A storm of steel and sparks erupted as the two metal-clad titans began to fight in earnest. Alyssa rolled away, fascinated and amazed at what she was witnessing, but she had little time for reflection. Her father was down, and his blood was running out to soak the ground. She had to find a way to staunch the flow before he bled to death.
Gram and Dorian’s battle raged with unbridled ferocity as they went at each other, whipping the twin great swords through the air with a speed and lightness that made them seem more like rapiers than the six-foot steel weapons they actually were. Up and down they went, stomping across the dry grass, their swords connecting repeatedly, high and low, their bodies a blur of motion too fast to decipher with eyes alone.
Gram fought with a combination of technique and the subconscious battle intuition Cyhan had taught him, while his father attacked with grace and the perfect form he had attained through a lifetime of drilling at his art. Alyssa glanced up at them from her desperate work, but even her expert eyes couldn’t divine which of the two had the upper hand.
Gram wanted to speak, to call out to the man he had missed for so long, but Dorian’s blade was too deadly to ignore. If his focus wavered for even an instant, it would have his life’s blood. He wanted to believe his armor could stop it, but he had already seen what it could do to even enchanted plate. Instead he silenced his mind and let his body speak for him, deflecting strikes that contained the unrestrained force of a novice within the perfect movement of master.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Alyssa tending to her father and he was grateful for the distraction. If she had tried to interfere with the fight, he doubted he could save her from the consequences. The man he fought seemed like a demon clad in steel, unstoppable and unyielding.
Somewhere deep down, Gram found himself enjoying it. It was the fight he had always imagined, if he had ever had the chance to fight his teacher in his prime. During his training he had always gotten the impression that his father was somehow subtly inferior to Cyhan, but now he knew the truth. His father was a paragon of war, one that was pushing him to his very limits. On a different battlefield, he thought he might be able to find an easier course, but here, on the flat and empty field north of the Glenmae River, it was all he could do to survive.
Dorian’s sword slowed as he recovered from a strike. It was almost an imperceptible change, but it invited Gram to take the initiative. It was a trap, Gram could see that clearly, wrapped in the silence of his mind, but he took it anyway. Stepping in, he pretended to fall for it, but at the last instant he released his left hand from the hilt of Thorn, and while using his right to avert the deadly consequences of his deliberate mistake, he slammed his open palm into Dorian’s breastplate, driving him back several feet.
In the brief space that afforded him, he shouted at his opponent, “Stop! I’m your son!”
“Lies,” cried his father. “My son is yet a child.” Sword at the ready, Dorian stepped forward to engage once more.
This time Gram retreated, skipping backward. “It’s been years! I’ve grown. It’s me, Gram!” The words cost him some of his focus, and he barely avoided yet another lethal swing. Clenching his jaw, he brought Thorn up again. “Fine. If you don’t believe me, I’ll prove it on your bones.” He let the words slip away, and after dodging the next strike he pivoted back toward his father, taking the offensive for the first time.
Their swords rang out in a discordant symphony of violence as Gram attacked with a series of blows that pressed the big man back. An observer would have thought him possessed by the spirit of fury, but inside his steel armor Gram was wrapped in emptiness, his mind and body in a place where thought did not exist. There was nothing in him but the purity of motion.
Incredibly, Dorian began to take the defensive. Alyssa watched them from her father’s side, while she held a tourniquet she had devised after removing some of his armor. Her warrior’s gaze could read the flow of battle and she began to see doubt in Dorian’s movements. Where before she had feared for Gram’s life, now she began to fear he would destroy his own sire, for there was no mercy or consideration in Gram’s fighting. He no longer fought to protect, or even to win. He fought to kill. She cursed her own clumsiness as her fingers fumbled to tie the knot on the tourniquet.
Gram’s sword was a blinding flurry of steel as he drove his father back, but while his attacks seemed mindless, they were anything but. With each strike, Dorian’s responses were forced further out of line, until at last he had no way to defend. Gram’s blade whipped across, down, and then back up in a backswing that would take Dorian beneath his right arm and end at his left shoulder.
Alyssa saw the set-up for the final blow a few seconds before it came, and she screamed out to him, “Gram, stop! Let him finish thinking!”
Inside his shell of emptiness, Gram heard her and faltered. In that fraction of a second, Dorian recovered, and leaping forward, he slammed the hilt of his sword into the younger man’s face, sending him tumbling to the earth. Stunned, he stared up at his father as the sword that was a twin of his own rose toward the sky.
Alyssa had finished tying off the tourniquet, and quick as light she was up and running. In her heart, she knew it was too late. She couldn’t stop it, but neither could she control herself. If he dies, he won’t die alone.
Before her eyes, Gram’s armor vanished, leaving him bare and vulnerable as he looked up at the man who had been nothing but a memory. Diving forward, she threw herself over Gram as the blade came down.
The stroke ended abruptly, and then Dorian’s sword withdrew, rising again at the ready. From his position he could end both of them before they could move. “Remove your helm,” he barked, speaking to Alyssa. “Let me see your face.”
Long seconds passed as she worked at the straps before her helm came off. Dorian’s eyes went wide when he saw her face and the tight braid of hair on the back of her head. “A woman? Who are you?”
Her eyes met his, blinking away tears, but there was no fear on her face. “The one who loves your son more than her own life.”
Dorian looked from her to Gram, and then his arms seemed to lose strength, letting the sword sag to the ground. “Is this true?”
“My name is Gram Thornbear,” answered Gram. “Son of Dorian Thornbear and Rose Hightower. I was named in memory of my grandfather, by you, if you truly are Dorian Thornbear.”
“My son was a child,” said Dorian, confusion in his voice.
“You’ve been gone for many years—Father,” said Gram. “You died holding up a stone monolith to save us.”
Dorian shook his head, as though trying to clear it, then lifted his sword, pointing at Cyhan. “Why?” he asked.
“My father did that at Lady Rose’s order,” answered Alyssa. “In order to summon Mordecai. We had to do it to stop the end of the world.”
“Your father?”
“Sir Cyhan, who was once your friend,” she explained.
“Cyhan had a daughter?” said Dorian incredulously, then his eyes went to Gram’s face, growing wet. “And you…?”
“We plan to be wed,” said Gram. “If the world doesn’t end first.”
Thrusting his sword into the earth, Dorian removed his helm, letting them see his face. It was red, covered in sweat, and full of raw emotion. Bending over, he offered his hand to first Alyssa and then Gram, helping them to their feet. Then he indicated the four wizards standing locked in place. “Who are they?”
“Mordecai’s children,” said Gram. “We’re all grown now.”
“And what of Carissa?” asked Dorian, his voice thick. “Is my daughter well?”
***
Tyrion smiled as the fight came to its end. “That went well, though I could have hoped for more blood.”
He stood less than two hundred yards from the scene. Beside him were Layla, Brigid, Ryan, Blake, and Piper. Aside from Layla, all of them were his children, dead for more than two thousand years. He had wanted Emma as well, but the god had refused, claiming that
an archmage might ruin things. He would also have liked having Abby at his side, but given their last parting he couldn’t trust her.
Two millennia before, he had trained his children as killers, and those beside him were the ones he trusted most, for their battle intelligence and efficiency. He almost felt bad for his enemy. Mordecai’s children had no chance, even if it weren’t for the fact that the best of them were effectively helpless while they worked their enchantment.
Summoning Dorian had been an effective ploy, allowing him to gauge Matthew’s plan and defenses. It was obvious that his remaining allies, Karen and Elaine, were in hiding, probably close by. The two of them and the sad collection of enhanced warriors that stood recovering on the field would offer little challenge.
“Should we advance?” asked Blake. “We can see they’re weak.”
Ryan, ever cautious, shook his head. “That didn’t draw them out fully. We know there’s two mages in hiding and we’ve yet to see any sign of the dragons.”
Tyrion rubbed his chin, then sent his power into the ground, creating a lattice-work of lines that spread outward to cover the entire field. Four points stood out immediately, three mages and a fourth who wasn’t a mage but had more aythar than normal. “He couldn’t hide the dragons,” he intoned. “He must have left them at considerable distance and then timed their departure to surprise us.”
“Are you sure of that?” asked Ryan.
Tyrion shook his head. “No, but it’s what I would have done. The one in charge of them is at least as smart as you are.” He motioned to his left and right, selecting Blake and Piper. “Strike out, separately, right and left. There are three mages and another, probably similar to the warriors you’ve seen fighting. Two are Prathions. You know how to deal with those.”
The two set out while Brigid glared at him. “Father,” she growled.
“Silence,” he snapped. “Trust me. I’m saving the best for last.”
Chapter 45
Karen and Elaine stood together, watching as the battle between Gram and the newcomer finished. They were hidden by a veil that blocked magesight as well as most visible light. Their view came from a tiny window in the veil that Elaine had provided.
“I should go help Cyhan,” suggested Karen. “His wound looks serious.”
Elaine shook her head. “This is too important for that. Alyssa stopped the bleeding. We don’t reveal ourselves until a real threat appears.”
“A real threat?” asked Karen incredulously, gesticulating with her arms. “What do you call that steel-clad monster? He nearly took Gram down! Who is he anyway?”
Elaine shrugged. “I’m not sure, but his breastplate has the Thornbear arms on it. Whoever he is, they seem to have made peace. We’re waiting for the real villain to show himself. That’s why they’re out there with a bullseye on them, to draw out the enemy.”
Then they felt a pulse of aythar from the ground itself. “What was that?” said Karen.
Elaine’s face was marked with worry. “We’ve been marked. They know where we are.”
“I can fix that pretty easily,” remarked Karen, trying to hide the nervousness in her voice.
“I’m going to drop the veil for a moment so we can examine the field better,” said Elaine. “After I put it back up, move us.” True to her words, the veil vanished and both women’s magesight began to function normally. They immediately noticed two figures running south, one heading toward them and the other crossing the other side of the field. Both were radiating incredibly powerful aythar and seemed to be protected by strong shields.
Elaine’s mouth went dry, and beside her she heard Karen whisper, “Holy shit.”
The veil sprang back into place and Elaine looked at Karen. “Are you ready?”
“No, wait,” said Karen. “Which one was Tyrion?”
“I’m not sure,” Elaine answered. “Both were on par with Irene or Conall. We’ll have to take them one at a time.” Her hands were clenched on the handles of her enchanted whips. “Move us just ahead and to one side of the closer one, then teleport yourself to the other side. I’ll drop the veil and we’ll hit him from both directions.”
Karen’s lips were pressed into a tight line as she nodded agreement. A second later, she moved them and then teleported away. The moment she left the protection of Elaine’s veil, she was confused, for she was unable to see. The field was entirely obscured by a heavy mist laced with aythar, one she couldn’t pierce with either eyes or magesight. A tremor started in her legs as she moved forward while strengthening her shield. Unable to see, she wasn’t sure which direction her opponent might come from and she didn’t dare attack carelessly for fear of hitting Elaine. The ground beneath her feet was pulsing intermittently. He knows where I am, she realized only a second before a blade of aythar swept through the mist toward her chest.
She would have died then, but a sudden blast of force swept the ground beneath her feet, sending both Karen and her assailant to the ground. A line of fire followed, snapping out of the mist to wrap around the tattooed man’s arm. It sizzled there for a moment, unable to penetrate the shield that covered him, and then he was up and moving again, lost to Karen’s sight.
Terrified, she got hastily to her feet, unsure what to do. To her right she heard the sound of fighting and she started toward it, although her every instinct screamed at her to run. Run and never look back. “Elaine!” she screamed, not caring how stupid it might be to reveal herself.
A brilliant line of actinic light shot through the mist, narrowly missing her head and a second later she heard a sickening, wet ‘crunch’. Panicked, Karen did the only thing she could think of, sending out a wide burst of aythar to clear the mist around her, and as the air cleared temporarily she saw a scene that would forever haunt her dreams.
One of Elaine’s silver whip handles was rolling toward her, accompanied by several small objects that she only belatedly realized were fingers. Elaine herself was on the ground, several feet farther away, missing both legs. “It’s time, Karen,” yelled her friend. “Go get…” Her words were left unfinished as the tattooed man emerged beside her and casually cut Elaine’s head from her shoulders.
Time seemed to freeze then, as Karen stared at the one who had taken Elaine’s life. He looked back at her with empty eyes, like death itself. She could see no emotion in him, no malice or anger. He moved toward her without wasting time, uncaring for anything but finishing his next opponent. It was then that she understood, time hadn’t frozen—only she had.
For the second time in less than a span of seconds, Karen found death coming for her, and she was powerless to move, gripped by a terror greater than any she had ever known. She was screaming inside her head, move, move, I have to move, but nothing worked.
A massive shadow appeared in the mist, and before the tattooed demon could reach her a giant of a man slammed into him, knocking him sideways. Dorian Thornbear roared as he followed his opponent, sweeping his great sword across in a swing meant to cut his foe in two.
The tattooed wizard reacted immediately, and rather than retreat he stepped in, catching the hilt of Thorn with one hand and preventing Dorian from bringing the sword down. Karen could see his aythar blazing along his arm as he stayed the mighty warrior’s blow with ease, while his second arm prepared to sweep across and return the favor.
But Dorian wasn’t finished yet. Jerking backward, he fell onto his back and brought his heels up to strike the wizard in the belly, launching his surprised opponent skyward. The tattooed mage spun lazily through the air, a look of surprise on his face, and as he fell back to earth Dorian rolled to his feet and waited, sword at the ready.
The mage crossed his armblades in front of himself, to block the strike, but Dorian’s sword cut through them both and continued on to slice through the man’s face, shoulders, and torso.
“Confidence is good to a point,” said the big man. “But too much will kill you.” Dorian stared down at Elaine’s body for a moment, though whether his exp
ression was sad or not, Karen couldn’t tell, for his face was hidden by steel. Then he turned to her. “Whatever it was she wanted you to do, now is the time.”
Karen watched him, still in shock. “S—she died because of me,” she stammered.
“Fear undoes the best of men. Bravery is getting up and doing what needs doing anyway,” answered the warrior. “Don’t live in shame for what you might have done. Get up and make her sacrifice worthwhile.”
With a sudden jerk, Karen managed an awkward nod, and with a thought, she was gone.
***
Across the field, George was running. He had concealed himself initially in the same way Chad had, relying solely on his enchanted ring, but once the two mages had appeared it had become obvious that the enemy knew where they were hidden and one of them had headed directly for the archer. That hadn’t been part of the plan.
He had no time to think or plan, so he simply reacted. He had to draw the enemy away from the hunter. Leaping to his feet, he ran directly toward the mage, who he belatedly realized was a woman. She was short but lean, with long, brown hair, and though she looked very little like the woman he had met with Tyrion previously, she reminded him of her somehow.
She was also radiating enough power to frighten him down to his toes. Nothing good would come of facing her head-on. Then why am I running straight toward her? he thought. Right, I’m a decoy. Attack and withdraw. Drawing on his power, he sent a quick stroke of lightning toward her.
The girl—for she surely seemed much younger—whipped her head toward him, spotting him with her eyes for the first time. And then she did something that made his jaw drop. With perfect timing, her hand reached out and swatted the lightning away, as though it was nothing more than an annoying insect. Her lips curled lazily into a half-smile and her feet changed direction, darting toward him.
Transcendence and Rebellion Page 37
