Steck’s corpse struck the man’s lower legs, sweeping them out from underneath him. He fell face-first, striking the bridge of his nose on the edge of a step, his body immediately falling limp. Face covered in blood, the man slid down the stairs to the landing.
As the lead guard neared the landing where Garvin waited, he swung low with his sword. Anticipating the move, Garvin leapt over it, kicking with all his might. The toe of his boot struck the soldier in the chin, a solid blow, snapping the man’s head back. His body followed, the two men below him barely avoiding getting hit as the man tumbled past. Another cluster of guards reached the landing, the falling guard crashing into them.
The two remaining guards on the stairs advanced in unison, appearing cautious and unrushed. Garvin feared the two men knew how to fight together, an advantage he did not share with Rindle. Rather than face the disadvantage, he chose another option.
“To the top! Now!”
Rindle rushed up the stairs. He turned to follow, careful to watch the two below until the stairwell wall blocked them from view. Taking the bait, they rushed up. The first man turned the corner and was met by Garvin’s sword. Yanking it free, Garvin spun and rushed up the stairs. At the top, he stepped over Daggett’s corpse and surveyed his surroundings.
The top floor was small, three strides across and four strides deep, the interior illuminated by a pair of torches. The winch and lift linkage were secured to one wall, and a wooden bench sat along the opposite wall. At the far end of the space was an open balcony to the tower interior, the counterweight dangling from a heavy, black chain. Through the window across from the balcony, Garvin had a clear view of the closed gate and the square where Heldain and his men waited.
If I can see Heldain, he can see me, Garvin realized. The wizard sent that lightning through this window.
“Don’t touch anything metal,” Garvin warned. “Not until Heldain is occupied, or he will zap us just like he did Daggett and Steck.”
Rindle nodded, the thief still gripping his rapier, his eyes appearing a bit wild. Garvin turned toward the stairwell.
A single soldier stood on the landing below, the man staring up at them while shouting down the stairs, “They are trapped on the top level! Get up here!”
The rumble of footsteps followed, the landing filling with soldiers. Things did not look good. Another bolt of lightning struck, the flash of light blinding Garvin, the hair on his arms standing on end. The lightning ceased, leaving the air tasting like ozone.
No. Things do not look good at all.
Henton ran down the gravel road, he and his troops masked by darkness. Shouts came from the top of the garrison wall, joined by flight after flight of arrows. Some found their mark, felling a handful of soldiers. Most hit the ground or bounced harmlessly off raised shields. The garrison soon faded behind him as the city drew closer. He reached the location where his troops gathered, twenty squads stationed a few hundred feet from the city walls. It was a small safe zone between the city and the garrison, just outside of bowshot range, but it would not remain so for long.
In the torchlight ahead, he could clearly see the city gate. It remained closed. If Garvin doesn’t open the gate, we will be trapped between the city walls and the garrison. The enemy outnumbers us four to one. They will grind us to bits. It had been a known risk the entire time, a calculated risk that now seemed a poor choice.
A bolt of lightning arced toward the gate tower, the white light illuminating the courtyard beyond the portcullis. Dozens of soldiers waited inside the gate, surrounding a wizard. Things suddenly went from bad to worse.
Henton stopped between two squad commanders and stared toward the city, debating his options. If Garvin is in the tower, he is trapped until the gate opens. With that wizard’s lightning, touching metal is the kiss of death. Yet we need that gate opened.
“Captain!” a voice came from behind.
Henton turned toward a soldier who rushed through the ranks. “Yes?”
“The garrison, sir. The portcullis is rising. The army is about to attack us from behind.”
The enemy attacking from the rear left him only one option.
“Squad Five, Squad Six, archers!” Henton called. “To me!”
In moments, forty archers surrounded him, their forms mere silhouettes in the darkness.
“Squad Five, take position at the rear. If the soldiers from the garrison advance, you must slow them. Squad Six, you are with me. We will rush the gate. I need six bows ready should any archers appear at the top of the wall. The rest of you, we need to take out that wizard. We must do so swiftly, for I fear we will only get one chance.”
Henton turned toward the rest of his men. “Everyone else, follow with shields up. Once the gate opens, rush the city.”
He prayed it would open. It was their only chance.
Blinking to clear his eyes, Rindle held his sword ready. The reverse image of the lightning blast lingered, and through it, he saw the guards below advancing.
Again, Garvin rolled a corpse of a fallen squadmate down the stairs. It was less effective, slowing the enemy advance but all seven enemy soldiers remaining upright. As the first man neared the top of the stairs, Garvin lunged with an overhead strike. The soldier lifted his shield, and Garvin kicked, the heel of his boot striking the soldier’s chest plate, sending him backward. He collided into the men trailing him, and they went tumbling down the stairs in a cacophony of cries and clanking armor.
A sudden urge came over Rindle, an image in his mind of what he must do. Narrow quarters, ideal for a thrusting weapon. I have Needle while they are saddled with short swords.
He darted past Garvin, down three stairs, and plunged his rapier into the back of the nearest soldier. Continuing on, his blade flicked across the faces of the next two men as they tried to regain their footing, drawing blood and screams. Those men fell away to reveal another guard, sprawled out with his head on the landing, body on the stairs. The rapier found an unprotected spot, piercing the guard’s groin and eliciting a screech of pain.
By then, the last three men were climbing to their feet. Rindle made a desperate thrust toward the first man but met a shield. He fell backward on the stairs as his opponent’s sword whistled past and smashed into the wall. Sitting up with a thrust, the rapier skewered the soldier’s armpit. The guard stumbled backward into another man before falling to the floor.
The remaining upright enemy soldier attacked, his blade crashing down toward Rindle’s head. In a flash, he knew he could neither block nor avoid the blow, not while sitting on the stairs.
This is how it ends.
Before the blow could land, the pommel of a thrown sword struck the man’s face. He staggered backward, his nose a sudden fountain of blood. Garvin slammed into the man, driving him into a soldier who had just regained his footing. A dagger appeared in Garvin’s grip, slashing one man across the throat before burying deep in the other’s eye.
The stairwell grew quiet, save for Rindle panting and wounded men moaning in pain.
“We have no more time,” Garvin said, climbing the stairs. “If we don’t open the gate now, we will die.”
Rindle reached the top of the stairs and peered out the window. The wizard was still there, watching, waiting to strike. “What of Heldain?”
Garvin shook his head. “Someone else must deal with the wizard.”
Turning to the winch, Rindle gazed at it in trepidation, wondering if lightning would strike yet again.
Henton and his archers crept forward in the darkness. It was odd to not see the enemy upon the walls, not a single arrow fired in their direction. Where are their archers? he wondered. Through the grid of the portcullis bars, he counted in excess of four dozen Ghealdan soldiers, in addition to the purple-robed wizard.
Just beyond the torchlight, he stopped. “When I count to three, we rush the gate and loose upon the enemy. Take the wizard out. After two rounds, we split up, run to the wall to either side of the gate, and prepare another voll
ey.
Turning toward the gate, he counted aloud, “One, two, three!”
The archers rushed forward, bows nocked and ready. As Henton feared, archers appeared at the top of the walls, popping up as if by magic. Arrows fell on Henton’s troops, killing and wounding eight of his twenty archers in the first volley, Henton’s archers killing three enemy archers in return. The core of his squad stopped before the gate and unleashed a wave of death upon the enemy. Arrows sailed toward the wizard, who responded with a blast of magical fire, burning the missiles to a crisp before they could reach him. Two Ghealdan soldiers fell, but the wizard remained standing.
Henton prayed the next volley would prevail. His hope faded as the soldiers surrounding the wizard shifted with shields raised to create a wall, obscuring him from view.
Then, gloriously, a clanking noise joined the ruckus as the gate began to rise.
Rindle stared at the floor, gathering resolve to help with the winch. Noticing an odd shadow in the linkage, he squatted and reached in, feeling a stone wedged between the wall and the release. He gripped it, wiggled, and pulled the stone free. Garvin, who had been grunting in an effort to trigger the release lever, suddenly lurched forward and slammed into the wall. The counterweight dropped a foot before slowing.
Out in the courtyard, the wizard raised his arms for another attack. Rindle dove for Garvin, tackling the soldier to the floor just before a bolt of lightning struck. When the crackling electricity stopped, Rindle scrambled up and peered through the window.
The gate had raised a foot, Farrowen soldiers rolling beneath it and into the square. The formation surrounding the wizard broke, the city guards attacking.
Heldain is distracted.
With the rock still in hand, Rindle pulled the winch lever open and stuck the rock into the linkage to hold it open. The portcullis didn’t rise.
“We will have to crank the winch.” Rindle dreaded the prolonged contact with the metal should Heldain attack again.
“Or we can add more weight.” Garvin climbed onto the railing. “You lock the gate open when it rises.”
The man leapt to the counterweight, gripping the chain and placing his feet on the weight, the heavy block swinging from his momentum. Sure enough, the weight began to drop downward, causing the gate to rise. Soldiers stormed into the city, engaging the Farrowen troops. Heldain turned and ran, making it a few steps before arrows struck his back. The wizard fell to the street, tried to climb to his hands and knees, then collapsed.
29
Unravelling Mysteries
Sister Harrietta read aloud, her voice drowning out that of Sister Ivarian from the other table. Rawk did his best to listen, but over the prior days of doing so, he had heard little that meant anything to him. The first days were long and boring with the others answering questions and causing the seers to discard one book of prophecy after another. Then they had visited the Oracle a second time.
The image of Urvadan lingered in the back of his mind, two days after the incident. How could he ever forget the sight of the mad, evil god? Nothing he had experienced in his life approached the terror that had consumed him upon facing the Dark Lord, even if it had only been a vision. But that vision had attacked Xionne, tried to kill her. What else might happen now that they had drawn Urvadan’s attention? The thought continually rose up, panic roiling in Rawk’s stomach as he fought to push it back down, bury it. Squeezing his eyes closed, he wished his anxiety away and focused on the woman’s voice.
“…and from the depths, two will arise, gifted with the talent to bend stone to their will, cursed with the songs only they can hear. Deemed vile, twisted, and depraved, these two will be cast from their world, banished for life.
“One will find a purpose, his abilities praised, his curse desired. In this purpose, he will feed the hunger of one who craves the world but is doomed to choke on that which he desires.
“The other will come later, lost until he finds She Who is Blinded by Birth, joined by the Charlatan of Ages. Together…”
The woman’s words faded as the previous paragraphs replayed in Rawk’s mind. Finally, he blurted, “Can you read that again?”
Harrietta looked up at him, appearing ready to snap at the interruption. Her angry look slipped away. “Which part?”
The others looked at him. Jace was leaning back in his chair, his feet on the table, crossed at the ankles. Blythe sat beside him, her expression calm, patient. Like Jace, Adyn appeared relaxed, slouched in her chair, arms crossed, appearing as if she were about to doze off. When Rawk’s eyes met Salvon’s, the old man gave him a nod of encouragement. He was thankful the storyteller had joined them in their research. Other than Rhoa and Algoron, who were both in the other group, Salvon was the person Rawk trusted most.
Rawk said, “Start with the two who can bend stone, hear songs.”
The woman scanned the page and reread the section, stopping after the mention of the charlatan of the ages. “We have established that is Jace. The prior part refers to Makers.” Her eyes narrowed. “You believe it refers to yourself?”
Rawk nodded. The gemsongs. The prophecy knows about my weakness, my…curse. “This prophecy mentions something none other has thus far, something secret.”
A long moment of silence followed, interrupted by Jace. “What songs can you hear, Rawk? What is this secret…this curse?”
Panic arose again. Not because of the Dark Lord, but because of the shadow inside of Rawk, his greatest shame. He had never said it aloud, not for real. Struggling to do so, the words were barely audible when he finally spoke. “Gems call to me.”
Jace snorted. “Gems don’t talk.”
“It is in song.”
“They don’t sing, either.”
Rawk looked up toward the ceiling, toward that which had pulled at him continuously since his arrival. “Even now, I am drawn toward the diamond in the Oracle – its beauty, its majesty, its power. The song has persisted since we first stepped foot inside of the mountain. Distance helps, but when I am near it, I can think of nothing else.”
Salvon put a hand on Rawk’s shoulder. “Perhaps this curse can be turned toward something positive.”
Turning his eyes toward the floor, Rawk shook his head. “Among my people, no crime is worse than coveting precious stones. For my impurity, I was cast out, just as the prophecy foretold, just as my uncle before me. The two of us… The words in the prophecy are exact.”
Quiet claimed the table. Sister Ivarian’s voice came from across the room, the woman reading a passage, the words too distant to follow.
“Let us continue,” Harrietta said. “If this much is true, we shall see what other mysteries we might uncover.”
Reading on, the woman’s voice faded as the song of the gem in the Oracle above rose, calling to Rawk, demanding he bend to its will.
Rhoa clenched her fist, squeezing until her nails cut into her palms. The pain would help her remain awake, despite the boredom of listening to Ivarian’s halting translation, the sentences coming in spurts, most filled with meaningless gibberish.
“…the harbinger another omen, a gilded key to a well of secrets.”
The woman paused to read ahead, and Rhoa adjusted herself, attempting to find a comfortable position. Her bottom continued to fall asleep from the wooden chair, sending tingles down her legs. She glanced toward Narine, the blonde chewing on her lip while staring at the black-covered books on the table. Brogan sat beside her, slouching in his chair, appearing on the edge of sleep, his face rough and unshaven, whiskers longer than the hair on his head. Across from Brogan, Algoron leaned forward with his arms on the table, his chin resting on them, his braided, red beard lying between two short stacks of books – those they had discarded and the ones they had yet to examine.
“A thespian like no other, joined by a trio of deceivers, shall weave a spell before the Hound and his spawn. Although the trickster will gain possession of the Eye, the blow to end the hound comes from another, the hound unable to a
ffect the blindness of the aerialist. Upon the tiles, sparkling blood shall spread, a crystalized marker for all to witness.”
“Stop,” Rhoa said, Ivarian looking up at her with a scowl. “That sounds like what happened with Taladain. He is the hound. A dog is his symbol. I… I am the aerialist. It’s another name for an acrobat. When I killed him, his blood sparkled and tile turned to crystal.”
Ivarian nodded. “Very good. There is also mention of the Eye. Did someone else possess it at the time, as described here?”
Rhoa glanced toward the other table, a dozen strides away. “The day before we killed Taladain, Jace stole it from me, swapping it for a fake…”
Jace tried to maintain focus, listening to the passages recited by Sister Harrietta. The dwarf’s claim to hear jewels singing to him had Jace wondering if it could be true.
An ability such as that could be worth a fortune, he thought. I wonder if he can control it or do it on command.
“…the party will fork to follow a split path, but destiny cannot be ignored, drawing them together, metal to a lodestone. When said paths cross once more, a confrontation will ensue, the might of the ambitious clashing against the will of the righteous. From this conflict, the weasel shall kill the snake and lay claim to his throne, seeking power beyond comprehension.
“When the thief is all but darkened by the shrouds of death, the princess shall acquire an object of power, raising herself to an exalted status, her magic surpassing that of any female, save for she who will claim the diamond throne, the head of fire destined to sweep the south.”
The thief is all but darkened by the shrouds of death…
The words replayed in Jace’s mind, recalling the sword slicing through his torso, darkness claiming him.
I would be dead if not for Narine and the added power of the bracelet.
Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set Page 83