by Sean Heslin
Yrinmet smiled at the little yellow lady. “All things are possible.”
“Ideas then?” said Rancha.
“What we need is a deus ex machina,” said Perci. “I've no idea what they are, but I’ve seen it written down. They are always turning up in stories.”
“Gods and similar deity types who arrive at the last minute to save the day,” said Rancha. “But those are in fairly short supply nowadays, unfortunately. Most of the gods are under a general oath of non-interference.”
“Oh, did I not mention?” said Yrinmet casually. “This fine gentleman here is a god.”
There was a brief stunned silence.
“Goe is a god?” said Terand, openly impressed. “I suppose he fits the usual description, but I never thought it.”
“Is this true?” said Rancha to the now distinctly uncomfortable Goe.
“Well...mm...yes...I suppose, to a certain degree...”
“What's your source?” said Jocene to Yrinmet.
“Our friend out there,” he said pointing at the ever-approaching army. “While he was...while he had me alone, he told me certain facts about you all. Attempting to break my spirit. But, as I never wanted to be here in the first place, it was all just useful information.”
“So Goe, any chance of another miracle?”
“Mm, maybe a small one, but...” Goe visibly squirmed.
“Oh, for Me’s sake!” exclaimed Milspeth. “I'm the goddess, Goe is just my last follower on this benighted planet through whom my Will is shown.”
As she said it, those present knew it to be true. Milspeth was a goddess. They suddenly knew it as instinctively as it was to breathe.
Rancha coughed. “Ahem. Is there...any chance of a miracle then?” He considered a moment. “Ma'am.”
“I don't know, you'll have to speak to Goe. I grant him the power, and in return, I get his faith. It is an arrangement that has served us well. And will you three get your foreheads off the ground! It's demeaning!”
Pib, Perci and Terand looked up sheepishly from their prostrated poses upon the parapet where they had instantly dropped when the revelation had come over them.
“Sorry,” said Perci with utmost respect, a peculiar look for his face. “Your highness.”
Milspeth rolled her eyes and turned to Goe. “Go on then, exert yourself. I will grant you what you need.”
Goe thought, then started to grin. “Do you remember...mm...that time on the Riviera? When those...mm... guards were chasing me for being a heretic. The day we got that...mm...leafbird down off the roof...”
Milspeth smiled at the memory. “I remember. Oh, that will be perfect! Do that.”
“What is it?” asked Rancha.
“I intend,” began Goe grandly “to send the army, to sleep! Well, at least the front lines...mm...within a certain range.”
“Oh, that is good!” said Terand, ever the military strategist. “They would all get trampled by the troops behind them and cause no end of chaos to the ranks. It would buy some time anyway.”
“Have to wait...mm...till they're closer though. I only get what I give, so to speak.”
Rancha nodded. “Ok, that's one thing. What else can we do?”
“Well,” chipped in Jocene, inspecting her nails “I can probably kill, or re-kill anything that comes near at least one of the gates. I reckon I can do in at least three thousand on one side of the tower before I get overwhelmed and ripped to shreds.”
“That's two then. Are you sure you want to do that though?”
“Sure, it'll be a good test of how much practise I've really had.”
“Yrinmet? How about one of those War spells you were talking about?”
“Oh gods, do I have to?” he whined. “Okay, fine. As long as I get to do it up here out of the way of all the sharp and pointy objects. And somebody manages to find me a live rabbit, two holy icons of any sort and a hell of a lot of paper and a pen. Oh, and a lever of some variety.”
“Will a shoehorn do?” said Perci producing the article in question.
“Yes, I suppose so, but what about...”
“Here's a rabbit,” said Goe pulling one out of his hat with incredibly floppy ears.
“Yes, well...”
“Holy icons,” said Terand revealing a fine selection of one of his pouches.
“Oh sure, but...”
“There was a lot of logbooks and diaries in the bunkroom,” said Milspeth. “For the guards, I'm guessing.”
“But seriously now...”
“Lots of room up here isn't there?” said Pib.
“Sod, I'm doing this aren't I?”
“Yes,” said Rancha grinning. “You are. Get preparing.”
Yrinmet gathered his supplies and mooched away round the corner, muttering obscenities all the way.
Rancha watched the enchanter leave. It was hard to imagine someone changing for the better so quickly, but he would take his hope where he could get it. He put his business face back on. “Right, down to four of us. Any of you bright sparks got an idea?”
“'Ere,” said Perci, still rooting in his pack. “Do these cigars definitely do what you said they did?”
Rancha's brow crinkled in an effort to remember what the hell Perci was talking about.
“Firedrakes you called them,” Perci said producing the inlaid box. “Something about enemies fleeing.”
Terand started chuckling. “You have a box of Firedrakes? These should be good for a laugh at least. They were kids toys, until someone pointed out that them kiddos don't smoke so much.”
“What do they do?”
Terand grinned some more. “Light one and see. Ah, point it o’er there when you do though.”
Dubiously, Perci inserted a fat cigar into his mouth and applied a match. Aware of all the eyes on him, he felt something was expected.
“Er, good texture. Bit on the bitter side, but...”
Then the end of the flaming cigar suddenly erupted, spewing forth a huge bolt of flame. The flame divided itself in mid-air, twisting and twirling into weird and wonderful shapes until it spread its wings, sprouted a neck and a tail and started flapping. Before their very eyes, a huge image of a true dragon coalesced from lines of fire and flew away into the distance, shedding sparks as it went.
Perci coughed and spat out the stub of the cigar from his blackened face.
“Wow!” he uttered.
Rancha laughed quietly. “Dish 'em out, we can use them as a last resort, or a deterrent or something.”
“I can't see!” wailed Goe plaintively. Milspeth gave a motherly smile and led him and Perci indoors to be cleaned up.
Rancha looked at the last two members of the party. They looked back in vague interest as to what was going to happen next.
“Ideas?” he said simply.
“If Pib and mister Yansul lend a hand, I can take care of one of the other gates for a little while,” said Terand, running a hand over his bald head. “Most likely get though coupla hundred before we're through.”
“Is that all right with you, Pib?”
She looked up at him, held for a moment, then nodded sharply. “'Course it isn’t! But, I'm harder to hit than those two shnotdwars, and if worst comes to worst, I can pick them up and use them as clubs.”
“Cool,” grinned Rancha, please with the brave iccle’s response. “Okay, to recap. Between you all, we can reasonably kill off, being generous, about six thousand, provided Goe's sleeping trick actually does some damage. Yrinmet: I have no idea what he is going to do, so give him an arbitrary figure of say, at least a thousand. Now, by the looks of it Eric's army numbers about, what would you say Terand?”
“Seven, eight million give or take.”
“So, at maximum that leaves me, on my own, to deal with,” he quickly counted on his fingers, “Seven million, nine hundred and ninety-three thousand troops of various races, tempers and states of life.”
He gazed blankly out over the balcony, his face suddenly closed.
&
nbsp; “Oh, fnug, we are all going to die.”
“Still,” said Terand slapping him on the back “At least you know when you are going; a better fate than most people.”
Rancha just stared.
Pib and Terand went indoors leaving Rancha on his own, Jocene having already gone to try to find a way out downstairs.
Rancha continued to stare blankly out, his mind reeling. I could just fly away, he thought, leave them all to it, find somewhere secluded and have the rest of my holiday...
Even as he thought it, the idea was discarded. He was in this whether he liked it or not. He had spent too much time travelling the world to let it be given up to some guy who probably did not deserve it.
Actually, he thought, would Eric make that bad a ruler? Probably get assassinated before his first term was over, and then where will the world be? Armed troops everywhere, with no orders, beginning to get ideas. And even if he wasn't killed, what would he do to people? A very literal reign of terror, unless he finds a way to turn that Fear off. Who could do that? Needs the original enchanter to remove it, I read it somewhere, in the back of a magazine, wasn't it...?
As he delved in his memory, something burbled up from the depths and an Idea struck him.
Oh, bloody hell, he thought, I'm not trying that.
The Idea struck him again, with somewhat more force. He felt the impression of glowing tentacles in his mind’s eye. Which creature, it said, poking him in the hindbrain, in your experience is the most indestructible, the most violent and the most likely to decimate an army? And aren't you a shapechanging, artificially created megabeast by some chance?
But, he countered back the Idea, we will need more than just one of those against that lot, I mean Eric's probably got one himself.
Ah, said the Idea, that's the clever part. Let me remind you of a memory of a story your mother told you when you were young.
Hold on, thought Rancha, I never met my mother. I was raised by Ihjundas in the stables back in the palace/castle.
Er, said the Idea, guiltily, That's as may be so, but you still remember being told this story right...?
A distant memory, long scabbed over blossomed in Rancha's mind. It was of a standard cautionary tale told to many young shapechangers, of what they should never, ever do in case they lost their soul, or worse.
Whoa! thought Rancha, Why would I do that? I am definitely not doing that! You can piss off out of my head.
But it's the best chance you all have for survival, isn't it?
Isn't it?
Chapter 56
“If food no meant to be wasted, then why everything tasty?”
- Ungrid, streg chef, trying to acquire 20 pounds of chalk to make his famous gargoyle goulash, 1846 C.M.
Rancha ran back indoors scattering people as he went.
“Careful!” said Milspeth reproachfully.
“Meat! Food! Anything!” Rancha cried, tossing objects aside as he scrabbled in the debris of the stores.
“I've got some chicken here if you want it?” said Terand, puzzled but willing.
Rancha hesitated. “Cooked?”
“Sure.”
Rancha shook his head and continued ransacking the place. “No good, I need it raw. And a bucket if you can find one.”
Watching this mystifying performance, Pib reached into a barrel and pulled out a chunk of rather soggy, aged mooin meat. It sported a fine growth of mould, which made her retch and drop it.
Hearing the noise Rancha spun round, and seeing the meat, fell upon it.
“Perfect! Now a knife someone, quickly!”
Cautiously, fearing what he might do with it, Terand passed him one of his knives.
Rancha grabbed it sharp end first, oblivious to the blood now streaming down his hand, began hacking away at the rancid meat.
Perci carefully approached, “Er, Rancha. What are...”
“Cooked meat ruins most of the nutrients! This stuff,” he held aloft the rancid beef “Has already proved itself. Now I just need to reduce the competition a little.”
At length, Rancha produced a strip of meat he was happy with and rammed it into the bucket that Goe passed over to him.
Goe grabbed his arm and looked straight into the crazed urglon's eyes, which made him stop his frantic movements for a second.
“I have a good idea of what you are about to do. You do know the risks involved?”
Rancha nodded and tried to pull away. Goe held fast.
“Remember...mm... if you survive the process you still need to make sure only one survives. The others must die. They have to. Do you understand?”
Rancha stopped struggling. The insane glint left his eyes and he nodded solemnly.
“I know,” he said drawing into himself, even as he steeled for the next part.
Goe released him. “Good! Now go, while there's still enough sunshine!”
The urglon of the hour grabbed his bucket and ran out to the parapet. Carefully placing it on the floor, he stripped and rippled into his natural lumpy shape. He stretched his wings to the sky and almost felt magnificent as he cracked his joints.
“Perci,” said Rancha. Perci stepped forward. “I want you to do something for me.”
Perci nodded and waited expectantly.
Rancha drew a deep breath. “When the army arrives I want you to throw this bucket over the side. But! I want you to leave it as long as you possibly can. Until they are practically through the gates. You got that? Hero?”
Perci looked the giant lizard straight in the eye. “Yes,” he said.
“Good,” said Rancha. Then he vanished completely, leaving Perci looking at the bucket in confusion.
Then, there was nothing to do but wait.
The crew went back indoors and sat around, talking about random, banal trivialities, trying to keep their minds off the death waiting for them.
Goe said he was going to meditate, but went straight into a snooze. Milspeth sighed in mock despair at the man’s antics, but put a rolled-up blanket under his head and let him sleep.
Yrinmet reappeared from wherever he had gone, looking quite exhausted. He reported that whatever he was planning was ready to fire as soon as the word was given. Then he collapsed shivering in a corner. Pib gave him a blanket and he smiled in true gratitude at the gesture.
With the help of Terand, Perci attempted to decipher the ingredients on the back of the box of cigars, in an attempt to see if he was allergic to anything. Jocene also returned, saying the stairs down were quite narrow and difficult for anyone to come up en masse, so they were probably easy enough to defend. It was also doubtful anybody would even use them, as the only ways into the tower were the main doors, which would shortly, if Eric’s plan was understood, would not lead inside at all. Perci was quick to offer his support as the guard for this particular limited duty. Jocene also reported that the interior of this tower used to be quite a centre of commerce, as she had also found the ruins of several market stalls, and what looked to be a vault. There were general shrugs as to this mystery, as they had enough puzzles to be getting on with as it was.
Pib found a backgammon board buried in amongst the barrels and bullied Milspeth into giving her a game. Terand took bets.
By now, sounds of the approaching army had reached the point where they could not be ignored. Waking up Goe on the way past, the squad shuffled outside to have a look.
What they saw was not particularly heartening.
Threading their way through the ruins was, simply, an army of doom. Men in bone armour strode alongside the enormous stregs, who brandished their claws and howled occasionally. Well-armed drangls and frostwalkers and gargoyles held ranks with towering beasts dragged from the depths of myth and legend. Pib was almost crying when she saw the occasional iccle riding on direhorseback, or sat on people's heads. The missing duwaark from the fortress was spotted off to the west, slithering along and being given a wide berth by the rest of its squad. Thousands of Undying warriors showed their presence, bearing
the mark of Yurmuth The Gatekeeper on their foreheads - the god that governed all who died after they had finally reached judgement. Or possibly before.
Finally, from the north came Eric himself, riding upon a hairy fanged creature that looked to be a custom creation of ravening horror, rather than something that had been born. His intensified field of Fear could be felt even from this distance, and made the air crackle palpably.
Yrinmet re-established his air magnifier so they could take a good look at details.
At each of the major compass points was a large identical device, crackling with energy, with a wide metal mouth pointed at the tower.
Jocene indicated the contraptions. “Do you suppose those are the things to open the doors, or some sort of siege weapons? I must say, they look more like cannons than mystical contrivances.”
Yrinmet scratched his head. “No, I think those are the kerjiggers. Look, you can see that globe on the back, that looks like a shrub or something inside it...”
“That's my tree!” Perci exploded. “That git has my tree! And he's smashed it up! Look there's a bit of it in all of them!”
Yrinmet swung the air around, and indeed there was a matching leafy stick in the back of all the cannon devices.
“Well, they are the primary targets anyway,” noted Jocene. “If you get the chance people, smash away!”
They all nodded vigorously and went off into position.
As they went, Perci handed out a cigar and a match to each of the crew. He tried to be funny, telling them to “Sod the fat lady, use them now!” The Chosen One was obviously terrified, so they let him have the attempt at the joke.
Jocene went to stand before the north gate, and stuck her sword upright in the dirt. Then she idly picked her nails while she waited. “Never clean,” she muttered.
Pib sat on Terand's head, and they chose the south gate. Terand grimly flicked his sword to battleaxe mode and handed Pib an arcana-plasma revolver.
Goe and Milspeth sat idly next to the skeleton on the balcony, laughing about a fond time they had shared during another war a couple of hundred years ago.
Yrinmet scrambled onto the roof and stroked his new pet bunny, while he muttered under his breath and desperately scribbled down various symbols.