Magician's Heir

by D Bruce Cotton

  It did not take long. A scout, worn and breathless, passed through the gate and headed straight for Torlaine. The mages hurried over to hear the news.

  “What word?” asked Torlaine.

  Pausing a moment, the scout regained his breath. “The... the Unsouled number over 5,000. The pass is overrun with them. It is harder to estimate the Dread. They hold to the rear lines, but number at least a score.”

  Torlaine’s face clenched as she processed the hard news. When her eyes opened, she sighed. “It appears we need not travel so far, my husband. Death comes for us here.”

  Craigen’s face darkened. “Death has no claim on us, Torlaine. Not until the Dark Mage pays in blood for his offenses.”

  “There is more, Captain,” said the scout. “The Dark Mage himself leads them.” Gasps and muttered curses drowned out the scout’s next words, forcing him to repeat himself. “He comes alone, under a flag of truce!”

  CRAIGEN, TORLAINE AND the mages entered the clearing, wary of traps. A lone figure stood on the other side, waiting. As one, both sides approached, walking toward the center. The figure resolved into a bent old man in a heavy robe, face shadowed by a black hood. The yellowed fingers of one wrinkled hand clenched a tall staff of rusty iron.

  Adam stumbled, reaching out to Aristomus for support. “It’s him,” he gasped. “The man from my vision.” Aristomus nodded in understanding.

  The Dark Mage threw back his cowl. Sallow skin hung in loose, mottled folds from his hairless scalp. Eyes burned like molten fire above a broad, hooked nose. Lips writhed and twisted, parting to reveal a pale gray tongue rasping over sharp, blackened teeth as he smiled. “So good of you to attend me,” he chided. “I do so enjoy meeting those destined to fulfill my particular... cravings. And do I note a familiar face among you? Is it not you, Craigen? You left in such haste before. I feared you might have found my hospitality... lacking.”

  Craigen’s rage poured from his body in tangible waves. If hate were physical, even the Dark Mage might have reason to fear. A low, rumbling growl came from deep in the giant’s throat; heavy, oaken muscles coiled like steel springs. Torlaine, too, appeared ready to attack, her teeth bared in a snarl.

  Aristomus stepped forward, trying to defuse the situation. They had to keep the Dark Mage talking in hopes he might reveal some exploitable weakness. “Enough. You requested this parley. Say what you came to say.”

  The Dark Mage chuckled, a sound like dead leaves blowing over a fresh dug grave. “Ah, the great Aristomus, mage of no small repute. Still,” he said, voice hardening, “I do not deal with those as far beneath me as the worms crawling through the dirt below. No.” He leveled a cracked, yellow nail at Adam. “He is the one I have come for.”

  Adam shrank back. “What? Me?”

  The Dark Mage’s smile widened as his eyes bored into Adam’s own. “Aye. I come to give you an ultimatum, boy. Lay down your staff and surrender yourself; your life in exchange for the lives of everyone in this valley. Refuse and all will die. And you will still be mine. Decide!”

  Craigen charged, Torlaine just a heartbeat behind. The Dark Mage rapped his staff against the ground and both giants crashed into an invisible wall. They collapsed to the ground, stunned. Alecia knelt to help them, unbridled anger plain on her face.

  The Dark Mage ignored the giants, continuing as though nothing had happened. “Oh, I understand. It is such a difficult decision to make.” He stroked his chin with a gnarled hand. “Very well. You have until nightfall. More I will not allow. Many hungry mouths to feed, you know,” he smirked. With that final word, he turned and shuffled away, unafraid of the enemies at his back.

  “Aristomus...” Adam started.

  “No, Adam. Do not. It is plain the Dark Mage wants you. Perhaps we can uncover the reason in time to use it against him. Come. We have not much time to prepare.”

  AFTER A SWIFT RECOVERY, Torlaine ran ahead. By the time the rest reached the edge of the forest, a dozen giants sped their way, armed with massive wood axes. Soon, the sound of chopping filled the air, followed by the crash of falling trees. The giants worked, tireless, to prepare a barricade to slow the advancing horde.

  With the way now clear, the young ones fled east, to shelter in the mountains. Tears flowed as parents bid farewell to their children, likely for the last time. Adam took Alecia aside where they could spend a few moments together.

  “I don’t know if we’ll make it through this, Alecia,” he said. “So there’s something I need to tell you before it’s too late.” Adam took a deep breath. Then he plunged on. “When I came to this world, I wanted nothing more than to find a way back home. My world is normal... safe. But now I realize there’s more to life than what I had.

  “You changed it all, gave me a reason to live—and a reason to stay.” Adam reached out, taking both her hands. “This is my home now. I love you, Alecia. And if we somehow make it out of this alive, I want you to marry me.”

  Tears spilled from Alecia’s eyes as she embraced him, making no reply necessary.

  The harsh clang of an alarm bell interrupted their kiss. After one last hug, both ran to take their positions.

  CRAIGEN NODDED TO HIS wife as the alarm sounded. They’d left nothing unsaid from the night before. Only vengeance remained now. The giant held no more illusions about killing the Dark Mage. The power demonstrated in the forest clearing proved his folly. But the Dark Mage had no shortage of followers. If necessary, he would content himself with slaying as many as possible. Still, he would keep his eyes open. Should a distraction present him with an opportunity, he would kill the Dark Mage with his bare hands.

  With a last look, Torlaine turned and left for the front lines, shouting orders as she went. Craigen jogged to the western edge of Herrenbourn. He nodded in approval at the cleared ground between the forest and wall. It should provide sufficient room to swing the great double-headed axe he’d chosen from the armory. A long leather coat sewn with iron disks protected his body. Ragged threads marked where he’d torn away the sleeves to avoid encumbering his arms. Craigen crouched down on his heels, conserving his strength as he waited for the enemy to come.

  ARISTOMUS CLIMBED A ladder to the roof of the Hall of Elders. His joints and muscles creaked in complaint. Healing had its limits and the punishment he’d taken over the last several weeks accumulated faster than his old body could recover. Not likely to matter soon, he thought, as a soldier pulled the ladder up behind them. They might need it to escape if the enemy reached this far.

  The rough cedar shingles provided good footing. And the bell tower at the roof’s peak afforded ample cover. He took a seat, making himself as comfortable as possible. Atop the building across the street, Adam paced in a tight little circle, his face pale. The boy is so unsure of himself, he mused. And yet when pressed, he shows abilities far beyond my understanding. Though he does not believe it, he is likely our only hope.

  To the east, three buildings back, he saw Alecia surrounded by her guards. That he could find no way to spirit her out of Herrenbourn remained his sole regret. Yet even if he found a way, he knew she’d refuse. So stubborn, he thought. And so much like her mother. In that moment, he missed his wife more than he believed possible. She would be so proud of you, Alecia. As am I.

  TORLAINE SPRINTED THROUGH the edge of the forest, calling out encouragement to her troops. The giants responded, grim-faced but determined. Each carried large bundles of torches to provide light for the upcoming battle.

  Inside her, the battle already raged. Years of intense training taught she must remain calm and composed on the battlefield. The soldier who gave in to emotion seldom persevered in war. Yet white-hot fury burned in her breast, demanding the Dark Mage pay in blood for the life he’d ripped from her.

  Ahead, the thick boles of felled trees lay in a tangled mass, blocking her view of the forest beyond. Her soldiers had done yeoman’s work in the short time allowed. Archers positioned themselves, thick quivers of arrows strapped to both legs, while others d
rove lit torches into the ground to provide light. Torlaine climbed to the top of the deadfall, peering into the darkness for any sign of the enemy.

  The wildlife had departed long ago, leaving the forest eerily silent. But Torlaine had no trouble hearing the enemy’s approach. By their very nature, the Unsouled had no use for stealth. A low moaning and hissing grew steadily louder, announcing their approach. The firelight did not reach far, so the sound became deafening by the time she saw movement in the undergrowth.

  “Archers to the fore!” she bellowed. Dozens of bowmen climbed the broken timber to stand ready beside her. “Remember, only a head shot is a certain kill!” Moments later, the Unsouled burst from the underbrush, squinting at the torchlight. They broke into a shambling run when they spotted the giants. Torlaine shouted, “Draw and loose at will!”

  Arrows the size of spears whistled through the night, striking with enough force to decapitate the charging Unsouled. Those which missed their targets tore through torsos and ripped off limbs, striking with enough force to knock the creatures to the ground. Most of those rose and rejoined the charge while others, with missing or damaged legs, crawled forward until crushed underfoot by the oncoming horde.

  A second flight launched, then a third. The archers shredded the Unsouled’s ragged line. Corpses clogged the ground, slowing the charge. Bodies mounted, making it difficult for those behind to press forward. But the creatures were unlike any mortal enemy; they did not tire and, unless destroyed, would never stop.

  The giants’ supply of arrows dwindled. But the endless tide of Unsouled pushed and clawed through their own fallen, reaching the barricade at last. Swordsmen took the archers’ place, six foot blades hewing through undead flesh, reaping a fetid harvest. Arms rose and fell, a tireless steel barrier the Unsouled could not pierce. Should the giants not falter, the Dark Mage’s forces might batter themselves senseless like waves against a rocky shore.

  Then the Dread entered the fray. They remained far back in the forest, out of sight and safe from the archers. But their dark power flowed over the ground like a creeping cancer, swallowing the trees and Unsouled in its ebony grasp. Once it engulfed the deadfall, the darkness slowed; the Dreads’ power reaching its limits. But it proved strong enough. The blackness swallowed the torchlight, reducing it to flickering pinpricks of light. Even with their enhanced senses, the swordsmen groped in the dark. Dozens of Unsouled still fell, but many slipped past the front line. Giants cried out in pain as those creatures turned and attacked from behind.

  “Fall back!” screamed Torlaine. She’d anticipated the Dreads’ tactic and stood ready. As soon as the retreating swordsmen reemerged into the light, a second wave of giants sprinted forward, huge leather bags of lantern oil tucked under each arm. At the outer edge of the Dreads’ power, they stopped. Pointing the necks toward the barricade, they squeezed. Thick streamers flew in a geyser, drenching the fallen timber and Unsouled in flammable oil. “Archers, loose!”

  Fire-tipped arrows arched through the night, disappearing for just a moment as they entered the sphere of blackness. Seconds later, flames reappeared as the oil-soaked timber ignited with a tremendous whoosh. Not even the Dreads’ dark might could challenge the raging inferno. Twenty foot flames burned through the inky black, casting it back and beyond the fire line. The fiery explosion flattened the Unsouled caught on the giants’ side of the barrier and incinerated those climbing or caught too near the deadfall.

  “Charge them!” Torlaine ordered, pulling her own sword and rushing forward.

  The giants dispatched the few Unsouled who’d made it past the burning trees. Torlaine stood aside and leaned on her sword, taking advantage of the lull to gain a few moments rest.

  But she’d underestimated the Unsouled. A normal foe would balk at the tremendous heat and flame, forced to wait until the fire faded and the barricade became passable. The Unsouled had no such limits. They knew only the compulsion of their master, the drive to obey his will despite what lay before them. The creatures continued their assault, feeling no pain as their bodies when up in flame.

  The fire consumed many, but still more made it past the conflagration. Like human torches, their features melting and running like wax candles, they attacked in a ceaseless wave until either destroyed or their bodies failed. And as the fire burned through its fuel, the flames weakened. The number of Unsouled making it through swelled, permitting the giants no respite.

  With their initial efforts stifled by the flames, the Dread changed tactics. The blanket of darkness winked out with a suddenness seeming almost physical. Muted cheers sounded from some of the giants, counting the withdrawal of the Dreads’ power as a small victory.

  Torlaine had no such illusions, however. After dispatching a charred creature crawling at her feet, she searched for the Dark Mage’s next assault.

  “’Ware!” she roared. “The Dread will not give in so eas...”

  A tremendous explosion cut her off. Like jagged darts, wooden splinters flew. The concussion knocked her back against the trunk of a massive gray montoria tree. Blinking, she fought to remain conscious. The blast tore an opening through the barrier and Unsouled poured through the gap. Not far away, she saw a monstrous sphere of black energy arcing through the night sky. It smashed into the barricade to the north with another titanic explosion. The blast ripped apart dozens of Unsouled, but tore a second opening in their defenses. Still more of the enemy charged through.

  “Fall back,” she croaked, her voice a bare whisper. Swallowing hard, she tried again. “Fall back! Retreat!” Torlaine snagged her sword from where it lay on the ground nearby and tried to rise. Sharp pain lanced through her abdomen. A jagged chunk of wood protruded from her belly. The pain doubled and then tripled, drawing a gasp from her lips. Farther away, she heard a third explosion. I must move, she thought. The Unsouled would reach her in mere seconds. Pressing back against the trunk, she somehow regained her feet. Stomach on fire, her strength drained away like water from a cracked basin. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, and she spat to one side. She leaned on her sword and staggered away toward Herrenbourn.

  CRAIGEN’S HEAD JERKED up, the first explosion jolting him from a trance-like state. He bounded to his feet and tightened his grip on the axe’s shaft, white knuckles standing out against the dark-grained wood. At the second eruption, he moved toward the forest, Torlaine’s name on his lips.

  Another explosion sounded, this time farther away. Before he reached the tree line, giants rushed from the forest in full retreat. Many staggered along with gruesome injuries, helped by others. Craigen stopped the first one he reached, a giantess cradling a broken arm. “Torlaine... where is she?”

  The giantess kept going, but shook her head and called out, “The Dread breached the barricade! I heard her sound the retreat, but nothing more! We must flee!”

  Craigen retreated to the center of the clearing, but went no further. If he searched for Torlaine, he might miss her in the confusion. But he refused to abandon his wife. He would wait—and fight—until Torlaine emerged from the forest or the enemy killed him.

  A few remaining giants stumbled from the trees, running past him toward Herrenbourn’s gate. Craigen’s eyes remained locked on the dark woods, desperate for any glimpse of his missing wife. The underbrush shook and the first Unsouled stumbled into the open. Spotting the giant, it charged. Craigen waited until the last moment before swinging his axe in a whistling vertical arc, splitting the creature in two from head to pelvis. He had only time for a grim smile before more Unsouled poured from the woods in a flood.

  Craigen’s axe became a living thing, slashing through bodies on all sides. Arms, heads and torsos flew. Foul black blood splattered the giant’s arms and chest, drenching the ground and making footing treacherous. Surrounded, he became an island of destruction in a sea of rabid monsters. The giant roared as he spun and chopped, wreaking carnage among the enemy.

  Yet one giant could not hope to stand against the hundreds of Unsouled fil
ling the clearing. Only determination and the arrows fired from atop the wall kept him from being swept under. And then his foot slipped on the blood-soaked turf. Craigen went down. The foul creatures clawed the axe from his hand, tearing and biting at his exposed arms and head. Only his coat kept him from being torn apart. The giant lashed out with his fists, smashed his forehead into the face of a snarling woman. Yet this battle he could not win. Even his giantish strength failed, blows losing their power as his muscles weakened.

  A scream of pure rage and anguish tore across the battlefield. Even the Unsouled paused a moment, frozen by the unexpected cry. “Torlaine!” Craigen shouted. Surging to his feet, he lashed out with his fists, clearing space enough to see. There! Across the clearing, his valiant wife fought to reach him. But something had happened to her. Torlaine stumbled, and the sword trembled in her grasp. Bright red blood covered her armor.

  Weakness forgotten, Craigen lowered his head and charged. Massive legs churned as he forced his way through the milling Unsouled, tossing them aside like a bull plowing through stalks of corn. Somehow, he reached her. Torlaine’s gray skin had paled to white. Craigen saw the wooden spike in her belly and at last understood.

  Torlaine spared him a grim smile, her teeth stained red with blood, then turned back to their foes. Each weak and uncoordinated swing threatened to topple her. Pain and blood-loss sapped her final reserves. Unless they escaped soon, both would die here. Craigen struck the Unsouled with his massive fists, trying with all his failing strength to clear a way back toward the gates.

  And then the Dread appeared at the edge of the forest. Three of the shaggy black monsters extended their claws in unison. Power flowed, a liquid blackness reaching out to conceal the Unsouled in a shroud of darkness. The creatures drew back, moaning in triumph as the black tide rolled closer. Craigen wrapped an arm around Torlaine’s waist to support her when she stumbled. When the darkness swallowed the giants, the Unsouled fell on them like an avalanche.