The tide had indeed turned. Dantic saw more and more spells make it through to smash into the warlocks’ shields as they tried to escape. But beating them back was taking everything the mages had. His only hope was that the kladic’s delicate work would pass unseen amid all of the crackling power. He nodded to the desert mage just as he joined the offensive himself—throwing spell after spell toward the warlocks. He held his breath as the kladic’s strands of power snaked out. He lost sight of them himself and feared they had been torn apart like so many of their other weaves. . . . Until the Tolrahkali army went berserk and turned on itself.
Salt barely managed to fend off the Tolrahkali’s first flurry of attacks. I’m not going to survive long against this thing, he realized. The man’s blade seemed to come at him from all directions, and it was all he could do to frantically fall back. The only advantage he had was that Nasaka was avoiding parrying any of his strikes. He was dodging them entirely, clearly understanding the consequences of being hit with the Demon Hammer. Not that it was a great advantage. Nasaka flowed around Salt’s frantic swings as if his bones were liquid and always, always he came back with a complex counterattack. Urit moved back up to stand next to Salt, unperturbed by the loss of half his weapons or the blood leaking through his mangled armor. Urit and Salt slowly moved apart trying to catch Nasaka between them even as the rest of Salt’s company swept past to intercept any other Tolrahkali warriors. Nasaka Jadoo just laughed. With a smooth motion, he scooped up Seely’s rapier from her dead body and moved directly between them as if it had been his intention all along. His attacks came faster and faster, pushing back both of the Night Guardsmen and scoring glancing blows on Salt’s shoulder and Urit’s left leg. Then the Tolrahkali army went insane. All around them warriors started screaming in rage and pain and either started attacking each other or even hacking at their own limbs—trying to peel the armor from their bodies.
Nasaka Jadoo screamed in frustration at those around him. “It’s nothing more than a spell! Trickery! You weak-minded idiots!” But the Tolrahkali were too far gone. What had moments earlier looked like a crushing defeat for the Bialtan armies turned into an all-out rout for the forces of Tolrahk Esal. Chitin-armored soldiers streamed past as they fled in panic, and more Night Guard moved up to support Salt and Urit.
Nasaka backed off in a smooth motion. “You may have won this battle with your tricks, Bialtan, but the war will be lost far from this place.” Then he fled through the crowd just as the Bialtan troops charged after their retreating enemies. After the mauling they had experienced at the hands of the golden-skinned invaders, the men and women of the Southern Army were not inclined to mercy. All semblance of order was lost as the Bialtans seized their advantage and cut down every Tolrahkali they could reach, while maddened Tolrahkali mounts rampaged around the battlefield killing indiscriminately.
As soon as the Tolrahkali broke, the Night Guard backed off and regrouped. All but a few exceptions—Greal was pushing forward, cutting through as many of the invaders as he could. Even through the mask, Salt was sure the man was smiling. Sick bastard. I need to pull him back.
The man was so drunk on slaughter that he didn’t hear Salt the first two times he was called. As his captain jogged up beside him, the older man growled and swung his rusty tulwar in a savage killing stroke. Another head rolled and Salt was sprayed with blood. Greal’s next swing slashed out wildly. Salt only narrowly managed to parry the blow with the haft of his hammer. “Back in line now, Greal!”
The man’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Salt wondered if he would try to kill him. Then with obvious effort, the leather- masked Guardsman stepped back and lowered his weapon. He turned and buried his blade in the back of a wounded Tolrahkali who was crawling in the dust nearby before moving back to his squad. He’s completely losing it. Salt looked up as the ragged remnants of Bialta’s cavalry thundered past toward the Tolrahkali camp.
“Harold? What do you think you are doing here? These are my private chambers and I do not recall giving you leave to enter.”
“Well, Your Majesty, I didn’t think you would agree if I had asked, so I just let myself in.”
“Don’t give me that—there are Crown Knights posted at every door. Who let you in?”
“I need not mention names. Just know that some of those knights are smart enough to know which way the wind is blowing, and ambitious enough to serve the true king of Bialta.”
Arlon’s anger went cold. He’d always known Irem was reckless and power hungry. But this?
“Ah, so you understand. Your time ruling over us has ended. You’ve kept our great nation stagnant and slowly shrinking as you barter away our lands to the likes of the Abolians when we should be expanding! We are the greatest power on the continent and we should be reveling in that superiority! Sharing our greatness with our lessers and taking them beneath our wing . . . whether they want our guidance or not. For too long we’ve been ruled by a king who is unmanned by fear.”
King Arlon bristled despite himself. “You raving idiot! Don’t tell me you believe all that crap! We’re not in the council room and you don’t have an audience to impress. Now get it over with. My best days as a warrior may be long behind me, but I will not make this easy for you. Fear has never ruled me, Harold, but no ruler should ever be entirely without it—if not for himself then for his country and its people. Our days as a dominant military force on this continent are long over, if you’d just wake up and notice. We are being invaded by an upstart city-state, by all the gods! Not Aboleth, not Keral—the bloody Tolrahkali! And they are winning! And you would lead us to war? Against the whole of the known world?” He spat at Lord Irem, his face twisted with contempt. “You disgust me. You may have been able to corrupt enough of my guards to get in here tonight, but you’ll never be able to rest easy with those same men guarding your sleep. Your reign will be both short and unpleasant, I have no doubt.” He looked around curiously. “So what’s it to be? Poison? A dagger? How are you going to blame this on one of our enemies?”
With a smirk Lord Irem moved toward him. “Nothing so obvious as that.” A long blade started to grow through his palm. The king’s eyes widened in surprise.
“You were quick to believe that the knights would turn on you, when in fact all they did was allow an unarmed man in to have a private word with his cousin—they searched me quite thoroughly I assure you. Unfortunately, we will be interrupted by a Tolrahkali assassin. They will probably blame the same team that is even now taking care of your family. You are right that the Tolrahkali are winning. But, then, the invasion is a necessary evil—a cleansing if you will. We also had to ensure that a number of potential obstacles were far from the capital for a time. Once the might of Bialta is united with the power of Tolrahk Esal, the entire continent will fall before us. Not even the Dreth will be able to stop us.”
The king threw his book at Irem, but the fleshcarved lord just batted it aside and ran him through. After letting the corpse slump to the floor, Irem very carefully sliced open his own cheek while looking in the mirror. I’ve always wanted a scar. Just the thing to give me that daring look. Then he cut his other arm almost to the bone before picking up a heavy wooden table one-handed and casually throwing it through the window. The warded glass shattered under the impact. My short time spent abroad with that disgusting creature Carver was most certainly worth the discomfort.
When the Crown Knights burst in moments later with swords in hand, they found Lord Harold Irem bent over the corpse of the king sobbing and holding his wounded arm close to his body.
Shade felt the coup coming before it happened. The burning ambition and resentment at the heart of Harold Irem was something he had become very familiar with over the centuries. He could feel the end approaching, and seethed in silent frustration as the moment drew nearer. All his servants were out of place, be they unwitting pawns or friends and voluntary allies.
He had mobilized nearly all his resources to deal with the birth and the attack i
n the South. Now there was no one in place to guard the king he had so carefully groomed for the throne. There was no telling what damage a fool like Irem could inflict before he could be removed. Everything had been progressing so well too. The Arcanum had become more open-minded and far less accepting of the abuse of nonmages, the Night Guard had been formed to weed out the darker elements that had a habit of hiding in larger human populations, and all under a king who genuinely cared about the well-being of his people. And now he’s dead. What a waste. . . . So much has been lost to give the child a chance at life. It would have been more prudent to destroy it and its mothers, but he’d been unable to resist indulging his curiosity. He would just have to do everything he could to ensure the birth went smoothly and Amon Kareth didn’t interfere. It really is all too rare for something truly new to come into the world. I can only hope some good eventually comes of it.
EPILOGUE
Jenus moved from one stance to the next, shifting smoothly and without thought. The familiarity of the training was small solace. It was so familiar he barely had to think about what he was doing, and that left his mind free to wander, his conscience unrestricted to twist around and torture him. Maybe I should see if Ischia needs a drover. . . . At least I’d be doing something useful then. . . . If Ischia has animals that aren’t undead anyway. His barrel stave was knocked out of his hands before Jenus realized he wasn’t alone.
“Well, well, so you’re the fallen champion Sonum’s been telling me about.” The man who spoke was human and quite a bit shorter than Jenus but incredibly bulky. He was also visibly armed with at least a dozen daggers and knives hanging from his belt and several weapon harnesses. “Good to see you aren’t getting lazy. That stubbornness you’ve shown since you got here is actually a trait I value in my apprentices.”
“Apprentice? What are you talking about?”
“Well, maybe ‘apprentice’ isn’t the right word. You really aren’t suited to joining the Crows. Far too open and honorable to stick a knife in someone’s back, I wager. And, besides, you’re still breathing, so you’re not really eligible.” Jenus’s skin went cold—here was another of the city’s undying elite. “But since you obviously aren’t willing to give up your calling as a warrior, we figured someone should train you. It’s plain for any real Warchosen to see that you haven’t reached your potential. I’d guess no one in Sacral was a challenge for you. So it’s time to push your boundaries a little and see what you’re capable of,” he smiled darkly. “And who better to do that than Rahz the Insane?”
The death of King Arlon sent shock waves throughout Bialta. Not only had the nation been invaded and a vast number of its people killed in horrific ways, but even the king—the protector of the realm—had been cut down in his chambers at the heart of the palace by assassins from a small city-state. Rumors were flying across the country. Villagers were fleeing from imagined threats and moving en masse away from the borders, fearing both the remnants of the defeated Tolrahkali army returning from across the Keralan border and a fresh invasion directly from the desert. A report had even come in from the north coast of a fishing village’s residents becoming convinced that they were next and committing mass suicide to spare themselves from the pain of being eaten alive.
Gurt was visibly shaken by the news. Not only was Arlon his king, but also his childhood friend. “I’ve received news that the king was lost to Tolrahkali assassins along with most of the royal family. The king’s cousin has taken on the role of regent for King Aroten until the boy comes of age—our king is now a boy of five.” Salt was stunned. The news had killed any relief that the war with the Tolrahkali appeared to be over.
Gurt shook his head. “It gets worse. The regent is overreacting as badly as any of the peasants. He’s made all kinds of commands to boost the army. He’s ordered me to triple the size of the Night Guard. Each Guardsman is to take on two initiates and help teach them. He’s also reinstated the penal legions—any citizen convicted of pretty much any crime is getting pushed in. Apparently he’s got troops going through the Muds grabbing every able-bodied person they can lay their hands on and pushing them into service. And he’s ordered all of us down here to return to the capital. We’re only to leave a skeleton force guarding the borders and mopping up this mess until he’s done restructuring the army.”
Salt felt a chill run down his spine. Nasaka Jadoo’s parting words echoed in his mind: “the war will be lost far from this place.” He had been eager to return home, a safe place to mourn their losses and a return to familiar routines. But what would they be returning to now?
“It’s time!” Nial gasped.
Skeg broke out in a cold sweat. The baby is coming. The thought swirled around in his head again and again. After all the waiting, after all the preparations they had made . . . it was both terrifying and exciting. Nial’s expression was grim. She didn’t speak—no more needed to be said.
The runes around the girls were already glowing as if under sorcerous attack, each concentric ring dimmer than the ones within but slowly brightening. Skeg’s palms were wet with nervous sweat that he couldn’t seem to rub dry no matter how much he tried. His worst fears were already proving to be well founded—the child’s great power was challenging their wards and the birthing had only just begun.
They had taken elaborate measures to prepare for an attack by Amon Kareth, scribing their own wards and augmenting Shade’s work wherever they could. But the power beating against their magical defenses was coming from within, not from the child’s father. Skeg poured every ounce of his power into the innermost ring in a desperate attempt to strengthen it. Sweat started to bead on his forehead. The wards were getting too hot. Even with Skeg’s help, they wouldn’t last. He held on for as long as he could, before switching to the next ring, then the next. Each one failed faster than the last as the power at the core of the circle grew and Skeg’s strength waned. Nial and Zuly were almost invisible against the glare of the incandescent wards as they heated up and burned deeper into the stone floor.
Where the hell is Shade?
Another ring of wards flared into blinding light and faded as they shattered. The shock hit Skeg like a physical blow. The stone floor was glowing brightly; the blankets the girls were lying on had already burned to ashes.
A grinding sound was building as the house’s foundation threatened to shatter from the immense strain. What is this child? How could it be doing this? For the first time, Skeg’s misgivings overwhelmed his hopes.
The house shook more violently, as if something huge had just landed on the roof. Skeg looked around in a panic to see the wards on the outer walls and ceiling glowing brightly—all of them. Amon Kareth is here! He was at a loss as to what to do. The wards on the floor were smoking as the stone was slowly being eaten up by the incredible heat. The air in the house was like a furnace. Skeg’s talent was already nearly exhausted.
And then Shade was there. He appeared out of nowhere to stand next to Skeg. Power poured out of him into the failing defenses—barely, just barely holding the whole together.
Skeg took a step back only to be brought up short by the wave of heat radiating from the wall behind him. Each breath he took burned his lungs. He stood with his legs set wide and did the only thing left to him—he drew whatever shreds of energy were left in him and tried to bolster one last row of wards somewhere in the middle of the room. He was vaguely proud to see the ward dim slightly as he countered the strain it was under. Blackness was crowding the edges of his vision.
His last thought before consciousness faded entirely was just to wonder which way he’d fall and so which set of wards would burn him up. Just as he blacked out, he thought he saw Shade flicker and fade from view as his own well of power ran dry.
Skeg woke up to birds chirping. He felt like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. For a moment he thought he was a child again. There had been far too many mornings like this for him back then, when he was alone and weak. Memory returned in a rush and he s
at up with a start. Pain burst behind his eyes and his vision went black. His chest and arms hurt horribly. It hurt to breathe. Hell, it even hurts to think.
He tried to get up again, more slowly this time. Spots floated in front of his eyes. He slumped against the wall with a sigh. Two rings of wards had held. Only two. And I’m outside of them, he realized with a start. I guess I’m lucky old Amon wasn’t interested in a half-trained reject of a mage. The rest of the floor was a mess of ash and melted stone. The roof looked to have caught fire at some point in the night as well; there wasn’t much of it left. The birds Skeg had heard were perched in the rafters fanning their feathers in the setting sun. Setting, yes. The light is coming from the west. It’s been a whole night and a day.
Nial was lying in the middle of the room. Her clothes had completely burned off, but she was curled around a little baby that was clutched to her breast, sleeping peacefully.
It looks perfectly normal, Skeg thought, stunned. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t a healthy-looking little boy.
His thoughts shifted to Shade and to what he thought he saw. Bastard’s not human. No real surprise there, but a spirit? Or something not fully solid? Now that’s something new to go on. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a spirit being a mage.
He dragged himself to his feet and went in search of a blanket for the girls. He found one in his room that was only partially scorched. After covering up the girls and their son, he did the best he could, bandaging the burns on his arms and chest and then stepping outside in the hopes of clearing his head. Demonic hunger or no, I feel the need for a good stiff drink to wash the taste of burning magic out of my mouth.
He struggled with the front door for a moment before it fell out of its frame. I can’t believe I’m alive. His disbelief only grew when he looked outside. If the inside of the house had taken a beating, it was nothing compared to what had happened outside. The ground all the way around the house had been fused to glass. Wisps of smoke still rose slowly from the cooling embers. The vegetable garden was gone; the rabbit cages, blasted into a heap of ashes. Even the fence around their little property was scorched, though the heat hadn’t been fierce enough there to melt the stone.
The Bones of the Past (Books of Dust and Bone) Page 46
