by AC Cobble
Rew twisted, reaching up and grabbing the simian’s arm. It was too big for him to throw it off, but he pulled it forward, and the creature’s body took the brunt of Grund’s attack. The falchion skewered it, and Rew felt the tip of the blade poke out the simian’s body, pricking his shoulder.
Kneeling under the weight of the simian on his back, Rew swept a blow beneath Grund’s fiery shield and clipped the man across the shin. The strike finally elicited a reaction from the ranger commandant. Grund stumbled back, cursing.
Rew shrugged off the simian and stood. He could see blood showing through the slice in the front of the ranger commandant’s boot, but it hadn’t shattered Grund’s shinbone. Hopefully, it’d slow him a little. The surviving simian was standing again, moving slow as well, the toes of one foot chopped off by Rew.
Rew turned and ran for the stairs, following his companions to the roof. Grund and his remaining simian chased after.
Crashing up the flight of stairs, Rew skidded, slammed against the wall as the stairwell turned, and then shoved off, lurching up toward the open doorway that led to the roof of the tower. He hoped to find Baron Fedgley standing there surrounded by his wraiths. Rew had been counting on the powerful spirits to help them escape, but instead, as he ran into the light of day, Rew saw Alsayer stepping through an open portal.
The spellcaster’s thick black eyebrows were raised comically in surprise as he surveyed the scene. Evidently deciding what was going on in the blink of an eye, Alsayer flung a cloud of intense black speckled with brilliant shimmering sparks directly at Rew. From their last encounter, Rew knew the sparks would cut like saw blades. Without thought or grace, Rew dropped to his belly.
A heart-wrenching scream erupted behind him as the simian caught the full force of the spell. Rew didn’t need to look to know what had happened to the poor animal, but as he was rising, he was almost engulfed by a giant ball of bubbling, liquid fire coming from behind him.
Alsayer raised his arms, and an invisible wall of solid sound thumped into place, absorbing the glob of fire and splattering heat across the rooftop of the tower. The spellcaster growled, “Grund, what are you doing here?”
Deciding it was best not to lie directly in between the two spellcasters as they dueled, Rew rolled away and, only seconds later, realized his companions were trapped on the other side of the confrontation.
Alsayer’s portal blinked out behind him, and the spellcaster stood on the far side of the roof, shaking his head in confusion. “This doesn’t involve you, Grund. You shouldn’t be here. You’re neutral—”
“I don’t know what you’re up to, you treacherous bastard,” snarled Vyar Grund. “but if you think you can slide a blade into Prince Valchon’s back and get away with it, you’re dead wrong.”
The ranger commandant limped out of the stairwell, blood dripping from him like from a sieve. White bone shone on the side of his head where Rew had sliced off his ear and a large flap of skin. The commandant’s arm and shoulder were torn with ugly crimson punctures where bits of Alsayer’s cloud must have gotten through the simian. Grund limped, each step leaving one bloody footprint, but ignoring the injuries, Grund stepped over the dead body of his simian and strode toward Alsayer.
The spellcaster, a half-smirk twisting his face, said, “Looks like you’ve had a bit of bad luck, Commandant.”
Grund reached up and drew his second falchion. “Enough talk, Spellcaster.”
Alsayer shrugged and then unleashed his magic.
22
It was as if an invisible elephant came running across the rooftop of the tower. A throbbing hum threatened to burst Rew’s eardrums, and he couldn’t hear the crunch of shattering stone as unseen steps pounded the roof tiles between Alsayer and Vyar Grund.
The ranger commandant’s eyes widened and he crossed his falchions in front of himself half a second before Alsayer’s spell smashed into him. Grund was thrown back, and Rew lost sight of him in the debris of the shattered structure that had housed the stairwell. The structure, built an age ago, simply flattened like a broken egg. Fragments of stone and wood sprayed from the impact, flying off the edge of the tower in a billowing cloud. It was seconds before the pressure lifted and Rew could hear again.
“Baron Fedgley,” declared Alsayer, turning from the destruction he’d caused, “I should be upset you’re attempting to escape, but you are a cretin, and I find I can only feel sorry for you. You have no idea the risk your daughter is in, coming here. If you want to preserve your family and their legacy, then the best thing you can do is stay away from them. You should have agreed to assist us, but if you refuse that, you should have remained in the cell behind the wards. I’m constantly surprised men like you even think to involve yourselves in matters like these. This is so far beyond your understanding that I… Ah, why am I bothering? Let’s get those chains back on you and send your brood on their way, shall we?”
The baron, shaking off the assistance of Raif, stood straight. His body looked like a man who’d been ravaged by a month of captivity and torture, but his eyes blazed with the same confident fury that Rew had seen in his throne room. The baron raised his arms and, in his deep, arrogant voice, declared, “It is you who’ve erred, Spellcaster.”
Alsayer giggled. “This again?”
From afar, like a scream carried on the wind, they heard the approach of the wraiths. A chill that had nothing to do with the bitter wind swept across the tower, cutting through Rew’s cloak and tunic. Despite himself, he shivered.
“Do you never learn? Do you not recall what happened to the last wraiths you summoned?” asked Alsayer, shaking his head in amusement. The spellcaster dropped his hand to his waist and stuck his fingers into a small pouch hanging from his belt. His fingers pushed through the pouch and came out the bottom, which had been slit open. Alsayer froze.
Zaine, standing between Raif and Cinda, held up the small silver box Alsayer had used to capture the wraiths when they were in Falvar. “Looking for this?” She twirled one of her daggers in her other hand and laughed. “And they told me cutting purses would never get me anywhere.”
“Blessed Mother!” cried Alsayer. “Lass, you don’t know what you’re doing!”
The spellcaster raised his arm toward the thief, but before he could cast a spell, Zaine flung the little silver box over the edge of the tower. Alsayer’s eyes followed the arc of the throw, his shoulders slumping like the wind leaving a sail. He turned to Baron Fedgley and raised his hands.
“Don’t let him kill the baron!” cried Rew, rushing across the broken roof tiles, trying to insert himself between the spellcaster and the baron. He warned the others, “If Fedgley is dead, no one can control the wraiths.”
Alsayer, for his part, seemed to agree. The spellcaster stood, his arm held out quivering, but he did not release his magic.
Cackling, the baron curled his fingers and drew the wraiths toward the tower. In the bright light of day, Rew could not see them, but he could feel them. They were ancient, from another time, a race before man. Their age imbued them with immense power. They would feast upon Spinesend if the baron lost control of his charges.
“What do you plan to do, kill me?” asked Alsayer, allowing his hands to fall to his side.
“I’m not going to kill you, Spellcaster,” growled Fedgley. “I’m going to bargain with you. Isn’t that what men such as you do?”
Alsayer’s eyebrows rose, but he did not regain any of his haughty confidence. Rew thought the spellcaster could likely flee before the wraiths struck, but Alsayer hesitated. He was never one to turn from a negotiation.
“You’re going to go back to your master, and you’re going to tell him that I am finished with groveling for his scraps, being tossed back and forth between him and his brothers like a cat’s plaything,” instructed Baron Fedgley. “For the last month, I’ve sat in this tower with nothing to do but think. I’m embarrassed it took so long, but I finally realized why the princes want me and why the king fears me. The House of
Fedgley will rise, Spellcaster.“ The baron gestured to Raif and Cinda. “By my side, my son and daughter will rule. Not the duchy, no. We are beyond that, don’t you think? From whichever prince ascends the throne, I demand the entire Eastern Province. We shall rule from Carff, Cinda studying necromancy by my side, Raif ruling our lands and our people with my guidance. Together—“
Baron Fedgley spluttered and looked down at his chest.
Around the tower, the wraiths swirled, their psychic songs penetrating Rew’s body. He felt like a filleted fish sitting on a block of ice in the market. He blinked at Fedgley. The man’s mouth opened and shut. The baron raised a hand and touched the front of his filthy doublet.
“W-What…” stammered Alsayer. “What have you done?”
Baron Fedgley fell, sprawling face first on the roof of the tower. Behind him, his daughter Kallie was grinning malevolently. A dagger stuck up from Baron Fedgley’s back.
“No!” shrieked Alsayer. “No!”
Rew glanced back and forth between the body of the baron and Alsayer. He didn’t know what to do.
Kallie spit on her father’s corpse before looking at the others. “He believed I was being tortured. He could have saved me with a word, but he didn’t. He… You heard him. He had no place for me, his oldest daughter. Family? Family? It was never about that. It was always about him and his foul magic. He’s the only one he ever cared about. You’re just like him, Cinda, more attuned to the dead than the living, and you, Raif, you must have seen it just like I did, but you’ve the man bits, eh? You’d take any of father’s disrespect if it meant you got to rule the barony. Pfah. You’re both as bad as he was.”
“K-Kallie…” stammered Cinda.
“I wish you luck, cousin,” said Alsayer, raising his voice and looking to Rew. He raised a hand and twisted it. Beside him, a purple and gold vortex formed, and the spellcaster burrowed a tunnel through the ether to a place other than Spinesend. “If you survive the wraiths, we’ll meet again. It’s all on the lass, now. They’ll come for her. They’ll keep coming until it’s over, Rew. She’s the only hope. I don’t expect you to believe it yet, but we don’t have to be enemies in this. We want the same thing. Think about it.”
Without further word and before Rew could respond, Alsayer stepped through his portal. The moment his foot cleared the Spinesend side, it began to close behind him, but before it closed fully, Kallie streaked by Rew and leapt like she was diving into a deep pool. Her hands held out before her, she plunged through the opening, and in a blink, it closed behind her.
“Blessed Mother!” gasped Zaine.
“Father!” cried Raif, falling to his knees beside the body of the baron. He put his hands on his father and looked up at Anne, hope and grief battling on his face. “You can help him. You have to help him!”
“Anne,” said Rew, “the wraiths. If you can…”
Nodding, the empath dropped beside the baron and his son. She put her hands on the body of Baron Fedgley. For a brief moment, Rew held his breath, and then Anne looked up and met his eyes. She shook her head.
Rew exhaled, horror replacing the air that left his body. He looked around. He could see nothing in the bright sunlight, but he could feel them. They were close still.
“Do you hear that?” asked Zaine.
She and Rew walked to the side of the tower, and they looked down at the bridge that spanned the gap between the tower and the keep. On the bridge, men were dying. They must have been alerted to the commotion in the tower and had come running from the keep, but now, like a farmer mowing his field with a scythe, the incorporeal forms of the wraiths were sweeping through several companies of Duke Eeron’s soldiers. Limbs were severed, blood sprayed, and bodies were mauled as the wraiths tore through the men. The soldiers’ armor and weapons were useless against the apparitions, and all the men could do was run or die. Toward the keep, some of them were running, but more soldiers were pouring out onto the bridge. A brief fight erupted between Duke Eeron’s own men as some fought to escape and others had no idea what was happening ahead of them.
“Blessed Mother!” Zaine croaked. “How do we stop them?”
Rew shook his head. “We cannot until they are sated. Spirits that old… it’s going to be a long time. This is… this is going to be bad.”
“We can pray,” said Anne. “We can pray to the Blessed Mother.”
“That won’t work,” argued Rew.
“It has to work,” declared Anne.
“For the Blessed Mother to intervene,” argued Rew, “the old stories say she’d demand a show of faith. Another would be clutched to her bosom—Anne, no!”
Shaking her head, the empath declared, “It is the only way, Rew. How many will those wraiths kill? Thousands?”
“Anne, you don’t even know it would work. And how many lives will you save if you live?” demanded Rew. “Maybe the wraiths won’t—"
“That’s a false choice,” she stated, laughing bitterly. She gestured to the bridge. They could see soldiers flinging themselves from the pathway, evidently choosing the quick rush of a fall and deadly impact over the terrible destruction the wraiths were reaping. “When they’re done with the soldiers, will the wraiths enter the keep or turn to the tower? We have to act now, while we can.”
Rew shook his head angrily. “I’ve no faith in your Blessed Mother, Anne.”
“Rew, I have to do this,” replied the empath. “Unless you have a plan, faith is all that we have.”
He reached out and gripped both of her arms. “Anne—“
“My father’s wraiths,” said Cinda, her voice awed. “I-I can feel them.”
Anne and Rew held each other’s gaze. Then, as one, they turned to Cinda.
“They’re killing all of those men,” whispered Cinda. “So many deaths. I can feel those as well, those souls being torn away. It’s not over when they die, it’s… The wraiths are feeding on the departing souls. My father, my family, is this what we are?”
“Cinda—“ began Rew, but the girl kept speaking, lost in what she was feeling, seeing.
“My father called these things,” said Cinda. “He called them in Falvar. In our home. He called to them knowing what they did! This is the legacy of the Fedgleys! This is what we are.”
“Cinda,” interrupted Rew, stepping toward her, “your father called to these, but you can send them away.”
“W-What?” she stammered.
“He summoned these creatures, and you can banish them,” said Anne, taking Cinda’s other side.
“How?” asked the girl, quaking, unable to turn from the slaughter on the bridge.
“Send them back to where they came from,” replied Anne.
“How?” repeated Cinda.
Anne could only shrug. She looked at Rew hopelessly.
“Try casting them away,” suggested Rew. “Try… You can feel them? See if you can shove them away, all of the way back to where they came from. Instead of drawing your magic, push it.”
Cinda closed her eyes.
Rew turned and watched as the soldiers fought against something they could not see, could not touch, did not understand, but the wraiths could touch the soldiers, and the bridge was slick with blood and gore. Rew had no idea how many men had perished already, but their remains painted the path from the tower to the keep in bright globs of gleaming crimson and pink.
Suddenly, the killing stopped.
“I think I did something,” said Cinda, opening her eyes.
“Are they gone?” wondered Zaine.
Rew shook his head. “No. Can’t you still feel them?”
“I feel… Are they coming closer?” asked the thief.
“You got their attention,” said Anne to Cinda. “Now, ah, quickly now, banish them back to where they came from.”
“I don’t know how!” protested Cinda.
The awful presence of the wraiths was climbing the outside of the tower. It felt like ice was freezing the blood in his veins. Rew pushed Cinda back and stood at
the battlement, waiting. He didn’t know what he would do when those creatures appeared, but he couldn’t let them take the girl without a fight.
“Rew, don’t be a fool!” snapped Anne.
He had to try.
“Cinda, hurry!” shouted Zaine.
Her voice seemed to echo as the physic energy of the wraiths rolled over them, reverberating strangely, over and over. Rew didn’t know if Zaine’s shout was being repeated or if time had twisted in the presence of the undead. He stood rooted, his longsword in his hands, but he couldn’t see anything. There was nothing for him to strike, nothing for him to do. He felt the wraiths reach the top of the battlement. They hung, insubstantial, appearing to be only the faintest wisps of vapor in the bright sun. They were directly in front of him. Frozen, unable to do anything at all, Rew stood his ground. He waited, and then, the wraiths came for him.
Behind him, Cinda released a primal scream. It sounded as if she was giving birth, as if the wail of her voice could rip open the world. Her scream continued, echoing and growing, and then, it stopped.
Rew blinked.
He was cold, but not from the energy of the wraiths. From the wind, whistling through the crenellations of the battlement, from the chill autumn air. Screams and shouts rose on that wind, but it was silent behind him. He spun. Anne was kneeling, holding Cinda. The girl was pale, but her chest rose and fell with breath.
The empath shook her head. “She’ll live, but she’s not used to handling such power. It’s done damage to her, I think. Rew, she’s not going to be moving for hours yet. Maybe days. That took more strength than what she did during the battle. We’re going to have to carry her out of here.”
Rew grimaced.
Zaine stepped beside him, looking from Cinda’s prone form to where Raif still knelt beside his dead father. She turned to Rew. “I don’t suppose you—“
She was interrupted by the clatter of stone.
They both looked over and saw Vyar Grund emerging from the edge of the tower where he’d been buried in a pile of rubble. His face was caked with rock dust and blood, and his shoulders were slumped, but he had the strength still to raise his two falchions.
