War God's Will

by Matthew P Gilbert

  As Ariano struggled to her feet, Ahmed glanced at Aiul, who was just now climbing back out over the lip of the pool.

  Ahmed stepped forward to help him, when a man-shaped object flew across his vision, crashed into the wicked sorceress from behind, and knocked her flat on her backside again. Ahmed cringed a bit to see said man-shaped object was in fact a man, a dead one with his head cracked wide open. Ariano struggled out from beneath the bloody corpse, slowly coming to the same realization as she wiped gray matter from her face with a shriek of horror and revulsion.

  “That’s on you!” Sadrik screamed as he stepped toward her, pointing a finger in accusation, a trail of fiery footprints in his wake. “You treacherous whore! That’s at your feet!” He followed this up with a sweeping gesture of his arms, and Ariano screamed anew as flames engulfed her.

  Ariano recovered quickly. She hurled the dead body aside and scrambled to her feet. “Flame can’t harm me, whelp!” The flames licking at her sputtered and died as she stood, cackling, in the smoke.

  At Sadrik’s gesture, a huge, cracked section of stone worked itself loose from the floor and went hurtling at Ariano. She managed to deflect the brunt of it at the last moment, but it sent her staggering. Sadrik smirked. “The next thing you’ll claim is that you’re immune to rocks.”

  It was on, then, the two of them hurling whatever makeshift piece of the environment they could at one another, stones, pottery, sconces, too fast for Ahmed to follow.

  Above his head, Lothrian gave a sharp cry as the towering beast smashed him repeatedly against the ceiling, screaming, “Suffer! Rend!” The roar was followed by a brilliant flash and an explosion of energy and sound. Blind and half deaf, Ahmed still heard the grinding of stone on stone well enough to know it for what it was: the roof was collapsing!

  Ahmed stood, his vision blank, as the stones rained around him. His fate was in Ilaweh’s hands, now.

  Caelwen watched the creatures come, feeling his guts turn to jelly. The enemy were smaller versions of the beast Aiul had somehow revived, though the word ‘small’ was applicable only in comparison. Each stood a full ten feet tall, a twisted, man-shaped nightmare of eyes, teeth, and tentacles.

  He spared a brief glance toward the Southlanders, and saw even they were clearly shaken, their jaws clenched and eyes wide, blades and shields quivering with the tension in their arms. And who wouldn’t be? The stranger, I suppose. He looks as if this is routine. That one stood unflinching, watching the incoming horde, eyes down, a wicked, curved blade in each hand, as if he saw nothing in the world.

  The nightmare creatures’ voices were like the rumbling of thunder, their approach a coming storm. They were impossibly huge and misshapen, monsters. We have no chance.

  Davron’s voice sprang to mind, mocking, “Not if you surrender before you’ve struck a blow. Is that what you intend, coward?”

  Caelwen clenched his jaw and made sure his helmet was secure. He turned to the men to his left and right and exchanged curt nods, assurances of solidarity, no longer finding their dark faces and smoldering eyes shocking or even unusual. These were his brothers in arms. They would all live or die according to the degree they could work together. What a pity it’s taken us so long to learn that lesson.

  As the creatures hit their shield wall, Caelwen heard an explosion behind them, and then the sound of rocks falling. Someone cried, “Ahmed!”

  Caelwen stabbed at the mass of writhing teeth and tentacles before him, struggling not to vomit at the reek of the things. Someone else would have to care about the explosion. He had his hands full right here.

  At first, Ahmed thought the blow was a falling stone, and that his time had indeed come. A moment later, he registered that it had been far too soft, and it had come from the side, not overhead. Someone had tackled him.

  As his vision began to clear, the figure before him slowly resolved itself into the last person he expected. “Logrus? That was your name, yes?”

  The Elgarite offered him a crooked smile. “Should I not have?”

  Ahmed turned at the sound of Sandilianus’s groan, to see his second rising to his feet. Sandilianus clutched at his ribs with one arm as he pointed at Logrus with the other. “He’s fast.”

  Logrus shrugged. “Your man tried, too, but a rock caught him. We are all lucky.”

  Ahmed suddenly remembered where he was and what was happening. He looked about quickly, at last spying Lothrian on the floor in a heap, slowly trying to rise as the huge creature bore down on him, gnashing its teeth and cackling. It, too, seemed a bit stunned, a little slower.

  Aiul was also down and rising to his feet, just outside of the black pool. He quickly retrieved the great black mace he had been using earlier and swung it in a searing arc at Lothrian’s head. It rebounded with a sound like a hammer on stone, and Lothrian staggered and fell back to his knees, swooning.

  The Torian beast hissed in fury, and shouted at Aiul, “The Dead God’s Plaything! Where is my book? I will rend you!”

  Aiul quailed and lunged for the black pool, diving into the font with barely a second to spare. The fiend chased him up to the edge and skidded to a stop, howling in rage as Aiul retreated to the far side. Why will he not enter?

  Before Ahmed had time to give this overmuch thought, one of the many huge pieces of fallen ceiling streaked through the air and smashed into the creature’s knee. The beast gave an almost piteous wail of agony and collapsed to the floor, its shrill, high pitched keening like knives stabbing into Ahmed’s ears.

  Lothrian turned to Aiul, his face a mask of hatred and fury. “I will deal with you shortly, boy!”

  Maranath grimaced in agony as he coughed. Rithard wiped blood from the old man’s lips, the only real help he could offer. His bottle of morphine was smashed, and even had it been otherwise, it wasn’t the right solution. Maranath needed clarity of mind, and pain could actually serve as a source of fuel for Meites, as near as Rithard could tell. “Easy, old fellow. You’re badly injured, even for one of your kind.”

  Maranath stammered briefly, and Rithard tried to quiet him with a finger over his lips, but injured or not, the man was a Meite. He glared at Rithard a moment, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Can’t mend it. Not yet. Need time.”

  Rithard offered him a sad smile. “We are short of that.”

  Maranath gasped a moment before speaking. “Ariano is with him, yes?”

  Rithard nodded gravely. “I’m sorry.”

  “Listen!” Maranath hissed, his eyes snapping back open, wide and insistent. “There may be a chance to turn her back.” His eyes fluttered, then closed as he muttered unintelligible words. All Rithard could make out was “Aiul”.

  Rithard checked the old sorcerer’s pulse. Maranath lived, but whatever secret he held about Aiul was still a mystery.

  I pray you can mend yourself soon, old man. We’re running out of time.

  Ahmed’s head was swimming with all of the input from different directions. He forced himself to breathe slowly and focus on each, to avoid being overwhelmed. His moment was coming soon, he was certain of it, and he could not afford to miss it.

  Ariano was pressing Sadrik hard now. The younger sorcerer fought valiantly, but he was flagging, slowly giving ground, acquiring wounds from the odd stone or shard he couldn’t stop. Ariano pressed in on him, forcing him farther back.

  Across the way, Ahmed saw Rithard bending over Maranath. The old sorcerer’s lips moved. He is still alive! Ahmed could barely contain his elation. He liked the old man, and seeing he still lived gave Ahmed some desperately needed hope. Maranath was powerful indeed, and if he could be brought into the fight, it might change things.

  Sandilianus punched Ahmed in the arm. “Why do we wait? We must fight!”

  Ahmed turned back to Logrus and Sandilianus, keeping one eye on the several fronts. “Fight who?”

  Logrus pointed at Lothrian. “Him.”

  Lothrian had turned from Aiul back to the hideous beast. The monster itself was t
hrashing about on the floor, screeching and gnashing its teeth, swiping at the sorcerer, but he was careful to stay out of its reach.

  Lothrian’s rage was so great it seemed his eyes would pop out of his head. He raised both hands above his head in a grand gesture, sending a huge piece of debris zipping into the air, then dropped his hands, crashing it into the head of the wounded creature, over and over. After three times, the whining and thrashing ended, but Lothrian did not stop until there was nothing left of the creature’s skull but shattered bone and pink pulp splattered across the floor.

  Chest heaving, he spun to Aiul, who was still in the black pool, and shouted, “Now for you, boy!”

  He has a hole in his shirt. Ahmed wondered why that would matter to him now of all times, and yet it did. Ahmed looked more closely, and saw, peeking through the fabric, one of the half-heads of the Eye.

  Ilaweh is great, there is my moment!

  There was no time to explain his sudden hunch. He charged forward, knowing it would likely end badly for him. Logrus and Sandilianus both grabbed at his arms in vain as he lunged across the floor and dove, grasping at the piece as he passed and tearing Lothrian’s pocket off in the process.

  Ahmed landed on his shoulder with a bone jarring crunch, prize in hand, as the other half of the head, eye still in its socket, clattered across the floor. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled forward on all fours and tossed the half he had seized into the black pool.

  He felt the Lothrian’s boot slam into his belly, and again, he fell into darkness.

  Caelwen ground his teeth against the intense pressure, and did his best to keep a grip on his shield. The occasional clawed, putrid hand slipped past their defenses, only to be stabbed repeatedly, but for the most part the entire battle had devolved into a shoving match.

  The enemy, due to their sheer size, had Caelwen and his allies at a disadvantage, and their entire entourage of less than a dozen was being steadily driven backward. They had formed two lines, but now they were being collapsed into one as their backs were pressed against the heap of debris from the ceiling.

  Could they really crush us against the rocks? Caelwen was uncertain, but it seemed possible, and despite their half-hearted attempts to penetrate the shield wall, it seemed the creatures’ primary goal. Certainly, once they were against the stones, the beasts could flank them and take them apart from the ends with surgical accuracy.

  He strained as the other side pushed again, and felt his feet slide several inches on the stone, despite his best efforts.

  We’ll break and take our chances, if it comes to it. He looked to his right, into the grim face and dark eyes of the Southlander who called himself Rashid. He knows. “Say when,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  Suddenly, from behind them, loud even through tons of stone, came a terrific crash and a screeching so grating that it made him long for the pleasant sound of fingernails on slate. Mei! What is that?

  So unnerving was the sound that it took him a moment to realize that the creatures on the other side of the shield wall had stopped pushing. Before he could think to try to capitalize on it, the screeching was cut off by a thunderous crash that rang the walls and floor like a bell. It was followed by another, and another, like the blows of a giant hammer. Caelwen struggled to stay on his feet. If they press us now, it’s over.

  But no press came, and for a few moments, Caelwen had no real opportunity to wonder why. It was only when the hammering blows ceased and the utter stillness around him settled in that he found a moment to give thought to his surroundings.

  Dust filtered from somewhere high overhead, motes twinkling and swirling in the torchlight. Behind, he could hear muffled screams.

  But ahead, he heard nothing but silence.

  Cautiously, and in conjunction with Rashid, he opened a hole in their wall and almost gasped in surprise.

  The creatures were gone.

  He and Rashid looked back and forth at each other and the rest of the men as they all lowered their shields in stunned silence.

  Eleran broke the silence. “Lot of rocks to haul, guys.”

  Caelwen looked his way to see Eleran, one hand on his hip, the other on his chin, looking at the heap of rubble, a contemplative expression on his face.

  Rashid barked a laugh. “White Wolf must have got hit in the head! He’s always last in line for a working party!”

  Eleran shook his head as another wail filtered through the rock, his expression grim. “This ain’t work. This is still war.”

  Rithard watched in horror as the sorcerer kicked Ahmed in the gut, sending him careening against the wall with bone-crunching impact. Ahmed slid down, nerveless. He might have survived. It was difficult to tell, but there was a chance.

  As if he had done nothing more than swat a fly, Lothrian turned back to the pool and plunged his right arm beneath the surface, presumably to retrieve the piece Ahmed had tossed there. His reaction was immediate, an agonized, screeching wail that continued as he jerked back from the pool, staring in horror and disbelief at the charred, smoking ruins. Most of his arm below his shoulder was simply gone. Only a small, blackened stump remained.

  I hope it’s excruciating, you sick bastard! Rithard shouted a cry of joy and pumped his fist in the air, but his cheer was short lived. Sadrik hit the ground next to him with a resounding thud. Rithard jumped out of instinct, but quickly recovered his clinical manner and set about checking his wounds. Broken ribs, burns, and overall crushing trauma. If he weren’t a Meite, I’d be worried.

  As it was, he would save his worry for himself. Ariano, grinning ear to ear, madness in her eyes, was headed their way, looking like nothing so much as a cat about to pounce. “You should never have challenged me, whelp!”

  Sadrik spat blood at her and scrambled to his feet. “Fuck you, you rotten old cunt! Kill me if you can.”

  Rithard stepped back, trying to shield Maranath from their wrath. “Why are you doing this?” he shouted at the old sorceress. “Do you really think Lothrian will share ultimate power with you? It’s hardly ultimate power if someone else has it too!”

  Ariano slammed a palm at the air before her, and Sadrik doubled over, staggered. She turned her mad, green stare on Rithard. “What would you know about power, weakling?” She shook her head in mock sadness. “All that mind, and you can’t even defend yourself. All you can do is beg. Pathetic.” She raised a fist, and the air around her distorted and warped as if her whole body were a powerful furnace.

  Rithard shook his head, feeling hope running out of him like water from a hole in a bucket. Not much else to do. This is the end, it seems.

  Maranath coughed again and spat more blood. Rithard wiped it away, knowing it was futile. “Look what you’ve done to him! Was it worth it?”

  Ariano’s expression was at least a small victory. She broke eye contact, lowered her hand, and turned to the side. When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper “True power is worth anything. Maranath understands that as well as I do.”

  Maranath coughed and struggled to rise, shaking his head. “No,” he rasped. “Not family.”

  Rithard was about to ask Maranath what great secret he had been trying to communicate earlier, when his mind seemed to surge with a sudden burst of energy. Something to turn her back. Something about Aiul. In his mind, he flashed back to his office, saw himself comparing the two birth certificates, side by side. The knowledge crystalized in his head with the force of a small bomb.

  “Why did you leave Lothrian here?” he shouted up at Ariano. “Because he loved power more than he loved you? Or your son?”

  Ariano turned to look at Rithard, her eyes clouded and distant, but whatever she might have been about to say was lost as Lothrian shouted, “Give me the piece, boy!”

  “Why not try again with the other arm?” Aiul shouted back.

  Rithard’s confusion must have shown on his face. Maranath chuckled and squeezed his arm. “He can’t use magic on it,” the old man wheezed between pained giggles. “Slide
s right off. It’s not of this world, you know. We might have him!”

  Lothrian, furious now, roared, “Last chance, boy! Give me the damned piece!”

  Aiul’s jaw clenched. “Elgar take you! I—”

  His words were cut off as Lothrian extended his one good arm, fury twisting his face into something demonic. Aiul flew from the pool as if he had been snatched up, a look of shock on his face as his weapon fell from his hand and sunk beneath the pool’s surface. Lothrian caught him by the throat and held him aloft. “You always did need discipline!” He squeezed, and Aiul began to gasp and struggle.

  Ariano stiffened and cried out, “Lothrian! What are you doing?”

  Lothrian looked at her, unable to contain his rage. “Did you think I had forgotten?” Aiul’s struggles became frantic as Lothrian increased the pressure. “Did you ever once consider what it was like to die down there, alone, with those things tearing at me in the dark?” He bared his teeth at her like a savage animal, for a moment, then shrieked, “Did you ever even think of me at all?”

  “Stop it!” Ariano screamed. “You can’t even do what you intended without the piece in the pool!”

  Lothrian looked at Aiul, whose face had grown dark now. “Don’t worry, boy! You’re sick, and this is your cure!” He voiced a cruel, mocking laugh as Aiul clawed vainly at his grip. “Shh! Rest now. When this is done, I’ll have the power to remake you, good as new!”

  Aiul’s face was purple now, his struggles weaker, as Lothrian turned back to Ariano and cried, “I just need to crush your mother’s soul first!”

  Lothrian tightened his grip on Aiul’s throat still further, the tendons in his neck standing out as he strained.

  Aiul’s hands tore desperately at Lothrian’s grip for a moment, then fell suddenly lifeless to his sides as his neck gave way with a sharp report.