“A bit faster now, lads!” As his fellows obeyed, he nodded to the flute player and began to sing “The Soldier’s Wife.”
“A soldier with an empty gob,
a month since he’d been fed,
walked into a baker’s house
and saw a loaf of bread.
He passed the baker’s daughter,
he passed the baker’s wife,
he grabbed the loaf and kissed the crust,
and this is what he said…”
Nearly three hundred soldiers – and one wizard – joined in for the chorus.
“Oh you’re the prettiest little thing
That ever did I see,
I’ll be the happiest man alive
If you will only marry me!”
The song continued, and the soldier proceeded to propose to absurd things like a warm bed, a tankard of ale, and a bathtub, which was always the one thing he’d been deprived of for a month. It was one of Darius’s favorite songs as Pollis well knew, and the wizard joined in on the refrains with gusto.
Darius enjoyed the song so much, in fact, that he did not feel the sudden surge of magic – until seconds later, when a burning pillar of fire erupted from the ground not a mile from where he walked.
***
When the infernal heat abated and Kray could actually feel fresh air – in truth, painfully hot air, but still preferable to what he’d just stepped through – blowing on his face, he dared to open his eyes.
Warriors were still streaming out of the fire behind him, and he stepped further away to escape the heat. Despite the intense flames and the incredible heat that he had felt, neither he nor his robes were harmed.
He looked all around. They were on top of a hill overlooking the exact road they were to guard – Padraig had been astoundingly accurate. Perhaps the man had more elegance than he was given credit for. Who needs finesse when you have so much raw power? Padraig had been underestimated, it seemed. So much the better.
Kray studied the immediate landscape for a brief moment. Padraig would be the last man through the portal, and so these men were wholly under Kray’s command. He pointed to one of the chieftains.
“You, take your men down to the road. Prepare it for attack from the north.” To three others, “You take your men and scout to the south, only a few miles. Keep a message trail of men within shouting distance of each other all the way back to this position. You, the same to the east and you to the west.”
On he went, spreading his forces out in what may have seemed a clever and well-thought defense. At least, until that person came to their senses and realized the utter inanity of it all. He had dispersed many of his troops to the point where any message would take too long to reach him to do any good. He had kept only two hundred men to guard the road itself, though others were close enough to reinforce them – if sent for.
If any of the chieftains realized this, they gave no hint. Any man who had the courage to protest a sorcerer’s orders had died for it long ago.
Finally Padraig followed, and Kray had the distinct feeling of being drawn back towards the raging inferno just before it flickered and died out all at once, leaving an eerie silence where before had been the crackling of flames. The ground nearby was all ash, finer than river silt.
Padraig took a look at the scurrying activity and demanded to know what orders Kray had given. Kray declined to actually detail them, merely saying that he had arrayed the men as the Warlord had commanded him to. Padraig scowled, having not been told of these orders – because, naturally, they had not been given. He looked around at the activity, and Kray held his breath; but Padraig was watching the movements with the dull gaze of disinterest. He had no clue that the deployment was absolute idiocy.
Padraig’s eyes suddenly widened. “There is a wizard near!” He looked to the southwest. “There, and powerful. Moving this way. Come!”
“Wait, Padraig!” Kray shouted. This was not his plan, he needed to regain control. “We cannot stray far from the road,” he said. Even Padraig would be wary to move away from their mission – even Padraig feared what the Warlord did to sorcerers with that kind of presumption. Kray spied a place in the distance where some pathetic-looking trees were trying desperately to retain a grip on the crumbling hillside. “We can intercept him there,” he said as he pointed.
Padraig was eager enough to do battle to listen. He called two chieftains over and four hundred men accompanied the sorcerers. The Wizard was drawing close enough for Kray to sense him as well. The man was obviously following the pillars of the Firewalking spells to the east, towards where the flanking force was arriving. That should pull him directly past them. A wizard would have guards, but he had four hundred men. They could easily deal with a handful of soldiers.
***
Darius was startled at first, both by the sudden flame and the realization that came with it. The Gryphons had ceased their singing, and though they did not know the nature of this sudden wonder none would mistake it for something benign.
“The Enemy!” Darius shouted, unsheathing his sword. “Gryphons, to battle!”
Their answering cry was accented by the ring of hundreds of swords clearing their sheaths. Darius set off at a cautious trot towards the portal, where the Enemy was no doubt arriving. A moment later the pillar of fire vanished, but there was still a forbidding blaze shining where it had touched the ground – a half-sphere of raging flame that spewed men as it sputtered. It would only be moments before the warriors sighted him and the Gryphons, and rushed to meet them.
As he ran, Darius heard Robert shouting for several men to protect their captain. He barely heard – and he barely saw the enemy. All of his attention was for the spell. He had missed the initiation, but now he was close enough to study the remaining aspect in detail. He ran almost blindly with his men, his eyes seeing only the magic. Tendrils of his own spells reached out to examine it.
Robert knew that his commander would be distracted. Darius had repeatedly reminded him of exactly what he would do should this situation arise. And Robert knew it was important, but knew also that he needed to keep Darius – and as many of the Gryphons as possible – alive. He waited as long as he could, and then he brought Darius back to the nearby, hostile reality.
“Sir, we’re almost upon them.”
The wizard’s eyes focused again, and his sword hand gripped more tightly upon the hilt. He picked up his pace and the Gryphons matched him. More men were still flooding from the spell which was now less than a bow shot away; but they were coming at him piecemeal, as they emerged from wherever they had been before intruding upon Bastion’s lands. They had not expected to see resistance so soon.
When Darius could see their scarred, pitted, unshaven faces, he struck. A dozen of them were scythed down as a whip of unseen force slashed through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed and the men just behind faltered in bewilderment, not yet understanding what was amongst the soldiers running towards them across the grass.
In that moment of hesitation, the Gryphons crashed into them like a multitude of charging bulls. Unlike their foe, the Gryphons were one cohesive force and ripped through the first wave without slowing. Their headlong charge brought them into the next line of fresh enemies, and true battle was joined.
More and more of the foe flooded in from the spell. Darius could spare no attention to study it despite his proximity – the fighting was thick and furious, friend and enemy interspersed. He could not throw destruction about himself without heed. Instead, he killed what he found close to himself and saved much of his wrath for the enemies still emerging from the portal, who died before they had a chance to realize that a battle was being fought.
With his attention split thus, an enemy very nearly managed to drive a spear into his back. Darius turned and was about to lash out when Robert’s sword split the man’s face in twain. Finishing the fallen warrior off with a casual downward cut, Robert snarled at the men guarding Darius.
“Pay attention, dammit
!” Robert’s face and voice were frightening, his fury at their near-failure and his combat rage blending together for the rebuke. The men he shouted at had a brief moment of embarrassment before their minds returned fully to the swirling battle all around.
Darius did not fault them, despite the close call. The chaos of battle could – and did, disturbingly often – muddle and fool the sharpest of minds.
Finally the spell that stood belching foes abated and vanished. There where the blaze had been stood two sorcerers, silver circlets shining upon their brows. Darius killed one instantly, but as his companion fell the remaining sorcerer realized that they had been ambushed, and Darius’s next attack ran into a stiff defense. Not able to recognize his true enemy in the middle of the churning melee, the sorcerer struck at Darius’s men. Several Gryphons cried out and crumpled into the grass. Enraged, Darius attacked again. This time he crafted a brutal assault that made a mockery of the sorcerer's defenses, and turned the man’s entire chest into a shattered ruin.
With the greatest dangers dealt with, Darius returned his attentions to the remaining warriors. With his help, the Gryphons soon finished them off. If any enemy remained alive, they wisely did not break from their impression of a fresh corpse.
The ground was utter carnage, trampled and muddied where dirt had mixed with the copious blood that flowed from the dead. Darius did not have the time to count their losses. He felt – and could see – more of the enemy spells challenging the sun for brilliance off in the distance.
Though the blood lust pounding through his veins still gave him boundless energy, he was breathing heavily, and Robert started to suggest that they rest a moment. Darius cut him off before he could finish the statement.
“No! No time,” he pointed into the distance, into the Shambles, with his sword. “Come! We go!”
There was not even a moment to tend to the wounded. Even if wizards had been able to Heal as angels could, he could not spare a moment – and certainly not the energy. They would have to keep up as best they could, for right now the mission was all.
Another coruscating pillar smote the ground to the east, and he led the Gryphons towards it, already lost in his magic as he sought to deconstruct the enemy’s new trick in their second brazen use of it.
***
Kray hid with Padraig amongst the brambles. Their men were hidden around them. They could hear the enemy soldiers now, tramping through the underbrush. They could not see them yet, but Kray could feel that the man was questing about with his magic, intent on the Firewalking spells that even now delivered more warriors to the battlefield.
If Kray could feel the man, it meant that Padraig had been well aware of him for a long while, but still had not struck. Perhaps the arrogant sorcerer liked to be close enough to hear his victims scream, because Kray could think of no other reason for his uncharacteristic patience. Kray himself itched all over in anticipation – not of executing this wizard – which, when all was considered, was actually rather unfortunate – but what would come soon after.
The wizard was at the front leading his troops, a brave but foolhardy place to be. When Padraig struck, it was hard and fast, throwing the wizard and several of the nearest soldiers around like a child’s toys during a tantrum. Kray felt the soldiers die. The wizard had reacted with impressive speed at the first hint of an attack, throwing up shields that saved him from the worst harm.
Padraig hammered down another blow, and another. Somehow, their foe fended them off – barely each time, but even with surprise and his obviously superior magical strength, Padraig could not finish the man.
“Darius!” one of the enemy soldiers called out, rushing to the wizard’s side. For Kray, time froze.
Darius.
Here, now.
Had fortune smiled so widely upon him? Kray had planned to seek him out – 'Darius' being the only name he knew to ask for once he reached the lands of Bastion – but now the man had been delivered right to him.
Padraig was on the verge of driving home the death blow. Kray made his decision. He stood and drew a knife from beneath his robes. Far from the tiny dagger Padraig had used to draw blood for a spell, this was a heavy, wickedly sharp weapon suitable for battle.
Or murder. He rose behind Padraig, and grabbing a fistful of the man's hair, Kray savagely cut the sorcerer's throat.
The attacks on the wizard ceased as Padraig’s eyes bulged in pain and shock. Pulling the man’s head back yet farther – ripping his throat more cruelly in the process – Kray brought Padraig’s eyes in line with his own.
There! There it was, one of the moments he had so desired. Dawning realization, hatred, and… fear. In his final moments, the mighty Padraig learned fear at the hands of the Sand Sorcerer.
Kray’s mind lit with glee as he raised the knife again and drove it home into Padraig’s black heart. Seized by the passionate hate he had long denied, he stabbed over and over again until his own robes were covered with blood.
Then he felt it, and reached for it. Power emanated around him, and he understood. Sacrifice worked in so many ways, and he had just made a very potent sacrifice. He let the stolen energies flood into him, and then he felt what it was like to be Padraig.
His senses expanded a hundred-fold. He could see, smell, and sense everything around him so much more sharply. He knew the location of every warrior within a mile, and decided that – for the purposes of his plan – the ones in half that range needed to die.
Starting with the closest first, Kray unleashed his stolen power on the men he had commanded only moments before. He used no sand or pebbles now. He killed with magic. He tore men asunder. He threw them into the air and savored the screams as they plummeted to their death. He burned them, he broke them, he beat them. Not even Padraig had ever shown such brutality.
Fifteen years of loathing were purged in those moments. When at last Kray felt the power seep from him, there were no warriors of his newly declared Enemy left alive to see who had done the slaughter.
Then, turning to the still-dazed wizard, he knelt, lifted his arms in supplication, and shouted:
“Darius! Wizard Darius of Bastion! I surrender to you!”
***
Mind reeling, Darius was too shocked to respond. Surrender? A sorcerer wanted to surrender?
For the second time that day, instinct saved him. With what little magic he could summon, he struck the man in the side of the head lightly enough that he hoped the blow would merely stun the man and not kill him. With Robert’s help, he stood uneasily. He had thought himself surely destined to die only a moment before. The unbelievable strength! He thanked the Choirs that his attacker had lacked any hint of subtlety.
Robert was asking him what was going on. Darius could barely make out the words, his head was pounding so fiercely.
“Don’t know,” the wizard managed. “The first one attacked. Killed him… human sacrifice! Don’t know,” he repeated. His attention was drawn by yet another fiery column. “Continue!” he attempted to shout.
Robert stopped him. “Sir, no. You’re in no shape to continue. We’ve lost so many men we may not be able to stand up to any other attacks, and the men are exhausted to boot. If we don’t go now you won’t make it back to Bastion to tell what you’ve learned.” He glanced uncertainly towards the fallen sorcerer. “And what about him?”
Eager as Robert was to get his captain out of there, he realized that taking a sorcerer prisoner would be momentous. Darius realized it too, and it was this thought that began to bring him out of his addled state. He began to nod slowly, then more certainly as his brain deigned to work again.
A plan struck him all at once. Leading the Gryphons over to the fallen form of the sorcerer, he winced a bit as he realized that tattered pieces of men had been strewn everywhere in the murderous fit.
“You and you,” he indicated two of his soldiers. “Take his robes off. And the circlet on his head.” Darius looked around. There had to be at least one whole corpse! Locating one at l
ast, he told the soldiers to switch the corpse’s armor for the sorcerer’s robes.
As they began to strip the sorcerer, he groaned. One of the soldiers looked up in alarm. “Sir! He’s still alive!”
Darius looked at them, perplexed at the question. “Yes – and keep him that way!” When they just kept looking at him, he frantically waved. “The robes, hurry!”
Finally they had the clothing switched and their sorcerer looked like just like every other enemy warrior. Then Darius breathed deeply and raised his hand towards the corpse that now wore the robes and circlet. A gout of flame leapt from his fingers. Silver began to melt and run into the charred flesh and bone as Darius destroyed any hope of recognizing who the nameless soldier had once been.
“There. Follow, Gryphons!”
With two of the largest lads carrying the disguised sorcerer, the Gryphons struck out north as fast as their weary legs would take them.
Chapter Sixteen
It was moments before sunset when the deathly weary Gryphons stumbled into the camp. Many of them nursed wounds that would have to be tended by the herb-growers and surgeons, which was a poor patch on the attention of an Angel. Now that the Enemy was so close, if any Angel arrived a Demon would surely show. The ensuing clash of Aeonians would destroy the camp and kill many men, all for nothing.
The vast command known in Bastion as Fourth Army was centered around a spring that fed a sprightly creek. The camp sat at the very northern approach to the Shambles, where the ground was yet too soft and uneven to support a real fortification. When combined with the terrain, the sheer size of the camp afforded it ample safety.
Like the rest of the Gryphons, Darius was exhausted. He, however, was one of the few unwounded amongst them – Robert himself had his sword arm up in a sling, and the pallor of fatigue covered his face. Darius ordered the man to rest, and went to secure care for his wounded men and a supply of herbs for his prisoner. The sorcerer was kept wrapped in a cloak to hide the enemy armor he wore, and Darius intended to keep him dosed with stupefying potions until he was brought safely to Bastion.
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