Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3)

by Gregory Mattix

  “Bah, that be some ugly craftsmanship,” Kulnor said. “What is it?”

  Taren explained briefly how he’d gotten the Bracer and how it was supposed to work. “I hope to use this to take us to where we left Sianna. Hopefully, the battle went well enough, and we can enlist some troops to come with us.”

  “I’ll bring Harbek and me boyos along,” Kulnor said. “Me queen won’t have a problem parting with ’em for such an urgent matter.”

  “Right. We’d better get back, then,” Taren said.

  He fitted the Bracer of Fellraven to his hand, a delicate process as the device was unwieldy and the various rings, linked by fine chains, were much too large for his hand. Once he got the final finger sheath fitted, the Bracer glowed like molten iron before shrinking down to fit his hand perfectly. His friends marveled at the device, but he was more concerned with trying to recall the command word and Arron’s instructions for its use.

  Surprisingly, the magical command words came to mind as if he had been speaking them all his life. “Azi’ahur I’ars si’ahu,” he intoned. “Return us to Easilon.” He focused on a picture in his mind of the same place he had opened the gate to allow Sianna’s army to steal a march on Nesnys’s, an area of rolling plains a couple days from Llantry. Gating Sianna’s troops there had posed a challenge since Taren had never seen the location they wanted to go, but he’d been able to pull a vivid image from Creel’s memories with his psionics at the monster hunter’s invitation.

  The runes lining the various rings of the Bracer flared so brightly that they were painful to look upon. With the image of his destination fixed firmly in his mind, he reached out and tore through the fabric of the multiverse. The clawed finger sheaths tore rents in reality itself, black as the void and radiating a bitter chill. He worked the Bracer to pull the rents bigger until they resolved into an ordinary-looking portal.

  Kulnor gathered up Aninyel’s body again, Ferret hefted the obsidian bomb with surprising ease, and they stepped through the portal, returning to Easilon disheartened but not yet defeated.

  Chapter 50

  Sianna rode at the head of her battered but victorious army the second morning after the battle as they marched east to Llantry. Even with the Nebarans’ surrender, the victory had been a costly one, with roughly three thousand lives lost—humans, elves, and dwarves. But she tried her best to think positively, knowing without Irralith’s resourcefulness the toll in lives could have been much worse.

  They had spent the day following the battle tending to the wounded and burying their dead in mass graves. The Nebaran corpses were heaped atop a great pyre that filled the air with a huge column of greasy smoke throughout much of the day.

  Roughly three thousand men numbered as prisoners, while estimates put deserters who had fled the field at about the same number, perhaps significantly higher since there was no way to get a precise count of their numbers. The Nebaran body count was slightly greater than that of the allies, with three and a half thousand dead.

  Sianna wondered what she would do with all the prisoners. Patrols had been dispatched in pursuit of deserters, who, once rounded up, would add to the problem of captives. For the present, the prisoners were being marched east, stripped of weapons and under guard, at the tail end of her host. They didn’t have enough ropes or chains to bind three thousand men, but they made do as best they could. She suspected the vast majority of the Nebaran soldiers would like nothing better than to return to their homes and families and have nothing more to do with war.

  A huge logistical problem, transporting so many prisoners hundreds of miles back to Nebara if I was to order it done. She couldn’t risk setting them free, for fear Nesnys might round them up and set them to ill uses once more. Even if that wasn’t the case, a great number would undoubtedly turn to banditry in search of food and coin to facilitate their passage home, becoming an even further scourge on Ketania.

  Sianna’s trusted counselors were in short supply at the moment, with Lanthas among the wounded and Iris away on her mission. Lanthas would recover, though that would take some time due to the severity of his injury. General Turpen and many lower-ranking officers had died either in Nesnys’s stone cage or upon the field. She relied on Jahn more than ever for sound advice, strengthening her belief the sergeant would make a fine captain of the guard, a suitable replacement to fill Sir Colm’s rather large boots.

  As yet, she’d still had no word from Taren and the others, which worried her greatly—both for her friends’ well-being and for the sake of Easilon and the very multiverse if Nesnys’s and Shaol’s plans came to fruition.

  I need to worry about that which I can control first—securing Llantry and retaking the throne from that traitorous scum, Calcote.

  Following the battle and Queen Shalaera’s death, the elf queen’s daughter and heir, Julicienne, had ordered the Silverwood host to withdraw to their homeland. She brusquely proclaimed their aims accomplished with the Nebaran defeat and declared that her people must have time to properly mourn the loss of their queen. Sianna liked Julicienne somewhat better than her mother, and, with the inception of her reign, put chances of warmer relations between their kingdoms at better odds than before. She couldn’t blame Julicienne for withdrawing. The loss of their queen—her mother—and heavy losses among their troops was a harsh blow to the long-lived race, their people even less populous than their southern cousins.

  Nardual, Sioned, and Rukk had remained to see their alliance through to the end, which included retaking Sianna’s throne. She was grateful for their continued support. Rukk had fallen in battle from his many wounds, although Sianna thought he was simply too ornery to die. The dwarven clerics had saved their king, but his temperament certainly hadn’t improved after his brush with death. Sianna was growing used to the brusque dwarf, however.

  Her primary fear at the moment involved what kind of reception she might receive at Llantry. Months with Calcote sitting as regent on her rightful throne could have allowed him to become well entrenched and difficult to uproot if his forces locked down the city, possibly forcing an attack or siege, which she dreaded.

  A hubbub from behind the column drew her attention. Men were pointing at the sky, and Sianna felt an instant of fear, assuming Nesnys had returned. But a moment later, she saw her fears were unfounded.

  A dark blot soaring through the air resolved itself into a group of people huddled together, apparently flying on some manner of invisible platform. And she recognized the flyers.

  Sianna spurred her mount away from the column to greet the new arrivals as they landed in the field nearby. Rafe, Jahn, and Kavia fell in with her, and she was joined shortly by Nardual, Sioned, and Rukk, along with a number of their guards and advisors.

  She knew immediately the news would be ill when she saw their grim faces.

  “Your Majesty,” Taren said, bowing low. “We have failed, I’m sorry to say. Nesnys is in possession of the control rod.”

  Her friends appeared to have had a tough go of it. Taren looked tired, his head was caked with blood on one side, and his robes were filthy. The others didn’t seem any better off—dirty and covered in blood, the lot of them. Sianna had to do a double take at seeing an unfamiliar young woman among them, pale and bald headed, with striking violet eyes. She was nearly swallowed up in her oversized clothing.

  “Ferret?” Sianna asked hesitantly.

  “Aye, Your Majesty.” Ferret bowed low.

  At least they had success curing Ferret.

  Then her eyes fell on Aninyel’s limp form. From her ghostly pallor, she was clearly dead. Kulnor carried her in his burly arms as though she were an infant.

  Nardual made a pained sound beside Sianna as he reined in. Soon, voices were raised in a commotion as everyone tried to question the party as to what had occurred.

  “Hold!” Sianna shouted. “Let them report, I implore you.”

  “I’m deeply sorry for Aninyel’s loss, Your Majesty,” Taren was saying to Nardual. Kulnor had hande
d her body over to some of the king’s guards. “She was a brilliant and fearless fighter and a good friend.” Taren had tears in his eyes.

  Nardual nodded, face sorrowful. “This is a grave blow, for a King’s Blade is difficult to replace, and Aninyel was the brightest among them. She was held in high esteem among my people. My sister, Zylka, will be especially distraught.”

  Taren began to relate what had occurred, at Sianna’s prompting, and she listened in wonder to the challenges they had overcome, nearly losing their lives on several occasions, only to ultimately be ambushed and have the control rod stolen after their near drowning.

  “I see your troops have fought a hard battle, Your Majesty,” Taren said in conclusion. “But I would like to request some good men to accompany us back to the Hall of the Artificers so we might try to defeat Nesnys and her ilk once and for all.”

  “Of course,” Sianna replied. “You can have as many men as you need. Sol favored us on the field of battle, though the victory came at a costly price.”

  “Take Harbek and his boyos,” Sioned offered.

  “And a contingent of my warriors,” Nardual added.

  Taren thanked them, and messengers were dispatched to summon the required warriors. Sianna called for provisions to be brought, for her friends looked as though they could use it. Servants arrived promptly with food and drink and a warm rug for them to sit on. She dismissed the servants before they could start erecting a pavilion or whatever else they thought she might want. The day was cold but sunny, and the snow of the past couple days had mostly melted off.

  “Will you stay the night to rest and recover?” she asked. Among all the hubbub, she and Taren had managed to find a moment to themselves, seated off to one side. “I can order camp be made here. Llantry can wait till the morn.”

  It wasn’t yet high sun, and her army was only a few hours from Llantry, but she thought it important her friends be rested and recovered for the arduous task ahead.

  Taren took a long drink of his tea, brewed from herbs he had requested from the elves. They were all munching on meat and cheese, bread, and some tart apples, Taren’s group quite ravenously. Even though he and his companions all looked wrung out, he shook his head. “I fear Nesnys is already at work activating this Tellurian Engine. We dare not tarry much longer. If we don’t stop them at once, it will be the end of us all.”

  “So it shall. I wish I could offer more to aid you.”

  Taren smiled wanly. “A picnic among friends on a sunny winter day is succor enough—a pleasant interlude before we venture back into the jaws of evil.”

  Sianna’s heart went out to him. “May the gods watch over you, Taren. And to all of you, brave friends.” She raised her voice for the last to carry.

  “And you as well, my queen,” Taren replied, the others echoing him.

  ***

  Ferret watched as Creel cinched up a donated pack, empty save for the obsidian bomb, which he had placed inside. He handed it off to an enthusiastic young dwarf who was barely old enough to grow a beard. Creel helped the lad shoulder the pack then clapped him on the shoulder.

  He turned to Ferret. “I’d like you to stay with Queen Sianna,” he said, seeming reluctant.

  She shook her head immediately. “Nay, I’m coming with you and Taren and the others—together till the end, Dak.”

  “It’s too dangerous, lass. This may very well be a one-way journey.”

  Ferret folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “I’m not scared, damn you! I rang the bell at Ammon Nor and helped rescue you and the others from the Nebaran camp. I journeyed into Kaejax and that wretched Shirak, where I nearly drowned and got my throat slit. If I can live through all that, I can face down that bitch Nesnys and her ilk once and for all.”

  Creel shook his head slowly, a bemused expression on his face that made her even angrier. “It’s not that. I know you aren’t afraid. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

  “I am?” She blinked in confusion, thrown off her stride. “Then what is it?” she snapped, trying to maintain her determined anger.

  Creel placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning down to look her right in the eyes, and her heart lurched at the raw emotion revealed there. Whatever mask of stoicism he usually hid his emotions behind, it was gone now. “I thought I already lost you—twice now. I can’t do that again.”

  Before she could sputter another weak protest, he embraced her, resting his chin atop her bald head. He smelled of leather and steel and ocean brine.

  Ferret’s resistance swiftly bled out of her, and next thing she knew, she was hugging him back fiercely.

  His words were soft, for her ears only. “May the gods guide your path, Ferret. Follow that courageous heart of yours—it shan’t lead you wrong. I know you’ll make a fine bard, lass. Don’t let anyone try and tell you different.” He kissed her forehead then stepped away.

  Ferret swallowed hard, fighting to keep from breaking down in front of kings and queens and companions alike. “I… thank you, Dak. For… well, for everything. For saving my arse from those ghouls and not giving up on me when I was an automaton. And most of all, for taking a worthless gutter rat under your wing and teaching me courage and standing up for what’s right and decent. You made me into somebody I won’t be ashamed of when I get old.” She knew she was blathering on but felt a fierce need to get that off her chest. She couldn’t escape a nagging fear that she would never see him again.

  “Nobody will ever be ashamed of you, lass. I promise you that. I’m certainly proud of you, and my approval isn’t easily won. If anyone thinks differently, well, then I’ll have words with them.” He winked at her, that bit of levity belying the weight of his previous words.

  Ferret stood there, awash with emotions, finally settling on a bittersweet smile.

  “Ferret, would you do me the honor of accompanying me?” Sianna asked from nearby.

  Her eyes grew wide. “Me?”

  The queen smiled. “I can’t think of anyone else so fearless I’d rather have at my side. When the bards tell our tales in days to come, I’d rather it be accurate, from someone with firsthand knowledge.”

  “I-I’d be honored. Your Majesty,” she added belatedly, puffing up with pride.

  Creel tried to conceal a smile, nodding thanks to Sianna.

  “Take care, lass.” Creel ran a rough hand across her head, already scratchy with a slight stubble of hair, then cupped her cheek affectionately. “And may the gods watch over you, Majesty.”

  “And you as well, Master Creel,” Sianna replied.

  He bowed then turned and joined the group of warriors. He spoke with Harbek and the other commanders a moment, then they shifted around to form a column, the same as they would marching into battle, which she reckoned they were.

  A hand descended on her shoulder, and she turned to find Taren there, looking melancholy. “Take good care of the queen for me, Ferret.” He hugged her, and she returned it.

  “That’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me. You come back in one piece, you hear me? All of you.” Ferret’s gaze included Mira as well.

  Taren stepped away and gave her a sad smile. “No promises there, but we’ll do our best.”

  Mira gave Ferret a hug also, then the two joined Creel and the others, all ready to march into the wretched Hall of the Artificers and do battle with evil.

  Ferret watched with a mixture of hope and dread—also disappointment at not going with them.

  Taren created another gateway, then a hundred Ketanian men-at-arms and a score each of dwarven warriors and elven archers marched through. Taren and Mira were last through the gate. Mira smiled at Ferret, and Taren gave her and Sianna a wave.

  Then her friends were gone. The gate winked out of existence, leaving Ferret, Sianna, and the others standing in an open field. Wet grass smoldered from the gate’s fiery edges, the only sign to mark their passage other than the abruptly ending trail of footprints in the grass.

&nbs
p; The silence was resounding after their departure, all those watching well aware of the stakes.

  “Sol, please bless them, shield them from harm, and bring them home safely,” Sianna said, so quietly that Ferret wondered if she’d meant to speak aloud at all.

  Her thoughts echoed the queen’s except she voiced her prayer for Sabyl’s ears instead. She figured it couldn’t hurt to invoke more than one deity for such an important matter.

  Chapter 51

  The moment he stepped inside the Hall of the Artificers, Taren knew something was terribly wrong. The entire facility rumbled and shook, the reverberations felt through the soles of his boots, and an electric tension filled the air. When he shifted to his second sight, he gasped in shock, for the Hall of the Artificers was functioning as a massive conduit, siphoning earth magic at a tremendous rate and channeling it through the facility in the direction of the portal room like a vast, unstoppable river.

  He knew immediately what must be transpiring—their worst fears had been realized. Nesnys had already activated the Tellurian Engine, a process that was irreversible. The only chance they had now would be to somehow reach the great machine and use Lenantos’s bomb to destroy it. He thought back on a passage he had read in one of his books, noting Ammon Nor had been constructed atop the greatest convergence of ley lines across the entire plane of Easilon. And the reason for the Hall of the Artificers being built at that same location became immediately clear, its purpose to feed the Tellurian Engine.

  Destroying the machine would be no easy task, even with a hundred and forty brave warriors accompanying them. A wall of enemy automatons activated the moment they stepped through Taren’s gate, much as during their last venture. Red jeweled eyes blazed as the constructs advanced as one to attack.

  “Heavy weapons out,” Creel barked, prompting the warriors to action. “Save your arrows.”