Soul of Power

by G David Walker

  “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Oh, lad. You talk like you have a choice. You’ll go where I want, when I want, and there’s nothin’ you can do about it.”

  “Fine. But I’m done fighting. If you’re going to kill me, just do it. I can’t beat you. Okay? I know it and you know it.”

  “I know you canna beat me, lad, but it amuses me to see you try.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess you’re gonna have to find your amusement somewhere else. I’m not going to fight you again.”

  “Hmm. You’re not, are you?” A slight smile crossed the big man’s face. “Let me show you something.”

  Without transition, Jason found himself perched on the highest tower of Lore’s Haven. He swayed at the sudden change, grasping at the stone wall behind him. Far below, the assault on the keep was in full force. He saw a column of Dokal crash into the side of the Manarach army like a battering ram blasting through a wall made of water. A smaller contingent of the huge warriors had gone further from the gate and were just now leaving the main road and plunging into the forest. The distant sound of hoof beats drew his attention to the courtyard where a large company of mounted archers were charging out the gates of the Haven. Running alongside the archers were dozens of charnoths. He could just make out their angry screeches, mixed in with the distant thunder of the horses’ hooves. Bothan, standing beside him on the parapet, pointed toward the raging conflict.

  “Do you see that, lad? Take a good, long look. If you will not fight me, I will personally take your father from where you have him hiding in Gildenfell, and drop him right in the middle of that.”

  Jason felt like his stomach had dropped to his shoes. “No! You can’t! Please.” How could Bothan know where his dad was? How could he possibly know?

  “I can and I will,” Bothan said. He was no longer smiling. “And believe me, no amount of trickery will be able to bring him back once those beasties get hold of him.”

  Jason knew he couldn’t do the same thing as he’d done the first time he’d saved his dad. Then, he’d had a clear up-close picture in his mind of where and when he needed to go. Now, the closest he could get was right here. If Bothan followed through with his threat, by the time Jason made it to his dad, it would be too late.

  An avian scream pierced Jason’s ears and he saw a flash of yellow that seemed to dive out of the sun, straight for Bothan. Before Crin could complete his attack, Bothan raised his hand, enveloping Crin in power, and holding him motionless in midair.

  “Wait!” Jason cried. “Please don’t hurt him!” The image of Crin lying on the parched ground of the Scorched Plains ran through his mind.

  “Have no fear, lad. I’ve come to appreciate your feathered friend’s loyalty.” Bothan grinned at him. “Enough so, in fact, that I’ve decided to keep him.” The power holding Crin flashed briefly and then vanished. Crin, free of restraint, landed on Bothan’s shoulder, staring at Jason as if he was seeing a complete stranger.

  Crin? Crin, can you hear me?

  There was no answer from the fortune wing.

  “What did you do to him?”

  “If I were you, lad, I’d be a little less worried about the bird, and a little more worried about your father.”

  Jason glanced at the teeming Manarachs below, and then his shoulders sagged. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll fight you.”

  “That’s right. You will.” Bothan held up a finger. “But, if I think you’re not giving me everything you’ve got, the last time you see your father, he’ll be wrapped up tight in Manarach silk.”

  *****

  Gatlor watched from the wall as the Dokal engaged the Manarach. The great hammers and battle axes made short work of those creatures on the receiving end of their blows. At first, the huge warriors plowed into the enemy ranks with ease. But, as more of the attackers became aware of the Haven’s counter attack, the Dokal progress slowed. Silk flew toward the massive defenders from all directions until they had to spend half of their efforts in freeing themselves and their fellow warriors.

  As the momentum appeared to swing back to the attackers, the first wave of mounted archers arrived, sending their missiles into the ranks of Manarach. Again, the initial attack was successful, and many of the enemy fell or retreated from the deadly rain of arrows. But, as before, the creatures regrouped, now dividing their attention between the Dokal and the archers, who gave ground to stay out of reach of the trapsilk.

  Screeches filled the air as the charnoths leapt into the fray, using teeth and claws to slash and tear at the strange creatures that dared enter their territory. After adjusting to the Dokal and archer attacks, it was the ferocity of the charnoths that gave the Manarachs pause. The charnoths were fury in motion as they jumped from victim to victim, dispatching the creatures with a speed born of animal rage. Slashing claws shredded flesh like knives, while rows of deadly white daggers in massive jaws crushed bone and sinew. The agility of the charnoth allowed them to penetrate deeper than the Dokal, with a few even using the giant warriors as platforms from which to leap at the enemy. However, even the ferocity of their attack was soon slowed by the Manarachs’ trapsilk.

  As he watched the Manarachs adjust to the Haven’s counter attack, Gatlor’s mind calculated the slowing progress against the number of enemy forces remaining. No matter how he looked at their situation, he still came back to one inescapable conclusion.

  “It will not be enough.” He turned to Seryn. “While our forces concentrate on this half of the Manarach army, the other half threatens to breach. There must be something more we can do.”

  “I am open to suggestions, Captain,” Seryn answered. “The Blood Iron is proof against our power. Without that, your soldiers provide a better defense than we can.”

  “We cannot stand against them if they make their way into the keep,” Gatlor said. “There must be something else to be done.” He turned to Brin as the Loremaster stepped away, looking from the keep to the Manarachs and back again. “Loremaster Brin, you have an idea?”

  “Perhaps,” Brin turned to Seryn, “but it will cause damage to Lore’s Haven.”

  Gatlor glanced at the battle and then looked back at Brin. “I would prefer a damaged keep to one overrun with Manarachs.”

  “Show us,” Seryn said.

  Brin nodded and turned to face the inner wall. Crimson light blossomed around his hands and then extended to the wall. With a shower of dust and mortar, one of the granite blocks tore from its place. Brin guided it with his power until it hovered just across the outer wall. The small hope that had sprung to life when Brin said he had an idea faded as Gatlor watched. There are not enough rocks in Lore’s Haven to make a dent if this is his idea. Gatlor kept his thoughts to himself as he watched Brin’s power crawl over the suspended block. The red glow intensified over the rock as the Loremaster adjusted its position.

  Then Brin clenched his fist, and, with a loud crack of shattering stone, the block split into a dozen sharp splinters of rock, each as long as Gatlor’s arm. Thrusting his hands forward, Brin sent the granite spears streaking downward. As before, Manarach silk erupted in front of the attack, but the knife-like shards of heavy stone sliced through the trapsilk without slowing, finally impaling a number of the attackers. Brin turned to them with a satisfied look on his face.

  “Somewhat more substantial than arrows,” he said.

  Gatlor gaped at the writhing creatures below, the spears of stone impaling them to the ground. Then he turned to Brin. “Yes! Can all of your saiken do this? If so, we may be able to turn them back.”

  “We will need more stone,” Brin said.

  Seryn gestured to the inner walls. “There is an entire keep of stone at your disposal. Do what is necessary, and we will tend to repairs later.”

  A cry of alarm grabbed Gatlor’s attention. He looked at the far end of the wall just in time to see one of the archers, who had leaned over to shoot downward, being pulled over the edge, entangled in trapsilk. A moment later, a Mana
rach climbed over the wall onto the walkway.

  “Hurry! I will send the archers to this end. Bring your people to the far end.” Gatlor said. Then he turned and sprinted toward the creature, with Calador and Seerka following closely.

  “Ruby saiken, to me!” he heard Brin shout from behind. Then his full attention was on the walkway ahead, where another Manarach had topped the wall. The closest archers had drawn their swords to defend themselves, but trapsilk flew in all directions, hampering their swings.

  “Revin!” Gatlor shouted. The archery commander turned to him. “Send the archers to the other end, except for the Deadmarks. Ruby saiken will be defending this end if we can clear the wall.”

  Revin nodded. “Deadmarks to Captain Gatlor! The rest of you with me!”

  Gatlor sent a dagger spinning toward the closest of the attackers who was about to impale a downed archer with his spear. The Manarach screeched and dropped the spear as the blade buried itself in its side. The delay gave Calador time to reach the creature and send it flying over the edge with a swing of his maul. Gatlor saw several pairs of hairy Manarach legs grasping the lip of the wall as more invaders tried to breach the keep. Looking back, he saw Brin and a number of saiken running toward them. He turned back to the walkway to see that a third creature was now on the wall. He knew the Deadmarks could not get a clear shot while he, Calador, and Seerka were between them and the Manarach. The archers would have to focus on any new arrivals. “Deadmarks! Fire on anything that crests the edge! Keep them away from the saiken!”

  He sent two more daggers flying at the next Manarach as he dodged archers running the other way. The creature managed to deflect the first dagger with its spear, but the second dagger pierced one of its legs, drawing a chittering scream of pain and anger. It reached down and yanked the blade out, throwing it over the wall. Then it rushed toward Gatlor, sending streams of trapsilk flying ahead of it. Behind it, Gatlor could see the third creature standing over the fallen bodies of two Haven archers.

  “If I may.” He felt a jerk at his bandolier and then Seerka flashed in front of him, one of Gatlor’s daggers in his hand. The cat-man was not running toward Gatlor’s opponent however. Seerka leaped toward the edge of the parapet, and used it to launch himself up, flipping over the Manarach attacking Gatlor toward the last Manarach on the wall. He felt a rush of air go past his ear, and saw Calador’s hammer sailing at the Manarach, and then the huge warrior was in front of him, intercepting the trapsilk. The creature managed to avoid being crushed by the hammer, but Calador wrapped the silk around his arm and yanked hard on it, jerking the Manarach forward. Then the Dokal went to one knee.

  “Jump!” he shouted over his shoulder at Gatlor.

  Instantly, Gatlor saw Calador’s plan. Drawing his sword, he ran up the massive back and leapt over the top of the Manarach, still struggling to free itself from Calador’s pull. As he passed over the creature’s head, time seemed to slow. He saw a Manarach rear up over the edge of the wall, and then fall back, a Deadmark arrow now piercing its throat. A second one was just sliding off the wall, leaving milky reddish streaks on the stone, three arrows embedded in the hairy chest. Overhead, a score of granite blocks, encased in crimson power, split into stone blades that no trapsilk would stop. Ahead, he saw Seerka using the interior parapet in the same way he had used the outer one before, sending him in a backflip over the final Manarach on the wall, as the creature tried to target the feline warrior with its thread. Then Gatlor was dropping, his sword raised high over his head. As soon as his feet landed on the spider body of the Manarach, he drove his sword downward with all of his strength, sending the blade through the creature’s torso. The Manarach let out a screech of pain that was quickly cut off with a crushing blow of Calador’s battle axe.

  He jerked his sword free and jumped from the body, looking to where Seerka had engaged the last Manarach on the wall. The creature was face down on the ground, its back riddled with punctures and slash marks. Seerka was walking toward them, Gatlor’s dagger held gingerly between the Ferrin’s thumb and finger. As he reached them, he held Gatlor’s dagger out to him.

  “You might want to have this cleaned,” he said, “or perhaps burned.” As Gatlor took the dagger, Seerka coughed and waved a hand in front of his nose. “I can barely breathe. Do these things ever bathe?”

  Gatlor looked at the dagger, dripping with thick pinkish ichor, and then dropped it to the ground. He would take care of it later. Cracking sounds filled the air overhead as the Ruby saiken sent wave after wave of stone death at the attackers. He looked out over the battle and saw that the momentum now seemed to be on their side. Hundreds of Manarach bodies littered the ground, with the remaining attackers being forced into a slow retreat away from Lore’s Haven. He turned back to Seerka.

  “I have never seen you use a blade in all the time I have known you.”

  The cat-man shrugged. “Well, while we do enjoy entertaining ourselves with our prey, there are times when an expeditious dispatch is preferable.” He coughed again. “As soon as I caught a whiff of the creatures’ odor, I knew that now was one of those times.”

  “You know, Captain” Calador said, “I believe you may have put on weight.”

  Gatlor raised his eyebrows. “Put on weight?” He looked at Calador, seeing the twinkle in the large warrior’s eyes. “You clearly have not fully recovered from your ordeal in Ishadon,” he replied, and then turned to the parapet before Calador could reply. He still heard the other two chuckling behind him. Let them have their jest. What had begun as a potentially hopeless situation had turned out much better than he had expected.

  A roar from the battlefield drew his attention. At the back of the Manarach army, a number of Dokal warriors had emerged from the forest just behind the queens. Gatlor saw that one queen was already down, with several of the behemoths surrounding a second queen. The third queen was retreating quickly, shouting orders in the chittering Manarach tongue. A number of Manarachs placed themselves in the path of the pursuing Dokal, protecting the last queen. The rest of the army turned away from Lore’s Haven and followed the queen.

  “It would appear the battle is over,” Seerka said.

  “Well done, Captain,” Seryn said as she approached. “Once again you have demonstrated Captain Bartyn’s judgment was sound. Congratulations.”

  “Any congratulations should go to the Dokal and Loremaster Brin,” Gatlor replied. “Without them, this day would have ended much differently.”

  “Their aid was vital indeed,” Seryn agreed, “but do not underestimate your own worth today, Captain. Although many have pledged their aid and assistance to the Circle, it is your honor and courage that inspires them.”

  “Loremaster Seryn!” They turned as they heard Meryl’s voice. “Loremaster Seryn, Bodann has taken Jason again.”

  The apprentice and Lenai were running toward them along the wall. Gatlor had seen that look in Lenai’s eyes before. Even as a warrior and the leader of the Lore’s Haven forces, he was glad it was not directed at him.

  “He said Jason was ready to have another ‘go’ at it,” Lenai added as the two stopped in front of them.

  “Can you sense what is happening?” Gatlor asked.

  “The same as before,” Lenai said.

  “Although this may sound harsh,” Seryn said, “let us hope this is not the last ‘go’ Bodann wishes to have with Jason. As soon as he tires of this game he is playing, he may have no further use for Jason. So long as he continues to be entertained, he will keep Jason alive.”

  Gatlor nodded with the others. Jason Bennett had proven far more resilient than he would have ever expected, but Bodann, or whatever he had become, was far and beyond anything they had ever dealt with. Jason had surprised him before. Gatlor just hoped the young man had at least one more surprise left in him.

  A Dubious Proposition

  Jason closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sound of Bothan’s mocking laughter still echoing through his head. Although Seryn had treated
all of his injuries before he returned to his room, the memories lingered in his muscle and bone, like tortured ghosts that refused to be silenced. It had been… How long? Two days? No. Three ….since the Manarach attack on Lore’s Haven. Three days of fight, heal, and repeat, again and again over that span. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. The only way he even knew how long it had been was because someone, he didn’t remember who, had told him. Everything since the first fight with Bothan, if it could even be called that, had blended into one big blur. He felt…used up. It was the only phrase that seemed adequate to describe the mental, emotional, and physical fatigue permeating his body. Lenai had helped him get to his room after Seryn’s latest round of treatment. Then she’d left, promising to check back on him soon.

  He’s got Crin.

  The thought caused an ache in his chest that was completely unrelated to his struggles against Bothan. He’d tried several times to communicate with his friend, but Crin never answered. He only hoped that whatever Bothan had done could be undone.

  “It really is a shame what he’s doing to you.”

  He rolled off the bed, all thoughts of Bothan vanishing from his thoughts. A shock of adrenaline gave him the strength to throw a shield up as he turned to face Regor, who had stepped into his room. The Altered was not wearing his shadowy guise, and he raised his hands as he saw Jason’s power spring to life.

  “Wait! Wait! I’m not here to fight you.”

  “So what’s this? A social call? Try texting next time. Or maybe a Hallmark card.”

  “A hall what?” Regor shook his head, confused, then shrugged it away. “Jason, I realize we’ve had our differences, but I assure you, right now you have nothing to fear from me.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Again, let me remind you that I have never lied to you. Let’s be blunt; we both know I don’t need to lie to you. After all, what are you going to do? You weren’t strong enough to beat me by yourself before,” Regor raised an eyebrow at him, “and in your current state, you barely look like you have enough strength to stand up, let alone fight.”