“Be that as it may, we have every confidence. We also have ten thousand men and eight fresh Gifted. This field is ours.”
With the paltry numbers left to us and the state we were in, there was no disputing that.
It was taking some time for the entire Free Towns Alliance army to filter into the wider space where we had set up camp. Their heavy infantry formed up in the snow ahead of us, all dressed in half-plate that was lighter than our wardens’ heavy Setharii battle plate, but also a lot cheaper too – typical Free Towns penny-pinching. They were all armed with long spear, shield and short stabbing swords hanging at their waist.
Our wardens were exhausted, battered and wounded, and mostly running on guts and grudge. They were happy to let these newcomers form the vanguard and take the brunt of the charge. The militia formed up behind us, their captains barking orders about placement.
We four remaining Arcanum magi were quietly hopeful now the numbers were on our side. I glanced at my weary guards. Vaughn had brought his vile pony with him rather than leave it in Kil Noth with their many wounded and hungry mouths to feed. I would have objected but its teeth and hooves looked more vicious than many of our wardens.
The Skallgrim drums beat faster, the rhythm alive, ominous.
I edged closer to Eva as Abrax-Masud came over a rise standing proud atop the back of his great beetle, blue robes flapping in the chill morning wind: dark skin, bald head and an oiled beard, his full lips twisted into haughty disdain as he surveyed our army. Snow danced around him, the air itself agitated.
I frowned. “I can’t sense any attempt to get into our minds.” My Gift was open and watchful. The Free Towns Alliance were calmer than I might have expected, but a few probes revealed nothing other than they didn’t like Setharis much and would much rather be home in front of a warm fire instead of stuck in this dreary frozen valley.
Abrax-Masud was up to something. The air crackled with stray magic. A stiff breeze began to blow and a blizzard formed from nowhere.
Our ranks swelled with reinforcements while the Skallgrim warriors were forced to advance towards us in a thin column. The Free Towns Alliance baggage train arrived, packed with far more water barrels and sacks of grain than they needed, and oddly, the heavy wooden beams of siege engines.
“Something is wrong here,” Eva said.
The Skallgrim ceased their advance. Instead of charging as I’d expected, they pivoted right and began to ascend the hill to our left, heading up towards the ruined temple and the stone circle where I had conversed with the Eldest.
NOW – Abrax-Masud’s mental voice reached every mind. Something twisted inside the brains of the Free Towns Alliance leaders, and the general’s mind unlocked like a box of secrets to reveal plans for our death. That bastard tyrant had hidden his manipulations from me! Their Gifted opened wide and the thoughts stank of Scarrabus-stain.
The Free Towns Alliance heavy infantry did an about-face and levelled spears – not at the Skallgrim, but at us. Behind us lines of militia stood their ground, the anvil ready to receive the hammer blow and us the metal. Their slings began to whirl.
Eva grabbed Secca’s arm hard enough to bruise. “Hide us from their sight.” The air rippled. Eva pointed to her head and I opened a mental link to all of us. Head further up the hill immediately, she thought. It is too late for anything else. Be silent!
A thousand sling stones crunched into the rear of our forces, aimed at the unarmoured Clansfolk and druí, many going down. They were lethal weapons at short range. A stone slammed into Adalwolf’s temple and he fell face first into the snow. Diodorus went down with a shattered jaw, bubbling for help. Coira leapt onto a charging heavy infantryman and her sword found its way through his mouth out the back of his neck. For a brief moment she was a fury of slicing death before a spearhead burst through her breast.
We left our people behind and fled, covered by Secca’s illusion.
I mentally commanded Jovian and Vaughn to run for their lives, if they could. They leapt onto Biter to gallop south through a storm of snow and stones trying to hit a fast moving target. His evil pony trampled two militiamen to death and I had the blind hope that somehow they might make it out. Good luck!
Abrax-Masud and his army reached the ruins atop the hill. The air seemed to tremble. It ripped open to reveal rolling green hills – somewhere not here. Wind began to howl through the doorway. Men and monsters marched through. No wonder he was not attacking us – all his energy was working on opening this portal to elsewhere.
Surrounded on all sides and with the elder tyrant’s strange Escharric magic; despair took hold.
It was a short and inglorious end to our campaign: butchered by our supposed allies. The Free Towns heavy infantry cleared a route to the hilltop for their baggage train. That explained the siege engines. They were never meant for battle at Kil Noth.
Secca’s Gift faltered. I am not sure how long I can hold this.
You must, was Eva’s only answer. “Find those accursed Arcanum sorcerers,” the general shouted to the militia. “A hundred gold to those who take a head!”
What do we do? Bryden thought, pulsing with panic.
We fight, Eva replied. We try and take Abrax-Masud with us.
Walker, keep us hidden from mental probes. Secca, keep your illusion up if it kills you. To the top of the hill!
We picked our way up the icy slope, avoiding the roving goldhungry forces searching in vain for our heads. By the time we made it up the hill every breath came in a wheezing gasp and my tunic was soaked with blood after the stitches in my chest ripped open during the climb. The Free Towns heavy infantry and the supplies were already halfway through the portal.
Abrax-Masud’s mind dredged the battlefield, searching for us. Where are you, ignorant vermin? We were mice, quiet and not worth noticing in all this mayhem… The edge of the portal wavered, his distraction compromising it before Abrax-Masud diverted his full attention back to steadying it. I was glad that for the moment most of his power was directed into keeping that portal open.
Creeping closer in the snowfall, little mice with sharp teeth, closer and ready to bite. Secca was drenched in sweat and struggling to hold on. The ecstasy of magic lit up her eyes. As we approached I recognised the hillside beyond the portal, and the inn where I had once spent a night. That hill was only two days march from Setharis.
The air tasted like metal. My hair hurt and lifted into the air, crackling. The Shroud around our world was straining to close the wound, and the enemy’s power could not hold it open forever. His two ravak were already through, along with all his fleshcrafted creatures, daemons, and most of his Skallgrim. Only the rearguard of the Free Towns Alliance remained, scouring the hillside for us.
We were moving through the ruined temple, closing in and readying to strike when Secca’s Gift gave way and ripped wide open. She screamed, half joy and half agony as magic roared through her flesh. The air rippled in heat-haze around us as her illusion failed, our tracks in the snow revealed to all. Cockrot!
I stiffened as a spike of mental power slammed into my defences. Strong. So fucking strong. Once, twice, and then piercing through the outermost layer. I threw everything I had left into pushing him back. I could not keep him out for long and the
Worm of Magic was rising inside me as desperation took over.
“You will not thwart my glory, little magi,” Abrax-Masud shouted from the centre of the stone circle. “No more than great Siùsaidh and her vaunted high cabal could. They had to destroy Escharr and bury me alive to thwart us. You are but ignorant children compared to her. Now I head to Setharis to unleash my true power.”
The portal shuddered and contracted. He hastily stepped through mere moments before the hilltop was engulfed in a lightning storm striking the soldiers caught outside the stone circle. Snow began to fall harder, coating the corpses with a white death shroud.
“At least that shut him up,” I said, clutching the throbbing wound in my chest. Nobody seemed to
appreciate my humour.
Secca was down twitching, her eyes leaking red tears. She was being twisted by the Worm of Magic. I sank Dissever in her heart before she mutated further.
A few of the Free Towns men left alive after the lightning began to stir, dazed. I limped through the ruins leaving a trail of my own blood in the snow behind me, and fed my hungry blade on the storm’s survivors; its joy singing in the back of my mind.
We approached the ancient stone monument and stared dumbly at the circle of smoking earth on the icy hillside. The air smelled sharp and clean in the aftermath of the lightning storm. I spat blood on a fallen stone and leaned heavily on Eva, shaking with my Gift on the edge of ripping. She steadied herself on her war hammer.
She and Bryden were in no better shape. We had fought four days straight. Even the unnatural vitality of magi had its limits.
I dulled their pain. Eva nodded her thanks. Bryden didn’t seem to notice, his eyes glazed with thoughts of a home and family he would never see again.
We watched the green and yellow tide of soldiers race towards us. I exchanged looks with Eva and calmness descended as we accepted it.
Abrax-Masud was far beyond our reach, taking his ravak and the bulk of his army with him. The remnant of the Free Towns Alliance he left behind trampled our fallen into bloody slush as they ascended the hill intent on finishing us off. I sensed two fresh wholly human Gifted amongst the soldiers. Two others with them wore the blank expression of the Scarrabus-infested. The nerve of them, thinking themselves the match of Arcanum-trained magi.
Bryden managed to stand. He wiped sweat from his brow and managed to look vaguely hopeful. “Four, eh? Can you still fight?”
My back hurt. My bones ached and the wound in my chest was pishing blood – my boots squelched red with every step. I groaned and pushed myself to stand on my own two feet. I would rather die standing than be skewered sitting on my arse. “I can fight but I won’t survive it. I’m so close to giving in to the Worm.” It was at the forefront of my mind, urging me to do so.
“Should we?” Bryden asked blandly, as if we were discussing a second slice of tasteless pie instead of one of the most horrific and dreaded things a magus could ever do.
I looked to Eva, who was also seriously considering it. We were going to die, but the question was, should we give in and lose ourselves to the magic and let it twist us in order to take as many of these bastards down with us as we could? Or die here wholly as ourselves?
“We take these betrayers with us,” she said. “Setharis might still find some way to survive. Maybe they have managed to recover some of our ancient weapons from the collapsed vaults below the ruins of the Templarum Magestus.” None of us believed that was possible. The vaults had been buried so deep, and falling stone alone was not the only threat. Some wards and protections were still in place and the whole area was magically damaged and deadly to all intruders.
The militia were almost upon us, their boots a rhythmic tramping through the snow, steel jangling and mouths boasting.
I extended a hand to Bryden and then clasped hands with Eva. “Never let it be said we did not resist as much as humanly possible. What more could be asked of us.” Ah, her single green eye was pretty as an emerald.
I smiled at her. “We should’ve gone for that drink when we first met. Imagine where we could’ve been.”
Her hand tightened. She chuckled mirthlessly, “Really? At a time like this?”
“It’s not like there will be another,” I replied.
In the face of death her thoughts made it clear that she too regretted we hadn’t gone for that drink – and she had fully intended on going much further than drinking with me!
“Filthy bitch,” I gasped.
I sensed her grinning behind the steel mask.
Bryden rolled his eyes. “Death cannot come fast enough if I am to be stuck here with the both of you.”
I had grown to like him. Shame. We readied our weapons: Gifts and steel. It was time to fuck them up.
This shall not be. The Eldest of the ogarim’s mental voice was quiet but the sheer certainty of it brooked no disagreement. It had been the unknown presence that I had sensed during the battle.
It appeared from nowhere, stepping out of empty air to stand in the burnt circle of stone beside us. Its three eyes were bloodshot, its shaggy white fur unkempt and its decorative beads in disarray or missing entirely. Eva and Bryden panicked but a gentle touch of my thoughts stayed their hands. Its three eyes fixed upon me and I felt its turmoil and torment. It still would not kill; it could not kill again even faced with its race’s ancient enemy rising once more.
I refuse to let this world end without struggling to the last. This was once the womb of the peaceful ogarim. Now it is yours, our broken kin. You are not ogarim, but you are of us. You deserve a chance to live. I will give you that chance.
It placed a hand on an ancient stone and poured its magic into the circle. The air thrummed. For a moment I thought it about to unleash the sort of godly power I had seen in its memories, but it was weary and its life worn thin as paper by the passage of thousands of years. It was no longer able to summon such strength. All of its kind that had stayed behind to guard this world had long since lain down in their black pyramids to take the final sleep, their essence returned to the magic that spawned all life. It had been yearning to do the same for over three thousand years, but instead had stubbornly hung onto its duty as the final guardian of its race’s mother realm. It was not here to fight, but to open the portal to elsewhere and offer us one last chance.
The Free Towns Alliance army howled and charged. A spear flashed through the snow to thud into the Eldest’s shoulder. Their Gifted flung their power at it, fire and earth burning and rending its flesh. It ignored them all to lift a huge hairy hand in farewell.
The stones shuddered around us as the Shroud began to warp at its original builder’s command. It was created from ogarim lives and magic and it recognised its own, and it did not require the brute force of Abrax-Masud and the Scarrabus queen to hold it open.
I will transport you as close as I am able. I wish you success. “There is still great honour in the ogarim,” I said formally.
Its third eye looked up at the sky. Should broken ones survive, free and thriving, and ever travel to other realms, speak well of us to those you meet. My kind still walk those realms, in the quiet places.
The Free Towns Alliance swarmed the stone circle and fell upon the last of the guardians. Weak as it now was, it could still have killed them all with ease, but instead it chose to die, a soft relieved exhalation of all life and magic.
The icy hilltop near Kil Noth faded to swirling grey. We were transported to a different stone circle on a sun-drenched hilltop somewhere else. Three exhausted magi and a Free Towns Alliance solider. He must’ve dived through the portal with us.
Yet he stood his ground.
Brave fool. Eva ripped his shield away, snapping his arm like a twig in the process. She disarmed and dropped him with one punch. He flopped down like a sack of shite, his skull cracked like an egg.
“Where are we?” she asked, using his tabard to wipe brains and blood off her fist.
We were near a coastal town surrounded by orchards, the masts of several small ships swaying in the bay. I recognised a tavern with outside seating laid out in a yard shaded by apple trees. “Port Hellisen.” We were on the southwest coast of Kaladon.
Bryden whistled. “Imagine if we learned to use these portal stones.” Eva began walking towards town. “We must reach Setharis before Abrax-Masud.”
Bryden and I limped after her, bags of broken bone and bloody cloth. “They are two days march from our home,” I said. “We are three by ship at best. We are still too far away.” I’d learned a few things in my ten years of exile from Setharis, and knew details of most of the common travelling and trade routes.
She looked at Bryden.
He paled and wrapped his arms around himself.
“You expect me to control the wind and fill the sails all the way to Setharis? That would kill me.”
“Probably,” she replied, then resumed her descent.
I followed, and after a moment’s hesitation so did the aeromancer, nervously chewing on his lip.
We drew stares as we entered the wide straight streets of Port Hellisen with its ivy-wreathed picturesque stone buildings. It was a quiet rural town with a peaceful and industrious population tending orchards that produced the sweetest cider in all the land. They were not used to seeing bleeding people in armour on their streets clutching weapons. A portly big-busted woman hurried over to Bryden and proffered a damp cloth. Ah yes, he was the only one of us that wore Arcanum robes, torn and filthy as they were.
“M’lord magus,” she gasped, eyes wide at the state of him. “How can we be of assistance? Have you been set upon by brigands?” Though filthy, Arcanum robes came in handy.
“We need a ship to take us to Setharis immediately,” I said. Hand held over her heart in shock, the woman eyed Eva and me askance. “Well… we could ready a suitable ship by tomorrow if necessary. We only have one with the whole crew in town and half of those are drunk already.”
“You will ready that one now,” Eva demanded. “We leave immediately.”
“They haven’t finished unloading the trade goods,” she snapped, drawing other townsfolk towards us, curious to find out what all the noise was about. “She’s heavy and sitting low in the water. This is winter and the winds are picking up – we will not risk travel unless the weather is more favourable.”
“You are done now,” Eva stated. “Toss your trade goods overboard and ready to set sail immediately or I will burn this town to the ground.”
I tried the truth. “The Free Towns Alliance has allied with the Skallgrim and they are marching on Setharis as we speak. If we don’t leave now then all is lost.”
The woman goggled at me, then her pig-headedness drained away to be replaced with furious determination. “Dyrk! Ashton! Get your crap off that ship. Somebody haul those scurvy sailors out of the tavern. I won’t be having no heathens dirtying up my streets with filthy swords and foul language. Port Hellisen are proud Setharii and we will do our bit!”
God of Broken Things Page 28
