Like as not by some order of your superiors, being little more than a brute with a club at tha time. And as furious as I was with my father forbidding retaliation, I have to admit he was right. Had I killed you twenty years ago, you would have gotten tha warrior’s death you savages crave so much, and never would have returned to make me king.”
The baron removed his helm and sniffed in satisfaction at the ionized air, only just starting to pick up the stench of the fires in Broadstone. At length, he continued, “You see, there is an ancient tradition in Baeden. In times of war, tha barons have the power to appoint a high king, but they haven’t done so in hundreds of years. It would take quite tha hated enemy to entice tha dozens of baronies to surrender their
rule to one unifying king. A hated enemy like tha Scourge of Shaleridge returning at the head of an army. Only this time, his foul orcish bloodlust isn’t reigned in by Human rule, and he strikes a feeble barony, struggling to recover from a horrific plague, and slaughters every man, woman, and child in his path.”
Axios broke his blank stare and growled as he glared at the haughty baron. He flexed against his chains and moved to strike the fat man from his horse, but the shackles held and the ogre’s hobbles brought him stumbling to his knees. The Baron of Kadis laughed aloud, joined by the baroness and their escort.
“You die bound on your knees, and your legend will be that of a murderer of sick old men and children.” The baron hissed, “And for stopping you, the barons will have little choice but to name me high king to carry vengeance upon tha land of Tyre using tha very horses you delivered to my hands, girded in Kadis steel. Kill them!”
At the baron’s command, the Dracis general flew into action, his glaive sailing with blinding speed to cleanly sever Captain Kaiden’s head from his shoulders as the soldiers drew steel and closed on Axios. A horn sounded from the ranks of the Kadis infantry, and Malor watched as dark clouds of arrows sailed from behind the ranks of the Gateward forces, now completely flanking the unarmed prisoners.
Axios let out a wail of rage that shook the stones at their feet. He bit fiercely into his own tongue and spat the lump of flesh into the face of the closest soldier. Malor saw the effect of the warbringer wash over the ogre like the effects a chunk of bloody meat dropped into a crystal-still pool filled with sharks. In the next moment, Axios exploded forward, bowling over two more soldiers as he surged toward the baron, snapping the links of his bonds like twine. The scarred Falon spurred his gryphon forward to bar his path, dropping his counter spell to begin a new casting. The Ogre roared as the gyphon’s talons tore into his chest and brought his shackled wrists down on its head, crushing the creature’s skull.
Malor saw the moment was upon him, and bit down upon his leather gag. He felt out and formed a simple connection to the air around him. The effect was immediate and the mage gauntlet sprang to life as he channeled even the most basic of magical abilities. There was no comparison to the blinding pain as hundreds of blades tore into his arms and rent flesh and bone. The world went white with pain, then black, and slowly his vision returned with a watery red blur to the world. He seemed, thankfully, to have fallen backwards.
Malor’s arms were little more than tattered shreds of flesh below the elbow, so he forced his mind to focus enough to draw Arcane energy and help him stagger to his feet without scuffing his boots. He lurched after Axios and did his best to sway around a soldier that came to finish him off on the way. He was only marginally effective and the man’s sword bit deep into his abdomen. With his last measure of strength, Malor slammed his body against Axios’ back and drove the heel of his right boot onto the toe of his left.
The Falon saw the runes upon Malor’s shoes too late, and could do little but leap from his collapsed mount and wrap himself and the baron in his dragon-scaled wings. Then a blinding light of the most brilliant white drowned out the world. Somewhere in the blinding light, men screamed in agony. Then, Malor was standing in the wind atop a cold mountainside. At his feet was the small pile of coals from a long-dead fire. Axios stood there and, having been mid-charge, nearly careened down the mountainside. Two of the guards also had come along, though their faces were dry and sunken as those of a corpse left rotting in the desert for years. The slain soldiers collapsed into a pile of mail and bone dust as Malor examined his renewed limbs with relief. Then the shock of the last few moments took hold and he emptied his stomach onto the cold coals and sank limply next to them.
“Wut?” Axios looked around puzzled, “Wut in Ruin heppund?”
“Genesis,” Malor gasped from the ground, “The power of life and creation. It can’t destroy, so most think it can’t cause harm, but it can move life force from one to another. There was a second spell on my other boot set to trigger when touched by Genesis. It took us here.”
“Youz robbed my chance fur revenge!” Axios glared angrily, his eyes still shone with the warbrigner’s blood red glow.
“No,” Malor gasped as his vision dimmed and he felt his stomach wrench again, “G-gave you . . . a chance to set your name right. Also, if you didn’t notice, your tongue’s back. Now . . . help them.” He pointed shakily at the valley below the saddle before collapsing into unconsciousness.
10
The Cascade at Dawn
Nian slid forward carefully, wincing a little as a rock rolled under his ribs. He risked inching a bit farther so the stone nestled against his stomach instead of hard bone. Crawling like this was harder than keeping a dead run. His limbs ached from repeatedly lifting less than an inch from the ground, then holding long enough to swing forward a few inches. They had started across the open terrain just after midnight, and it felt like, were he to turn around, Nian would only see a few feet of progress from the foot of the mountain. The stars had faded from the sky, and the cold earth was numbing his limbs. He thought perhaps they should use the deeper darkness to move a bit quicker, but had no way to speak to the others without alerting the soldiers only a stone’s throw to the right.
Ahead of him, Ellia was hard to make out as her movements were so fluid. She had been elected to go first, as her eyes pierced the darkness better than the others. To his left, Riona crawled along determinedly. She did not speak or complain, but Nian could tell by small gasps of strained and painful breathing that this trip was proving quite the ordeal for her. Somewhere a few feet behind their heels, David crawled along behind him, and Mitchell followed Riona. Farthest back was Rowan, fouling any tracks and drag marks the others left.
The goal was a small outcropping of rocks just before the land sloped down into a valley of broken hills and gullies. Nian had not seen this goal, but trusted Rowan and Ellia that it was there, some three hundred yards out, two hundred beyond the closest leg of roadway. Rowan had suggested they make for the road as quickly as possible, for the cloaks would do little or no good there, especially once light spilled across the ground.
Nian realized with frustration that he had lost sight of Ellia’s steadily moving cloak. He must have fallen behind. He pushed himself into a faster rhythm, trying to make up distance. The repetitive motion and additional strain locked him into a sort of trance before long, and he almost gave a shout when his hand grasped what had to be Ellia’s upper thigh. The elf whipped around low to the ground and clapped a hand over his mouth.
“We’re at the road.” The Elf whispered into his ear as she slowly uncovered his lips. “Ease your legs under you. I will watch the soldiers, when there’s an opening, I’ll tap your back. Dash across, it looks like soft sand on the other side so just throw yourself down and pull your cloak straight.”
“Uh, sorry.” Nian answered, rather out of place but he felt it was necessary. “About your leg I mean.”
“It’s fine.” She whispered, “I know you can’t see in this light. Now hush.”
“Just, don’t tell Rowan I did that, okay?”
There was no answer but silence, and Nian had decided Ellia was watching for his opening when he her her whisper back, “Wait, why? Does he like me?”
Nian was caught a bit off-guard how Ellia sounded less like the cocky warrior he’d come to know and more like one of the town girls in Longmyst when his friend came to visit.
“I thought you two were already together.” Nian answered, “He’s always lookin’ at you, and grins like an idiot when you look back.”
Ellia said nothing in response, but after a moment of silence pulled Nian’s hood back enough to leave a light kiss on his cheek. He felt himself flush bright red and suddenly wondered if she could see color in the dark. His stunned reverie was interrupted as she rapped his shoulder and hissed in his ear, “Go!”
Nian stood into a
half-crouch and darted across as quickly as his numb legs would carry him. The dark black of the cobbled road was easy enough to see against the sandy bank on the far side. He flung himself flat and turned to look back across the road. He could just make out the slight swell in the shadows as Ellia likely gave Riona the same instruction as he received.
After another moment, he watched the pale earth rise up and drift quickly across the dark road as Riona dashed toward him. She ran a little shakily, but in almost complete silence. It was easier to hear the soldiers shifting in their mail and idly chatting than to make out the fall of her soft boots. Then disaster struck in the form of a small pile of sand shaken onto the road in Nian’s crossing. Riona’s foot slid wildly as soon as she shifted her weight onto the treacherous spot. Nian heard her catch a sharp breath as her feet shot from under her and she tumbled forward onto the sand bank. The girl shot a panicked hand out to break her fall. Her somersault was too far along to be easily stopped, and Riona flipped flat onto her back with a loud pop accompanied by a shriek of pain.
Nian quickly shuffled sideways on top of Riona and spread his cloak over both of them before clapping a hand over her mouth. After slowly steadying her breathing through her nose, Riona gingerly reached up with her uninjured arm to pull his hand away. Once his hand was free, Nian lifted the very edge of his hood to peer out onto the road. Two soldiers were working their way up the road, weapons drawn, and one carrying a burning brand plucked from the watch fire. They walked to perhaps a yard beyond where he and Riona had crossed before stopping and looking about.
“There’s nuttin’ out here.” The one holding the torch said at length, sheathing his sword, “Prolly a rabbit or somethin’ getting snagged by a drake. This area’s thick with mountain an’ stone drakes.”
“That weren’t a rabbit,” The other growled as he paced so close Nian could have reached out and touched his boot. “I tell ya it were a woman.”