by Randy Nargi
“Archers up!” Hirbo Thrang warned. “Silbra Dal, hit west! Everyone else, sphere of protection!”
Besides Wegg, Faramir Boldfist, Niam, Hirbo Thrang, and Silbra Dal, he was joined by 30 doldar mercenaries and a dozen mages. With that many people, the biggest issue was coordinating the attack.
“Now!” Hirbo Thrang yelled.
He and Silbra Dal attacked the northeast and northwest towers with fireball spells which rippled through the air and exploded into the battlements, smashing brickwork, and immolating the archers who were trying to shoot down at them.
As chunks of stone rained down, the team rushed towards the curtain walls, sheltered by spheres of protection.
“I can’t believe it was as easy as that,” Faramir Boldfist said.
“We’re just getting started,” Bander said. “Don’t touch the crystals!” he yelled to the team.
They wound their way between the memalin shards and Hirbo Thrang directed one of the mages to use a stoneflow spell to tunnel through the fortress walls.
"Quiet!" Bander commanded as they entered the fortress. "Single file!"
This was the most dangerous part of the invasion. They would be highly exposed as they moved across the inner courtyard. Quickly, but deliberately, they walked through the magically-formed tunnel. Bander could see the raw stone, melted like candle wax, above his head. The stoneflow tunnel opened into a wide, open courtyard ringed by structures. To the east rose the main keep, a three storey structure topped by two towers, once of which was mostly destroyed and still burning. Arrows from archers across the courtyard—in the southwest tower—flew down at the invaders.
“Split off!” he said, and the group divided into their various teams, each with their own objective and destination. Mages protected mercenaries as they raced across the courtyard, seeking shelter.
But they encountered more opposition on the ground: Gredarl Kar’s guards poured out of the barracks on the west side of the courtyard, armed with swords and crossbows.
“Keep moving!” Bander yelled.
His team’s objective was there in the dust in the middle of the courtyard: the body of Bryn Eresthar.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“I FOUND IT!” THE TALL MAGE SAID. “It is here!”
“What is?” Dusk asked.
She, Etthar Calain, and two mages brought by Meomannan Quill were hidden behind a camouflaged shelter, several hundred yards from the fortress. It was their makeshift command center.
“The second Donden Cage: Mison’s Globe, whatever you want to call it,” the mage said. “It’s in the fortress. Somewhere near the top.”
“Are you certain?” Etthar Calain asked.
“Quite.”
“Can you pinpoint its location?”
“I’m afraid not. It was difficult enough to detect the artifact’s signature. There’s something going on in there, something obscuring…”
Dusk raised her spyglass and sighted along the top of the north wall. Fires were still burning in two towers, but other than that, she couldn’t detect any signs of battle. She lowered the spyglass and nodded at Etthar Calain. “I’ll alert them.”
“Do not delay,” he said. “Although it makes no sense that the weapon would be here.”
Dusk raised the scrying crystal. Its inner stone seemed to swirl and undulate beneath the polished surface, almost like the water beneath a frozen pond. “Captain? Can you hear me?”
There was no answer.
“Silbra Dal? Hirbo Thrang?”
All she could hear were faint sounds of combat: men yelling, the clang of weapons, then a muffled boom!
She tried again but received no response. Then she looked questioningly at Etthar Calain.
“Keep trying,” he said.
But then she heard Bander’s voice.
“Dusk?”
“Yes. We’ve located the other Donden Cage. It’s here. It’s in the fortress.”
“Say that again!”
“The other Donden Cage is here. It’s here!”
“Where?”
“Inside the fortress. The mages can’t tell exactly. Somewhere up high.”
“Are you sure?”
She looked over at the tall mage. He nodded emphatically.
“Yes, he’s certain.”
Then she heard Meomannan Quill’s voice cut in.
“Bander, you have to locate it!”
“I know.”
“It’s more important than anything else.”
“I’ll do what I can. I have to go. We’ve got company!”
BANDER AND HIS TEAM WERE CUT OFF. A squad of crossbowmen emerged from the inner gatehouse which was supposed to be their escape route. And they weren’t alone. A half dozen mages—battle mages from the looks of them—were taking position in back of them.
When Bander’s team tried to retreat back the way they came, another group of battle mages blocked the way.
They were trapped.
But then Meomannan Quill cast some sort of spell.
A swirling windstorm coalesced and descended into the courtyard, pulling vast amounts of dust and dirt into the air, and whipping it all into a furious cyclone thirty yards in diameter. Within seconds it was nearly impossible to see or even breathe.
Bander hefted Bryn Eresthar’s corpse over his shoulder and blindly ran towards the main keep. He could barely make out Faramir Boldfist off to his left, but couldn’t tell who else was with them.
The big warrior kicked open a tall window and Bander and the others piled in. Everyone was coughing and stumbling on the slick floor. Bander dropped Bryn's body and spat dirt and tried to rub the grime from his eyes. He heard the sound of servants screaming and scattering and pots clattering to the floor. Eventually, he could discern the forms of Wegg, Hirbo Thrang, and Faramir Boldfist. He wasn't sure where the others had gone, but he didn't have time to worry about that.
They were in a scullery, with a long, trough-like sink, and various barrels of water. Bander lurched over to the nearest barrel and splashed water on to his face to clear his eyes. Then he grabbed Wegg and pulled him towards Bryn Eresthar’s body.
“Revive him!” Bander commanded.
“In here? He’ll be so fragile that—”
“Do it. That’s the only way we’ll get him out of here.”
Wegg splashed his own face with water and then kneeled down over Bryn Eresthar body and began his work. He called for Hirbo Thrang to cast an envigor spell which would transfer some of the mage’s life force into Bryn Eresthar.
“Are we sure we want to do this now?” Hirbo Thrang asked. “I will be too weak to engage in combat.”
“There’s no other way.” Bander didn’t know much about how teleportation worked, but he did know that any creatures—including humans—must be alive in order to pass through a portal. Corpses just wouldn’t be affected by the portal’s magic. Their original plan was to carry Bryn Eresthar out and have Wegg revive him off the battlefield. That was now impossible. They had to resurrect him and teleport out. According to Jaden, Bryn Eresthar had been dead for nearly eleven hours. That meant their window to bring Bryn Eresthar back to life was rapidly closing. There was no way Bander was going to let his friend die for good.
Wegg placed his hands on both sides of Bryn Eresthar neck. His eyes were squeezed tight with effort.
“Now!”
Hirbo Thrang rested his palms on Bryn Eresthar’s heart and released the life force with the envigor spell. Bryn Eresthar’s body twitched.
“More!” Wegg said.
Hirbo Thrang complied, his body tense with effort.
Bryn Eresthar’s body jolted and he began to cough and gag. Wegg guided him upright so Lord Governor wouldn’t choke.
Hirbo Thrang staggered back, then collapsed.
“Where—” Bryn Eresthar was taking big gulps of air.
“Easy. Don’t speak,” Bander said. “You’re safe.”
“Did…did we win?”
“Ah, not quite yet,
Your Grace,” Faramir Boldfist said.
Hirbo Thrang looked almost as pale as the man he had helped to revive. He slumped on the floor next to the sink and closed his eyes.
“Can you stand?” Bander asked Bryn Eresthar. “We need to teleport you out of here.”
Bryn Eresthar staggered to his feet, with Faramir Boldfist helping to steady him.
“I have to rest,” Hirbo Thrang said. “I think I miscalculated…gave him too much—”
Bander looked over at Wegg. “Do something for him. We need to get out of here.”
“No,” Hirbo Thrang gasped. “Nothing he can do. I just need time.”
“We don’t have time,” Bander said. But he knew that the mage was right. They needed to hunker down. At least Hirbo Thrang and Bryn Eresthar did.
“Everyone stay here for a moment,” Bander said. He grabbed a good sized iron cooking pan and hefted it. A decent weapon in a pinch.
There were two doors out of this room. Bander checked them both. One led to an immense kitchen, maybe forty feet long and forty feet wide. It was currently uninhabited. The servants probably knew that the keep was under attack and decided to flee.
Through the other door, Bander found himself in a short, narrow passage which opened up into a buttery filled with casks of ale and barrels of beer. Gredarl Kar didn't skimp on provisions, it seemed. This room was also clear of servants. Bander checked the three doors. Two of them were exits—to the kitchen and the hall. The third opened to a storage room.
The kitchen was too big, but the buttery might do. He brought the rest of the team in. Faramir Boldfist’s eyes lit up when he saw the casks.
“Now you’re talking, Captain. A little liquid fortitude!”
“Are you serious?” Wegg asked.
“I believe that I might vomit,” Bryn Eresthar announced in a quiet voice. Then he did.
Wegg said, “Don’t worry. That’s to be expected. Especially since you were deceased for so long.”
“What time is it?”
“Morning, Your Grace.”
“I had the strangest dreams…”
“Later,” Bander said. “Right now I need you and Hirbo Thrang in that storage room. Stay quiet and rest.”
“What…about…you?” Hirbo Thrang could barely get the words out.
“I’m taking these two and we’re going to locate that other Donden Cage. The second you have the strength, teleport out of here. Then rest some more and return when you can. I’ll need you.”
Bander helped his two oldest friends into the storeroom. Hirbo Thrang fell against the wall, his eyes heavy. Bander had never seen him look so drained.
Before he pulled the door tight after them, he fished something from his backpack and handed it to Bryn Eresthar.
“Just in case,” Bander said.
“An arrow?”
“A relorcan arrow. It will take a battle mage right out.”
“But I don’t have a bow?”
Bander shrugged. “You could always stab him with it.”
With that, he closed the door. Unless the guards were doing a very thorough search of the area, this was as good a place as any for Bryn Eresthar and Hirbo Thrang to recuperate.
He signaled for Faramir Boldfist and Wegg to follow him. It was time to find that artifact.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
SILBRA DAL RELEASED HER SPHERE OF PROTECTION. It had been so covered in dirt that she hadn’t been able to see anything. But the cyclone Meomannan Quill had created was gone, so she took a chance.
She looked around, trying to orient herself. As far as she could determine, she was up on some second storey roof overlooking the courtyard. A low ornamental wall provided some cover but blocked her view down.
Checking herself, she was relieved that she hadn’t suffered any injuries. The sphere of protection had formed in time to prevent damage. She heard a man’s voice shouting something. She immediately recognized it as Meomannan Quill’s voice.
If she stood, she risked exposing her position, so Silbra Dal crawled to the wall and peeked over it.
In the courtyard, Meomannan Quill was levitating a half dozen feet off the ground, with his arms up. Surrounding him were at least fifty battle mages. From their expressions and stances, they were ready to attack.
Meomannan Quill yelled, “You all know who I am. I have presided over the Guild and all of you for more than a half century!”
The mages hesitated.
Meomannan Quill continued in a booming voice, “We are not here to harm you. We are not here to imprison you. I, myself, was wrongly imprisoned by the Viceroy—”
One of the mages yelled something that Silbra Dal couldn’t quite make out.
Meomannan Quill said, “No, sir, you are mistaken. I would never do that. I have always acted to protect my fellow mages. And now I say that this is the time for reconciliation. We need to come together and battle the true enemy: he who has deceived you.”
Another mage yelled out, “You have no authority here. Be gone!”
Meomannan Quill shook his head. “I will not. In the name of the Guild, I order you to stand down!”
“We will not!” the mages yelled back. “You have betrayed us—and for that you will pay!”
At that moment, Silbra Dal knew that Meomannan Quill had failed.
Without thinking, she cast a variant of the world’s weight spell which caused Meomannan Quill to fly into the air, free of gravity—shooting up into the sky faster than any bird could fly.
A trio of magic bolts rippled through the air—right into the space Meomannan Quill had occupied less than a second ago. Three more arced in from the other side.
From their expressions, the battle mages had been taken by surprise. Now it was time to strike.
A blinding red rage came over Silbra Dal, and she wasn’t even conscious of her next actions. She just opened herself to the rage and the hate and channeled that into her attacks.
The ground rumbled and shook beneath the feet of the battle mages, throwing them to the ground. Structures trembled and timbers cracked, but then Silbra Dal modified her attack, focusing it on the yard itself and not the building she was perched upon.
The battle mages were not so easily defeated. Some of them had tracked her position and began to cast attacks, but then she let loose another spell.
This time the ground exploded under the feet of her foes. Superheated steam and mud gushed up like geysers. Mages screamed in pain as their bodies were boiled from the intense heat.
A wave of exhilaration came over her. Seeing the mages die somehow added to her power. She attacked again and again. And when her energy was nearly spent, she cast the dark mage spell dreahna on the handful of mages who were still alive. Long, rope-like tendrils shot from her hands and struck the necks of her victims, adhering like leeches.
She laughed cruelly as their energy flowed into her, through the tendrils which now pulsed and bloated with life force. And then she lost all track of time and eventually blacked out.
When she awoke, Meomannan Quill was standing over her.
“What have you done, child?”
Below her, in the yard, sprawled the bodies of at least fifty battle mages—some mangled, some burned, and some just barely-recognizable husks of what a human should look like.
NIAM HAD SNUCK INTO THE MAIN KEEP THROUGH THE BARRACKS. It was not the ideal route because he had encountered several groups of guards. Fortunately, he had met up with a squad of doldar mercenaries who cleared the way for him.
While the doldar continued on their mission to rout the rest of the guards, Niam slipped into various rooms looking for his team. At one point the walls shook and he had been nearly thrown to the floor from what could only be a horrible magical battle in the courtyard, but he didn’t want to even guess at what was going on out there.
He was now in some sort of windowless drawing room. It was large and blocky with panels of age-darkened ceon. A heavy rug covered the floor. Three doors led out.
&n
bsp; Niam moved silently through the room and listened at each of the doors in turn, trying to be as cautious as possible.
But as he approached the third door, it burst open and a burly guard strode into the room. There was a second where both men were equally surprised, but Niam recovered enough to bring his short sword up in time to deflect an overhead slashing attack from the guard.
Niam’s arm trembled from the impact and he staggered back.
“Die, you dog!” the guard snarled as he stepped in for a backhand attack.
But Niam was able to duck under the swing and jab the man in the kidneys with his left-hand dagger. He dug the blade in to the hilt. Then he danced back and kept his distance until the guard died.
Niam shook his head. It was a lucky hit, but he knew that his luck wouldn’t hold much longer. He needed to find the rest of the team quickly.
It took several minutes for Niam to catch his breath. Then he peered out in the corridor. He was heading roughly north. That was good. If the rest of the team made it into the keep, they would have entered near here. He just had to find them.
Slowly he made his way down the corridor. He couldn’t let himself be surprised again.
But then he heard voices from around the corner ahead of him.
Oh no.
He tried the closet door, but it was locked.
But the next one opened and he dashed inside, closing the door all but a crack.
“Where is Manchon Byre?” a low voice demanded.
“I’m… I’m not sure, master. Most of the staff have fled.”
“Cowards! Be gone!”
“Yes, master! I will find Manchon Byre, master!”
Then the sound of heavy steps coming towards him. Niam got a quick look at the man. He was older and heavyset—with a cruel face. It must be Gredarl Kar.
Now what was he going to do?
Gredarl Kar was one of their targets. Niam should eliminate the man. But he had no idea if the crime lord was armed. And who was Manchon Byre?
Knowing that it would probably get him killed, Niam decided to stealthily follow Gredarl Kar anyway.
