The Price of Magic
Page 26
“So you’re going to throw away hundreds, maybe thousands of lives, just to improve our negotiating position?” said Iolana, exasperated.
“We will suffer some casualties, but we’ll make the enemy suffer worse. Hsrandtuss outmaneuvered Netley and he surprised him with lizzie riflemen. He won’t surprise me. I know exactly where he is and exactly what forces he’s bringing to the party tomorrow. This will be the largest battle ever fought on this continent. We’ll send him back to his city bloodied. Then we can go back to ours.”
Chapter Twenty: The Fall
The city-state of Xiatooq was unlike anything that Senta had ever seen, and under the light of the full moon, it seemed truly to be of another world. It was, she imagined, unlike anything that any human being had ever laid eyes upon. It’s great walls, built of copper colored stone, and standing a hundred feet or more tall, faced the empty plain that surrounded the city on its northern side, while its other southern side climbed up the slope of a great mountain, higher and higher, built upon terraces carved into the rock. The buildings were designed with a completely different esthetic than any other lizzie city. There were no huge square palaces like there were in Tsahloose, and there were no great pyramids like those that had decorated mighty Suusthek. Xiatooq was filled with round structures, large and small, that tapered near the top so that they resembled giant hornets’ nests. That they were dotted with windows out of which lizzie heads appeared and disappeared, did nothing to diminish their resemblance to insect hives. The higher one looked up the slope of the mountain, the grander these structures were, and the view was all the more impressive because this was not just any mountain. This was a massive volcano with an open caldera at the top, out of which belched a constant stream of black smoke and white steam. Occasionally, blobs of red lava were tossed up into the air, lighting up the night.
“General,” the sorceress commanded. “Prepare your troops for attack. This will be the largest battle ever fought on this continent.”
Arrayed out on either side of her was a vast army. Thousands of lizzie warriors with spears and atlatls, hundreds of lizzie cavalry, riding in howdahs on the backs of great sauraposeidons, and lizzie siege weapons pulled by teams of triceratops. That none of these soldiers or their animals were born of nature was unimportant. They had been conjured by magic and to an enemy, they seemed as real as any flesh and blood.
The lizzie general, who was so much shadow stuff gathered together, waved his hand and the siege weapons rolled forward, screened by the infantry. The cavalry moved to the flanks.
At that moment, three huge double gates in the wall opened and another army moved out. In front of each unit, teams of twelve lizzies carried great braziers filled with flame. There were no siege engines or cavalry, but there were thousands of lizzies brightly painted with feathers and carrying spears and atlatls. Then there was something that Senta had never seen before. Wave after wave of lizzie warriors marched out the gate, armed not with throwing spears, but with pikes, twelve feet long, with huge metal tips. And these lizzies were wearing armor.
Senta stood up on the great beast she was riding and held out her hand. A large pair of binoculars materialized within her grasp, and she brought them to her eyes. She was no metallurgist, but the armor and the tips of the pikes both appeared to be iron. All the reptilians that she or other humans had come into contact with up until this point had been limited to copper-smelting technology.
Wave after wave of soldiers came out and formed into giant square units, until they were as large and impressive looking as Senta’s own army. Then one more group of lizzies exited the center gate and took positions directly across the plain from the sorceress. She raised the binoculars once again. A group of a hundred lizzies, wearing armor like the other warriors, but with skin painted white and wearing white capes completely encircled another group, this one wearing no armor but with black painted bodies. Senta looked carefully at the latter group. They were very far away and dark, but she could swear that they had their eyes stitched closed.
The Sisterhood of Pain—her book had revealed a passage about them, she thought by mistake. But there were no mistakes. The Sisterhood of Pain was made up of two parts. There were the white sisters: a group of female warriors who cut out their own tongues, and then there were the dark sisters: magic wielders who gouged out their own eyes, but gained supernatural perception, in addition to the powerful spells. But they had lived a thousand years ago, and they had been human. But they worshipped a dragon, and all lizzies did that, so it wasn’t much of a leap.
Tossing the binoculars aside, Senta conjured a magical megaphone and brought it to her mouth. “I call upon the people and leaders of Xiatooq to return my dragon, or to face prompt and utter destruction! There will be no deviation! There is no alternative! I will brook no delay!”
There was a moment of silence. Then she heard it—chanting. The dark sisters were too far away for her to hear, but she could hear them nevertheless. She could hear their magic.
Senta looked to her far right. The cavalry at the far end of her army began to evaporate. The smoky forms of their dinosaur mounts puffed away on the breeze. She looked in the other direction to see the same thing happening at the far left. Faster and faster her army disappeared, the infantry and then the great siege weapons, and at last the giant beast upon which Senta stood. As it vanished in a cloud of smoke, the sorceress fell down through it, collapsing in a heap on the dried mud of the ground.
She could hear hissing from far side of the field. She was sure it was the lizzie version of laughter. She jumped to her feet.
“You chant your seven syllables to dispel my army and you think you’ve won?” she yelled. Then she screamed at the top of her lungs. “You think I need an army? I will bring down the sky on you!”
She grabbed a glamour floating around her head, the stored energy of a spell cast weeks earlier—energy that was released when she crushed the gem-like object. Then she plucked another from the air and crushed it as well, and then another. They were spells to increase the power and intensity of other spells. As she released the magic from the red glamours and the blue, the hissing slowly died away. As she released the energy from the green glamours and the clear ones, she felt fear coming from the blind lizzies who could sense the power. And as their fear increased, it radiated out to the warriors who stood around them.
Senta stood up straight and squared her feet and shoulders. She rolled her head around, loosening the tension from her neck. She raised both hands high into the air, wide, and with palms up. She plucked the purple glamour from the air and felt the power flush through her as she had on only one or two other times in her life. Now her voice carried without a magical megaphone. It was like thunder. It was like the voice of god.
“Now, dear sisters, I have a few syllables of my own—twenty-four in fact, just for you. Uastium peregorum uuthanum destus—ahh!”
Her thoughts and her spell were cut off by a blinding pain shooting through her head. It was like the one that she had felt several days earlier, only this time it was much, much worse. And this time, she knew what it was. Standing in a cloud of magical energy allowed her to taste the magic that was worming its way into her brain, even though it originated thousands of miles away. One of the protective wards that she had placed around her loved ones had been triggered.
“Baxter… Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj!” Suddenly, the spot where she had stood was empty.
* * * * *
The first thing that Senta noticed was Baxter’s body laying near her feet, atop other bodies and sundry other debris. She pointed at him, immediately surrounding him in a potent magical shield. Then she looked around. She was in a church, a big one, but one in which she had never been before. It was filled, overfilled really, with people. High up on the wall, the representation of the holy savior had been defiled with paint and two bloody outstretched wings. Pantagria! Then the sorceress saw the real Pantagria standing on the platform below the icon.
“Come, come, sorceress!” said Pantagria with a wide smile. “This is the beginning of a new world. These are my apostles. You can say you were here at the beginning.”
“Not afraid of brassing off Kafira, then?” asked Senta. “I’m no expert, but that looks sacrilegious to me.”
“I am Kafira!” shouted Pantagria, with an edge of hysteria to her voice.
“You’re that mental, then? I do have a question for you. Why did you tear off your wings? I take it you did that to yourself.”
“I had to do it; don’t you see? It was my wings that tied me to that horrible unreal realm. Now that they’re gone, I can never be sent back!”
“That’s good to know. So, when I kill you, you won’t simply vanish back to where you came from. You’ll really be gone?”
“You’re not going to kill anyone!”
“Au contraire,” said Senta, throwing out her hands.
“Kill her!” Pantagria screamed.
“Uastium uuthanum destus pourthanium paj uutestos err.” Senta finished her incantation as the first of the fallen angel’s minions touched her.
Those dozen or so closest to the sorceress suddenly swelled like people-shaped balloons and then exploded, spraying blood and ghastly purple puss all over those behind them. Those touched by the disgusting remains, themselves, exhibited similar symptoms, exploding. In a remarkably short time, Pantagria’s entire following consisted of so much gore, sprayed across the floor and walls of the church interior. The only people left alive inside the church were Pantagria, Senta, Wizard Bell, and possibly Baxter. Senta was unsure of his injuries, though the magical shield had protected him from the pestilence.
“This spell is more interesting used against humans than against lizzies,” said Senta, looking around.
“Kill that bitch!” screamed Pantagria.
“Uuthanum uluchaiia uluthiuth!” Bell launched a fireball from over her shoulder.
The swirling mass of flame grew as it left his hand, but about halfway to the sorceress, it began to contract, until just before it reached her, it simple blinked out.
“She’s dripping in magic,” said Bell, his mouth close to Pantagria’s ear. “I don’t understand it.”
“You caught me at an opportune moment,” said Senta. “Uuthanum uluchaiia uluthiuth!”
The shield spell that Bell had cloaked his mistress and himself in had no chance of protecting them, not with the magic of the glamours still clinging to Senta, making her fireball much larger and much hotter than her normal potent flame. The fire engulfed the entire chancel, catching fire to everything made of cloth, leather, or wood, and even catching some of the stone aflame. Pantagria and Wizard Bell were turned into two human candles, writhing in a dance of agony until they at last dropped to the floor and continued to burn.
Senta looked down at her lover. “I’m going to need help with you, big boy.”
She caught a movement from the corner of her eye and turned to see a big man rushing in through the front door. He ran to where she stood and knelt down to examine Baxter.
“Why, Police Sergeant Shrubb. Imagine meeting you here. Where the hell are we, anyway?”
Shrubb looked up at the flames now engulfing half the church. Black smoke was filling the air. Only the fact of the extremely high ceiling prevented it from already being too thick to breathe.
“Let’s get out of here first,” he growled, as he lifted the unconscious man up and carried him from the burning building, the sorceress right behind him.
“St. Ulixes, is it?” she said, looking around once outside. “This isn’t good. They hate me here. Where can we go?”
“He has a room.”
“At the Portnoy?”
“Yes.”
“I think I remember it well enough,” she said. She placed the palm of one hand on Baxter’s cheek and the other on Shrubb’s. “Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj.”
They rematerialized not in Baxter’s room, but at the top of the stairs on the second floor of the hotel. Without speaking, Shrubb made his way down the hall and stopped at the appropriate door. With a wave of her finger, Senta magiced the door unlocked and they stepped inside, where the injured man was laid upon the bed.
“I’ll find a doctor,” said Shrubb, as he hurried from the room.
Senta sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Baxter. He had an ugly gash on his forehead. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a small brown bottle of healing draught and opened it. She pulled down his lower lip with her thumb and poured the contents of the bottle into his mouth. His eyes flickered for a second and then opened.
“Where are we?” he asked, wincing in pain as he sucked in a breath.
“St. Ulixes, apparently.”
“Pantagria?”
“Properly disposed of,” said Senta.
“I’m sorry. Your brother is dead.”
“Half-brother,” she said. “Yes, I had figured that out. I felt it when the protective magic that I had placed on him was triggered, but sadly, didn’t realize at the time what it was. It was only when I felt yours, that I knew.”
“And you came hurrying to my rescue,” he said. “I’m surprised… pleasantly so.”
“I told you that I would be yours as long as you want me,” said Senta, raising her chin. “That is still the case?”
“I’m sad to say I’m not quite up to it at just this moment.”
The door opened and Eamon Shrubb shoved another man into the room. He was a neatly dressed fellow with a pointy beard and a monocle, carrying a medical bag.
“What were the odds that a doctor was staying here in the hotel?” he said.
“Actually, quite good, if I remember correctly,” replied Senta, getting up from the bed. She spoke to the doctor as she gestured toward Baxter. “It would be better for you if he recovers. I think you understand.”
The doctor looked her in the eye for a moment. “Yes, I think I do.”
After examining Baxter for the better part of twenty minutes, the doctor gave his report. “I believe he was very fortunate in that there don’t seem to be any broken bones, though he has no doubt seriously bruised his spine and ribs. It’s also possible that some of his organs are ruptured. I recommend that he drink a healing draught twice daily for a week, if that’s affordable.”
“No problem there, Doctor,” said Senta. “We’re very, very rich.”
“Well, I’m more concerned about possible contusions of the brain. He was unconscious. He should be observed, especially during sleep.”
“It shall be attended to.” She reached into her bag and withdrew a handful of bank notes, which she stuffed into the doctor’s hand without counting them. “Thank you for your time.”
“I don’t think we should stick around St. Ulixes any more than we have to,” said Shrubb.
“Why?” wondered Baxter.
“The lady has left some destruction in her wake.”
“Of course she has. The church?”
“I chanced a glance from one of the front windows. It seems to be fully involved.”
Baxter grunted in pain, as he rolled off the bed. “We should make for the train station.”
“Not to worry,” said Senta. “Sergeant Shrubb, please grab that bag and then put a shoulder under Mr. Baxter’s.”
“Very good,” she said, once Shrubb had done as directed. She slipped an arm around each of their shoulders, making a sort of three-way hug. “Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj.”
Suddenly they were on the platform at the train station. Baxter staggered for a moment, but Shrubb held him up. The morning came early in the flat land of Mallontah and the first hints of light were already teasing the eastern sky. Senta walked to the ticket
window.
“What time does the next train leave?”
“Not till 6:00 PM.”
“Six o’clock tomorrow night, do you mean?”
“Well, it’s six tonight, really,” said the man, pointing back to the clock on the wall. It read twelve minutes after five.
“Bother. Well, we’ll take two first class cabins please.” She returned to the two waiting men with tickets in hand. “I’m afraid we’re stuck here for a while.”
“You can’t just zap us back to Port Dechantagne, then?” asked Shrubb.
“I could, but I don’t want to. It would make you both very sick.” She turned to Baxter. “I’m especially worried about your head.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, but his face was pale.
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a piece of chalk. Stepping to the side of the building, she drew a rectangle the size of a door. It was completed when she drew a crude doorknob right where one would expect to find one. As she put away the piece of chalk, she muttered the word, “uuthanum.”
“In here,” Senta told the two men, turning the very real knob on a very real door.
They quickly followed her through the portal to find a room about six by eight. There were no other doors or windows, but there was a small table with an oil lamp. Along the right hand wall was a pair of bunk beds.
“We’ve got time for a good long rest,” she said, waving towards the beds.
Baxter rolled into the lower bunk without another word. Shrubb looked at the sorceress.
“Perfectly safe,” she said. “You may take the upper bunk. I’ll squeeze in down here.”
Shrubb climbed up the short ladder and lay down, his weight causing the bed to slide a few inches. Senta slid in next to Baxter. She looked over his face. He was still pale, but not as much as he had been a few minutes earlier when he was standing. She drew a little magic shape with her index fingers over his mouth, a magic alarm in case he stopped breathing while he slept. She watched his nostrils flare as he inhaled, and a very short time later, she slipped into sleep herself.