“No markers, no emblems on the swords,” he muttered. Quickly, he took the sword belts from the dead men and set them aside with their daggers and pouches. Then he dragged the men to the side of the building and propped them there.
One of the men came back to himself enough to lend a hand, the shock of the attack beginning to fade.
The woman with the children clutched them to her and asked, “You saved us. How can we ever thank you?”
“The city is not safe right now. Get them home and stay there until it is. That is the best thing you can do for us—it results in fewer people to worry about and defend.”
Kiiryas grabbed two of the swords. “To the victor go the spoils.” He handed one to each of the men. “These will work better than your broom and shovel. They will also make you a target. So, keep them under your cloaks. Don’t fight unless you can’t run. Go home and stay there.”
“Yes sir,” the men replied.
Kiiryas looked through the contents of the pouches that the men had been carrying. There was nothing of note. They each had a handful of gold though, enough that they would have been able to stay in an inn and eat without drawing attention for several days. He poured all the pouches together and handed the amassed, shining coinage to the woman.
“Here, this should be yours now.” He looked over the small group, nodded once more at them, and walked away.
“Oh my!” Kiiryas heard as he walked off. The woman had looked in the pouch. Maybe more than a few days at an inn, he thought. He arrived at the guard barracks a few minutes later, slipping past the Clerk without bothering to let him know he was there. He was really beginning to enjoy this new stealth that had manifested. There was so much he could do with it.
“Lorne. The North Gate is a loss,” Kiiryas said as he entered.
“What? Kiiryas? How did you get in here? Sorry. You caught me off guard. Wait. Did you say the North Gate was a loss? Explain. I mean, how can it be?”
“I was at the gate when all the people began to leave. When they had gotten most of the way across, the clearing arrows started to fall. There had to be at least fifty archers out there, and the rain of arrows was relentless. We have a lot of people wounded, and quite a few dead. The guard sergeant then managed to seal the gate and we even lost some people when the gates closed. Some were trapped outside, and some were crushed under the gates’ weight since they insisted on trying to pass when it was too late.” Kiiryas was shaking his head.
“Civilians or soldiers?”
“Civilians.”
“They were leaving the city. That was supposed to keep them safe,” Lorne muttered. “We have enemies in the city. Garen was killed earlier on the street on his way to the South Gate.
“When the messenger arrived, Glem and Jorick left to try and make sure the gate stayed secure. We have the West Gate sealed like we planned. The army is distributed along the south and east sides of the city, so we have the largest contingents of guards there. The rest are trying to keep order in the inner city.”
“Well, I know I’m not a guard, but I will head to the South Gate and see if I can be any help. Who’s got the East Gate?”
“Sgt. Millis.”
“He is solid. Good choice.”
Lorne looked up at Kiiryas and raised an eyebrow at him.
“Sorry. Giving you guard distribution advice is like teaching my grandmother to suck eggs,” Kiiryas laughed. “Well, I will just be going now. And forget I said a thing.”
Kiiryas walked boldly out of the map room and out past the clerk, startling him enough that he knocked a stack of papers off his desk. Kiiryas continued to laugh softly as he left.
This new stealth power is fun.
Kiiryas was able to move through the city quickly, working to avoid everyone he could in his hurry to get to the South Gate. He was almost there when he heard the fighting. Now, he set off running and a block away from the gate is where he saw the very first body. The guard he had known for several years was missing part of his throat, and a large, bloodied hole led through all the way to his cervical spine—a terrible sight.
Kiiryas paused for a moment to cover his friend’s face and destroyed neck with the corner of his cloak.
He moved to the edge of the building before finally slipping around the last corner. It was a slaughterhouse, he thought—but no, a slaughterhouse didn’t have as many bodies. They were everywhere in this place, some he recognized and some he didn’t. Most were dressed in guard uniforms, but he knew all the guards and a lot of these men he had never seen before.
The devastation was shocking. Bodies were burning, some with holes through them that were cauterized. Body parts were strewn around like dogs’ bones, missing their owners. In some areas of the street were more parts than torsos, and nothing even seemed to match up. Kiiryas shuddered to think what could inflict this kind of damage as he started looking through the bodies and parts for signs that Glem was among them.
There was no one left alive near the open gate.
The shock of the open gate took a moment for Kiiryas to process. Through it, he could see straight down the road to the wood line and the soldiers that waited there. The fire burning on both sides had baked the road hard enough that the soil had cracked, and movement caught his eye above the gate. He backed up a few steps to look up.
On the wall, two men stood facing each other, one in leather armor with a long braid hanging down his chest, and the other in chainmail, looking like death as the men faced one another.
The tattered remains of a familiar cloak were what had caught Kiiryas’ attention.
✽✽✽
Glem left Jorick as he headed to the South Gate, still thinking about the soldiers that had been snuck into the city. There was no way to know how many had gained access or how long they had been there for. They could have done immeasurable damage to any number of critical parts of the city. At least strategic planning was kept to a small, trusted group.
Glem approached the South Gate and could hear the raucous fighting well before it came into sight.
He drew his sword as he rounded the corner. There, he spied that there were three distinct groups of men involved the fight, and that a small group of guards—one of whom Glem recognized from the day they had entered the city—had found itself surrounded by a much larger posse of men.
The smaller group was slowly being whittled down, only a few of them left, looking downtrodden and weary, hardly able to hold their position to defend against attack. Plus, the last group of men were right there already, at the gate. They had gotten it open and were even setting the pins to lock it in place.
A quick glance told Glem everything he needed to know.
As he ran into the area around the gate, he watched the last of the city guards systematically fall to the enemy soldiers.
Anger burned in his belly at the sight of the last man falling, as if it stood for something, as if symbolic for the city’s seemingly inevitable fall. But he wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot. The cold fire traveled through his body’s core, strengthening him just at the moment he needed it and craved it, burning its determined way through his veins. It traveled down his arms, seeing him slowly sheathing his drawn blade in fire, then coiling right the way down his other arm to his hand.
He felt as though he was moving in slow motion as he threw himself at the enemy soldiers, not even a thought as to what might come of it, what they might do to him, and whether they could just sear him through with a blade and see him drop to the cold ground as he had just watched happening to another man.
No, his soul was far too overcome with wrath and burning ire to even worry about any of that. How did worry ever help a man in a scenario like this? Action—always action—was called for, and he would be the one to deliver it, until his very last breath.
The city was at stake—and his job was to defend it.
That was what he would do—the only thing he would do—no matter what, and no matter the risk to his own self.
<
br /> His sword came up again without thought as the first of the enemy spotted him. It flashed through the air.
He felt the clash of the burnished steel and the weight of the clean shift as his weapon hacked the air in two, choosing its path of onward trajectory right atop the man’s shoulders.
It seemed to wish to take on a dance of its own, weighted by the swing, the follow-through almost beautiful, coming across the imposter at precisely the right angle and speed.
And now Glem had, even without thinking or preparing for such a thing, finely cleaved the man's head from his shoulders before he had completely registered Glem’s presence.
Glem noticed there was oddly no blood as he fell, the wound cleverly and quickly cauterized by the hot, sizzling sword.
A quick twist of the blade now also drove it smoothly through the heart of the man to the left of the first.
Then, as if he was unstoppable and this feat was nothing at all, Glem grabbed hold of the next man, the fire in his hand flaring and consuming the man as he fell back from Glem.
The inferno coming from Glem acted in concert with him almost as if alive, a living weapon, the destruction he brought to the enemy soldiers beyond anything they or he had imagined possible. And so it was that Glem effortlessly cut the soldiers down one after another as he moved toward the group that was still trying to pin the heavy gate open.
Glem saw the men at the gate driving in the locking pins with all their body weight behind their efforts. The pins were vast and took two hands to handle each, but it was still uncertain whether they could contain sufficient strength to hold back the massive portal. But if they did, then the city was deeply in trouble. Before he could reach the men to stop them, however, they had destroyed the mechanism that would allow them to be removed.
Hazk stood calmly on top of the wall, watching the soldiers getting cut down one by one like a row of fragile field poppies.
He saw the gray-headed man come around the corner into the cobblestone area just inside the gate. He watched the man watch as his soldiers chopped down the last of the gate guards.
Hazk saw the man change in an instant. His eyes drew wide, disbelieving what his own vision was presenting to him, backing away, saying, “No, no!”
Hazk watched as the magic around Glem swirled and drew into him with such force that the fine, sandy dust in the courtyard swirled around him for a second. Even he could barely draw enough power to have the magic greatly affect the physical world. No one on this side should be able to. Perhaps he would get a fight after all.
Glem quickly destroyed the group of soldiers that had been fighting with the guards. It was a mistake. He should have gone around them to stop the soldiers opening the gate completely.
His delay and wrong decision could be the fall of the city.
Hazk saw fire pour down the gray-haired man's arms, reinforcing his sword and gathering there in his left hand, waiting to be used. His control was impressive, almost as if he had been using the magic his whole life.
That was impossible though.
Hazk watched Glem unleash his magic on the soldiers.
It was all over in the very briefest of moments. Hazk stood in shock staring open-lipped, incredulously rubbing at his eyes, unable to process everything he had just seen happening.
That level of destruction should have been impossible.
Since he arrived, he had only seen destruction like this once before, when a group of soldiers had been killed in the forest, torn apart as if they were made of paper.
This must be the same man. It could be no other.
On the ground, Glem moved toward those at the gate as the last of the soldiers who had been fighting the guards fell. Hazk’s men were successful in opening the gate and destroying the mechanism before he reached them, but just barely.
There were fewer men at the gate now, and fortunately, they lasted less time than the other soldiers had.
Glem looked around at the carnage and the open gate.
“Up here.”
Glem looked up at the voice. A lone figure stood on top of the wall watching him. Glem turned to the steps that led up to the top of the wall and quickly skipped up them a couple stairs at a step. Now, the two stood staring at each other, trying to understand one another. Glem nodded at the carnage and the gate below. “This all your doing?”
“So... You're the other one. And yes.”
“Not sure what you mean by the other one exactly. But maybe I am,” Glem replied.
“There was not supposed to be anyone on this side even close to my strength. How long?”
Confused, Glem asked. “How long what?”
“How long have you had the magic? The portal only opened a few months ago. Every other magic user I have encountered was at best childlike in their abilities.”
Glem cocked his head, without taking his eyes from the man while he considered the question. After thinking about it for a moment, he responded. “Two weeks. Before that, I was a sick old drunk waiting to die.”
“That's impossible. The magic never acts on someone that quickly. Who were you before you got old?”
The man in front of Glem was calm, confident in his abilities and control of the situation. Glem carefully considered the man in front of him. Obviously, he was a warrior.
The figure atop the wall had just watched Glem’s fight and yet was still relaxed; he was a powerful warrior too. And he recognized magic in Glem, so it was fair to say he probably had it. But all that aside, only one of them was going to be leaving this wall. Glem shifted his sword to his left hand and reached into his pouch with his right. He took his heavy signet ring and slid it on to his finger for the first time in many years.
“I am the Sentinel,” Glem said simply.
As he shifted his sword back to his right hand and it came in contact with his ring, a pulse of power echoed out from him, momentarily dampening all the magic around the men.
Hazk stared at Glem silently as he felt his own magic suppressed for an instant. For the first time since the testing, he acknowledged that he felt fear. “How long ago were you given the magic?” Hazk finally asked.
“A long time ago.”
“This should be a good fight then,” Hazk replied as he drew his sword for the first time. The men both stepped back into an en-garde position and waited for the other to attack.
Glem asked as they squared off, “So, are you the one that ordered the attack on my village?”
“No. General Inehorn gave the order to leave no survivors once the supply teams crossed the border. I really couldn’t care less about the people here. That is not my mission.”
“Inehorn and I are going to have to have a talk when we are done. It takes a real coward to order the slaughter of women and children.”
Hazk moved toward Glem as he finished speaking, his sword flickering out and testing the old man. Glem blocked and countered Hazk without breaking eye contact, his body reacting without conscious thought. Neither expended any more effort than was necessary, making each of their exchanges as efficient as possible. And of course, neither saw the young man peeking around the edge of the building, watching the pair of them.
✽✽✽
“Are the men prepared? Have they sufficient material to maintain their attack once it begins?” General Inehorn asked his aide, shifting foot to foot as if impatient.
“Yes sir. The men should be able to maintain a steady rate of fire, and as long as they are given time to rest, they believe they can maintain it for several hours.”
“Good. Let’s start softening them up then.”
✽✽✽
The second exchange was faster than the first. Hazk was still testing Glem, unwilling to commit his full strength unless necessary. Glem turned it without reaction, almost as if he were bored. With each successive attack that led nowhere at all in his favor, Hazk only grew more and more frustrated.
At least he telegraphs his attack before he moves, thought Glem as he blocked again. He
had not given ground yet, but his opponent was fast. Far too fast. Glem was going to have to find a way to end this fight or he was going to be in trouble.
He didn’t think his opponent had realized it yet but, in each exchange, he was no longer counter attacking; it was all he could do to manage to block. Even with all the power flowing through him, he could barely keep up with the blows raining down.
Hazk’s frustration was also growing with each passing second. He had begun to draw on his magic, reinforcing himself to move faster and faster, to evade and attack with greater dexterity and nimbleness. But despite that, even the old man blocking his attacks hit so hard that it made his arms sting.
He finally gave up graduations of his strength and filled himself with magic. Nothing else could counter this.
When he attacked again, he was aware the old man was a fraction behind and he blocked Hazk’s blade—but Hazk was able to kick him in the chest, sending him flying along the wall.
Glem hit the ground and slid on his back for an instant before he rolled over and landed on his feet, still sliding backwards. The blast of plasma shot out of his hand before he was even planted, nearly catching Hazk in the chest, but he was able to get his sword in front of it. Deflecting magical attacks with a sword was common practice in the arena, and now Hazk began to attack with balls of fire that streamed out from in front of him. He was dodging most of them, but a few made contact, burning away his cloak and revealing the chainmail underneath.
Glem was hard pressed by the attacks coming at him, and was struggling to get close enough to be able to use his sword.
Hazk seemed to be able to turn his fire at will. The kick had knocked Glem back, giving him space to attack for a moment but had also knocked the wind out of him. It was more powerful than anything he had felt before. The top of the wall was being eaten away by their battle, the stone scorched until it became brittle and cracked. Their swords took chips out of the crenellations along the side of the walk.
Reciprocity : Volume 1 of The Fledgegate Cycle Page 21