Shadow and Flame

by Gail Z. Martin

  The press of soldiers was too thick to use a bow, and so Blaine and Kestel set about with their swords, a long blade in one hand and a short sword in the other. Both were bloodied to the elbow and thigh, less with their own blood than that of their adversaries. The day was warm, and flies buzzed in black, shifting clouds over the battlefield, reveling in the feast of shit and dead meat.

  “We’ve got to gain ground before Nagok can send his beasts on the offense again,” Blaine yelled to Kestel. “If he’s weakened, now’s the time to strike!”

  Apparently the same thing had occurred to Niklas, who was galloping toward Blaine. Niklas was spattered with blood, and his uniform was cut and torn. His lip was split, and his bruised knuckles made it clear that he had recently fought hand-to-hand. “We’ve got to make a push,” Niklas said, reining in his horse as he approached. “Every time Nagok uses his beasts, he wears down our forces.”

  “Agreed,” Blaine said, eyeing the shifting Meroven line. “And he should be weakest after he’s spent himself to control the beasts. Tonight may be our best chance if most of the talishte are otherwise occupied. Bayard should be joining us after dark, so we can split the Plainsmen from Rinka Solveig’s soldiers if we need two different strike forces.”

  Niklas nodded. “We’ve set Nagok back on his heels with the reinforcements. I’m sure he thought he was just going up against me and my troops, and he got a lot more than he bargained for. But we need the mages to help us keep his soldiers off balance. They’ve been doing a good job catching things on fire and setting other traps and distractions. It helps.”

  Despite the additional troops from Edgeland and nearly all of Blaine’s full army, the Meroven attackers presented a fearsome enemy. The outlanders fought like dark spirits from the Unseen Realms, tireless and pitiless. Blaine’s army was weary but resolute, determined to break the Meroven threat.

  The last push had regained precious ground. But as the sun set, Blaine felt a shiver of foreboding. Torches lit the open plains, and the moon was dark. Niklas and Blaine shouted the order to charge forward, and the ranks of foot soldiers and men on horseback surged toward the Meroven army. Two armies met with a clash of swords and shields, and the sound of the battle rolled down the valley like thunder.

  Nagok rode at the center of his army astride a huge black warhorse at least nineteen hands high. Beside him loped a large black wolf, easily keeping pace with the horse. Nagok’s steel helmet was forged to look like the skeletal head of a giant wolf. A breastplate of yellowed bones covered chain mail. Several dozen of Nagok’s fighters wore similar steel skull helmets. Those soldiers wore dark armor, and the champrons of their mounts had razor-sharp steel horns or antlers.

  Blaine rode full tilt into the fray as the field became an open melee. Kestel was an excellent swordswoman, but for this strike, she rode with a bow and quivers full of arrows, riding at full speed so that the enemy soldiers were obliged to get out of her way or be ridden down, veering unpredictably to avoid being blocked in or cut down, sending arrow after arrow with deadly aim. Blaine’s gift of battle foresight served him well, helping him dodge at the last minute or rein in his horse mere breaths before a strike might have had his head.

  Rikard, Dagur, and the rest of the mages had not yet made their move, but Blaine could feel power rising all around them on the darkened battlefield. It prickled at his senses, like a coming storm, intangible but very real. Another magic vied against the first, and Blaine guessed that his mages and Nagok’s mages were locked in their own arcane struggle. He was weary in every bone and sinew, bloodied and bleeding, but he was certain that before this night was through, their fate would be decided.

  By morning, either he or Nagok would be dead.

  More creatures bore down on them, monstrous beings with skeletal heads and elongated bodies. It took Blaine a moment to realize that what he saw were men riding standing up on their saddles, dressed in fearsome costumes with totem-like heads resembling the skulls of monsters, their horses similarly armored to inspire terror.

  “They’re just men!” Blaine shouted to give courage to his soldiers. “They bleed like anyone else!”

  A hideous keening cry echoed across the plains. Creatures coiled and slithered, charged and flew toward them, the stuff of nightmares and hallucinations. The monsters were opaque, shadows that glided rather than ran and disappeared when they turned, like a paper shown on edge. Soldiers struck at the creatures with their swords, but the blades went right through without doing harm.

  “They’re illusions!” Dagur shouted, though his voice was lost above the chaos. Verner’s soldiers held their line, and the hideous creatures washed over them and past them without doing any damage. Dagur and the other mages took up positions behind the front line of the battle, trying to disrupt the powerful, overwhelming illusions cast by Nagok’s magic-users.

  “Hold your positions!” Verner shouted. “They can’t hurt you!

  Blaine raised his sword for the charge, and felt a wave of magic hit him like the incoming tide. The force was invisible, but potent, sweeping men from their saddles and knocking horses off their feet. Blaine felt as if he were drowning as the air was sucked from his lungs and his head grew light. He clung to the reins and used his knees to grip his mount to hold his seat. He was dimly aware of a sudden flare from the amulet inside his tunic—the one Rikard and his mages had made to deflect the worst of a magic strike—that warned him it was nearly spent.

  The amulet flared once more and went dull as a force too strong to fight tore Blaine from his saddle and hurled him to the ground.

  Kestel ran from the fray and helped Blaine to his feet. Nothing was broken, but every inch of him was sore, and he was winded from the fall. “My amulet won’t do me any good now,” he said. The cloud of nightmare creatures billowed toward them like a looming storm.

  Kestel threw her arms around him as the storm clouds hit, and her null amulet shone brightly, driving back the darkness, carving out a circle of space around them through which the monsters could not pass. The illusions seemed real, and the snick of sharp teeth sounded so close behind Blaine that he flinched, but the amulet’s light held, giving Blaine and Kestel the ability to see that the monsters were nothing but cleverly shaped shadows.

  “We’ve got to do something!” Blaine said, but Kestel clung to him fiercely.

  “Do what? You’re not a mage. Neither am I. The monsters might not be real, but the power behind them is!”

  They stood at the center of the maelstrom, as the wind that bore the nightmare beasts howled around them. The air grew freezing cold, and it smelled of blood and death. The light of Kestel’s null amulet was fading. Though the creatures were only illusion, it was an overwhelming hallucination, and it left Blaine and his allies open to attack.

  A figure took shape amid the storm of magic that raged all around them, glowing and insubstantial. Carr McFadden’s ghost stood sentinel, holding gleaming, spectral swords in both hands, protecting Blaine and Kestel as the shadow monsters swarmed around them.

  Night had fallen, and amid the dangerous illusions of Nagok’s shadow army, the talishte fought in no-man’s-land. The mortal fighters had fled, save for Blaine and Kestel, and the blood-soaked ground belonged to the dead and the undead. A dozen talishte of Penhallow’s get battled at least as many or more from the rogue Elders’ broods, and they, too, seemed to know that this night would decide their fate.

  The talishte battled like warriors of legend, moving at impossible speeds, meting out and taking blows that would have snapped mortal spines and crushed mortal skulls. Geir’s blade slashed down along his opponent’s ribs, opening his chest to the bone, only to have the injury begin to heal as soon as the sword was removed. A broadsword skewered one of Penhallow’s get through the abdomen, but the injured talishte freed himself by moving backward at blinding speed, then brought his own sword across his opponent’s belly so that the entrails bulged from the raw wound, until it closed minutes later. Overhead, airborn talishte tumble
d and dove like eagles fighting to the death, showering the ground with cold blood and bits of dead flesh.

  Whether the two sides were so evenly matched that neither could gain the upper hand, or whether the stalemate was enabling long-overdue vengeance to play out, Blaine did not know, but the undead fighters battled with a primal savagery that made the wolves’ attack seem elegant by comparison. Blaine glimpsed Geir rising like a bloodied god, hair lank and matted, his clothing ragged and spattered with gore, a damaged warrior bent on utter devastation.

  The ranks of the talishte had thinned, each side losing some of their fighters, when they rose to meet each other for a final reckoning. Two ranks of immortals, fighting in midair, finishing a centuries-old feud.

  Geir’s fighters charged. Before they could strike at their opponents, Thrane’s talishte screamed and began to writhe, hung against the black night sky. The enemy talishte went still, then their bodies crumbled, spreading the dust of their ancient flesh and bones across the empty, bloody battlefield, until the last of their remains vanished on the wind.

  “What in Raka just happened?” Kestel breathed, still holding Blaine tightly within the fading protection of the null amulet.

  “Penhallow and Connor won,” Blaine replied, sensing a rush of relief and triumph through the kruvgaldur, tempered with loss and fear. “The Elgin Spike worked. But I’m afraid it’s come at a steep cost.” Blaine concentrated, trying to make sense of the jumbled, distant impressions he received through the kruvgaldur. At that instant, the last faint light of Kestel’s null amulet blinked out. Carr’s ghost turned slowly, gave Blaine a lopsided, sad smile and an ironic salute, and winked out of sight.

  The mortal army had fallen back, leaving an empty swath of devastation where the two talishte forces had clashed. “Come on!” Blaine said, grabbing Kestel’s wrist and heading toward where he had last seen Nagok astride his warhorse. Niklas and a small group of soldiers fell in behind them as Geir and the surviving talishte swept on ahead.

  Nagok was unmistakable astride his massive black warhorse. His huge black wolf stayed at his side, snarling and snapping at the advancing soldiers. The wolf sprang at one of the talishte soldiers, and the undead fighter caught the heavy animal easily. The talishte held the wolf at arm’s length by its throat, unfazed by its fangs and claws, then with a casual, violent shake of his wrist that broke the wolf’s neck, the talishte hurled the man-sized creature at three of Nagok’s soldiers, knocking them to the ground.

  Nagok shouted for his predator protectors as Blaine’s talishte fighters bore down on him, but Rikard and the mages had driven the creatures out of range. A cadre of loyal supporters surrounded Nagok, but the talishte set on them with fury, ripping Nagok’s protectors limb from limb. The terrified warhorse reared, throwing Nagok from his saddle.

  “Geir! Call them off!” Blaine shouted. “I’ve got to finish this!”

  Geir shouted a command and the talishte drew back, forming a corridor to where Nagok struggled to regain his feet. The skeletal helmet had been ripped from his head, leaving deep, bloody gashes along his scalp and face. The rest of his armor looked as if it had been punctured by war axes or pikes, and deep cuts, spaced as wide as the fingers of a hand, clawed across the armor covering his torso and legs. Blaine wondered how much Thrane’s destruction damaged Nagok, and whether he could use that to his advantage in the fight.

  Blaine advanced, sword drawn. “Pick up your weapon,” Blaine shouted to Nagok. “You wanted to loot Donderath to enrich your own kingdom. Your master intended to give Donderath’s throne to Pollard. What did he promise you? The crown of Meroven?” Blaine’s smile was bitter. “Did you really believe he would keep his word, even if you won?” He shook his head. “We will not allow that. Now face me, and die in fair battle, or the talishte will finish what they started.”

  For the first time, Blaine got a good look at his mortal enemy. Nagok’s breastplate of human bones had been shattered. The long dark hair that framed his face was matted with blood and sweat. He might have been a few years older than Blaine, but the cold reckoning in Nagok’s dark eyes was bitter and reptilian.

  Nagok gave a guttural growl and lunged. He brought his sword down two-handed in a brutal strike that forced Blaine back a pace and shook him to the bone. Blaine struck back with a war cry, drawing on his pain and rage and fear to deliver three pounding strikes.

  Eyes blazing with sheer hatred, Nagok stalked toward Blaine, watching him like a starving wolf, looking for weakness. Without his magic, cut off from his predators, his talishte allies, and his mages, Nagok was left with nothing but his sword skill. He was a few inches shorter than Blaine but stockier, and what he lacked in reach he made up for in power. Blaine was fast, with longer arms that gave him an advantage. As they circled, with the fate of a kingdom in the balance, Blaine called on the stubborn will that had enabled him to survive Velant and Edgeland’s brutal cold.

  “You’re defeated,” Blaine grated, his throat dry and raw from the fight. “Donderath is not for Meroven to plunder.”

  “You think I’ll be the last you see of Meroven?” Nagok rasped. “You’re wrong. There will be others. You’ll never be rid of us.” He rallied, running toward Blaine with a mad howl, swinging his sword with all his might in powerful, killing blows.

  Blaine let the fury and terror of the day fill him, let it find release in the strong, scything strikes of his broadsword, meeting Nagok’s swings with fierce determination. Their swords rang loud against each other, steel scraping against steel. Nagok lunged again, and Blaine blocked the blow, pushing Nagok’s blade out of the way and sinking his short sword between Nagok’s ribs.

  Nagok opened his mouth to speak, but blood bubbled from his lips. He fixed Blaine with a killing glare, and as he sank to his knees, Blaine swung his sword again, severing Nagok’s head from his shoulders as his body tumbled to the side.

  The allied armies and the talishte cheered, while Nagok’s troops knelt in surrender.

  Kestel and Niklas hurried to Blaine’s side. “You did it!” Kestel said with a tired grin. Her face was streaked with blood and dirt, and her clothing was ripped and bloodied. Deep scratches marred her cuirass and vambraces. Niklas also looked worse for the wear, spattered with gore and grime. Blaine imagined he looked at least as bad himself.

  “We’re not done yet,” Blaine said, tearing his gaze away from Nagok’s headless corpse. “Pollard and Hennoch are still out there, and they won’t rest until this is finished—one way or the other.”

  Geir joined them, moving swiftly and silently as only talishte could. “Congratulations,” he said, inclining his head in acknowledgment.

  “Penhallow’s strike was successful?” Blaine asked.

  Geir nodded, and his wan smile was enigmatic. “Under the right circumstances, with the right tool in the right hands,” he replied. “Penhallow and the Wraith Lord—and Connor—have been busy tonight.”

  “The other Elders?” Niklas asked.

  “Those made by Thrane or his get are destroyed,” Geir replied. “The remaining Elders battled among themselves tonight, drawing Thrane’s allies into an ambush.” He glanced at Blaine. “What I can read through the kruvgaldur suggests victory for our side, but the price was dear.”

  Blaine nodded. “That was my impression as well. I had hoped you might have gleaned more details.”

  Geir shook his head. “Unless Penhallow intends to convey an explicit message, I receive impressions, images, bits and pieces, just like you do. I suspect he’s been too busy to attempt to contact us with more than that. We’ll know the specifics soon enough.”

  “Tomorrow, you can take troops to go deal with Pollard at Rodestead House, and I’ll send men to handle Hennoch,” Niklas said, laying a hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “After we get this locked down tonight. Rikard and Aron are making sure there’s no funny stuff from the Meroven mages, while Dagur and Kulp and Mevvin are setting wardings and traps around the camp perimeter so we won’t be disturbed.”

&nbs
p; Blaine started to turn away, but Niklas tightened his grasp for a moment, and Blaine looked back at him. “Rest tonight, and take plenty of soldiers with you. No one expects you to be a god. You’ve already proven that you’ll be quite a king.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  THE AFTERMATH OF THE BATTLE STRETCHED into the predawn hours. Blaine and Kestel finally relented and got some sleep after Niklas and Geir insisted they rest before taking on Pollard. The remaining candlemarks passed far too quickly, and in the morning, Ayers, Niklas’s second-in-command, was already waiting with fresh horses and a squad of fifty men.

  “No telling what you’ll run into,” Ayers said, handing off the reins. “About a third of our troops are still in the field chasing down deserters, so the last sighting the talishte had of Pollard put him at Rodestead House.” He paused. “One piece of news you’ll find interesting. A talishte messenger came for Geir after you and Kestel finally went to get some rest. Hennoch won’t be a problem. Once Thrane’s talishte were destroyed, Hennoch surrendered to Folville and Piran outside Castle Reach.”

  “Now, that’s interesting,” Blaine remarked. “So Geir is sure that all of Thrane’s get were destroyed?” It was what they had hoped from the Elgin Spike, but Blaine had experienced enough unwanted surprises from old magical objects that he welcomed confirmation.

  Ayers nodded. “He’s being pretty damn cagey about the whole thing, but yes—he’s sure. And I guess if there’s a way to destroy that many talishte at one time, I can understand not wanting the method to be widely known.”

  Blaine frowned. “Pollard and Hennoch served Reese and Thrane. I can’t imagine that they weren’t marked with the kruvgaldur. Was Hennoch harmed when Thrane’s talishte were destroyed?”

  Ayers shrugged. “Geir said Hennoch was weakened by the strike, but was expected to recover. Pollard served Reese longer and was also bound to Thrane, so you may find Pollard was more badly damaged when you catch up to him.”