by Jeff Grubb
“Looks like a coffin,” said the younger man.
Tawnos took a step back, looked at the construct, and smiled. “Yes, I suppose it does. All the better, I guess.”
“What does this one do?” said Harbin, putting his irritation with his father aside.
“When I was Mishra’s…guest, they kept me in a cell forgotten by the rest of the world,” said Tawnos. As he spoke, he flexed his right hand, as if to shake out an ancient pain. “I’d been thinking about it and came up with this. It functions with some of the same mechanisms that power the old amulets of Kroog, along with Ashnod’s staff from Zegon.”
“Uh-huh,” said Harbin. “And what does it do?”
“It will keep a body within in stasis—effectively asleep for as long as the power stones operate within it or until the box is opened.” Tawnos looked at Harbin. “You see, I’ve been thinking about what your father will do with his brother once he defeats him. I don’t think he could bring himself to kill him, but neither could he suffer him to live. This”—Tawnos patted the top of the lid—“is the third option.”
Harbin smiled and it was a warm smile. “Uncle Tawnos, you are now inventing answers to questions no one has even posed yet. You assume we’re going to defeat Mishra or take him alive if we do.”
“Of course we’re going to win,” said Tawnos. “We did not come this far to give up.”
“I wonder,” said Harbin.
Tawnos blinked at the younger man. “You have doubts?”
Harbin shook his head. “Not I, but in talking with Father…” He shook his head again. “He seems, well, not despondent, but weary, tired.”
“Resigned,” said Tawnos. “His has been a long road, and it will finally end soon. I think he knows it. It will end, one way or the other.”
“And when it does end,” said Harbin, “I want to be here. One way or the other.”
Tawnos shook his head. “The elves have gotten their hands on boats and are marauding their way up the coast. We need a good leader to rally the garrison units against them. You are that leader.”
Harbin said nothing.
“You wanted the opportunity to lead,” said Tawnos, “and the price of leadership is that you have to keep leading, even if you would rather be somewhere else.”
Harbin slowly nodded. “You and Father have already talked about this, correct?”
Tawnos shrugged. “He has sought my advice regarding your well-being.”
Harbin looked up at the older, taller man, and said, “Will you look after him? Father, I mean. After his well-being?”
“I always do,” the Master Scholar replied.
“No,” said the younger man, “I mean this. When we parted, he said something that’s bothered me. He said ‘Tell your mother to remember me as I tried to be, not as I was.’ He doesn’t think he’s going to live through this.”
Harbin looked at the ground, and Tawnos said, “I’ll look after him. I’ve been doing it for years, in one way or the other.”
Harbin sighed. “I told him I was wrong, too.”
“Wrong about wanting to stay at his side?” asked Tawnos.
Harbin shook his head. “A long time ago, he asked me what I thought about the Union’s work. About magic. I told him I doubted that it even existed. But now, after seeing the elves and their queen and what they can do without any devices at all, I’m unsure. I feel responsible for convincing him that magic did not exist.”
“I don’t think anyone ever convinced Urza of anything he did not believe in himself,” said Tawnos. “Just remember that there is always something that you don’t know, that you can afford to learn.”
“Is that why you’re still with Father after all these years?” asked Harbin.
“Probably,” said Tawnos. “But I have learned much from a lot of people. I guess I assumed that I never knew it all to start with and was more willing to listen to others.”
Harbin smiled at Tawnos’s words. The older man went to the far side of the tent and rummaged around, finally pulling out a short wand. The device was about the length of Harbin’s forearm and had a thick, bulbous tip like an orange. “Here,” he said. “A going-away present.”
Harbin looked at the device. “What is it?”
“Another machine I developed some time back. It masks the user from the sensory devices of the artifact-creatures. This was a prototype. It doesn’t seem to work on the larger beings, but it will help if there are any transmogrants around.”
Harbin smiled. “Still trying to protect me, Uncle Tawnos? No, you keep the wand. You’ll probably need it more than I do, where I’m going.”
“So you will be going?” said Tawnos.
Harbin held out his hands in mock surrender. “Of course!” The younger man gave a smile. “But once these elven marauders are taken care of, I will be back. Count on that.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said Tawnos. “After all, you are your father’s son.”
“Of course I am,” said Harbin, a tired smile spreading across his face. “Who else would I be?”
* * *
—
Mishra did not question Hajar’s absence nor ask about the missing ships, nor even Ashnod herself. Instead he pushed deeper and deeper into the heartland of the island. Anything that could not be fed immediately into the foundries was killed and burned, and charnel pits dotted the countryside. The air hung heavy with the smoke of what once had been Argoth’s forests. Mishra’s forces moved with the smooth and relentless efficiency of a machine, mowing down everything in their path.
Finally Ashnod was summoned once more into Mishra’s presence. The priests of Gix hung over his shoulder as she entered, like vultures waiting for the lion to make a fresh kill.
“You have been talking to natives of this island,” said Mishra without waiting for her to bow and scrape.
Ashnod looked at the leering priests, then said, “Of course. I have been endeavoring to get them to attack Urza’s forces as opposed to our own. They have a company of druidical priests that—”
Mishra interrupted as if she had said nothing after “of course.” “Do you believe that they could defeat my brother’s forces?”
Ashnod looked at Mishra, but his brows were in shadow, and she could not see his eyes. “No,” she said simply, “I don’t think they could.”
“But they could weaken him,” said Mishra.
“Yes,” said Ashnod. “What is this about?”
Mishra’s head snapped up, and Ashnod saw the fire in the man’s eyes. “Urza’s main position is seven days away. There is a force of elves heading toward it, which is two days away from arriving. If the elves reach my brother first, they may weaken him sufficiently, allowing me to crush him completely. Your thoughts?”
“Urza has many machines on his side,” began Ashnod, but stopped as Mishra’s scowl grew deeper. “Yes. If the elves attack Urza first, then he will be weakened. But he would win any direct battle with the natives.”
“Thank you,” said Mishra, turning away. “You may go.”
“Milord,” said Ashnod, “if there is to be a battle, we need to draw up the plan of assault.”
“One has already been drawn up,” said Mishra, and the priest gave another leering smile. Ashnod knew who had done the advising in this matter. “We will gather our forces and move in behind the elves, ready to attack after they do. You may go.”
Ashnod looked at the priest, then bowed low to Mishra and left his headquarters, muttering as she did so.
That evening there was a celebration among the Brotherhood of Gix. There was a bonfire in their camp and much chanting and singing. Ashnod considered trying to reach Mishra then but decided against it. The Gixians had probably left at least one of their number behind to watch over the Artifice Qadir.
The red-haired woman sat on her bunk, holding the old pack that still contained the Golgothian Sylex. She was to have no role in the battle, it seemed. And no role in whatever would follow it. She thought for a moment and look
ed into the darkness, the only sound the cheers of the priests of Gix.
Ashnod would have a role, whether Mishra wanted it or not. She pulled some parchment from her pack and a stylus and began composing a letter to an old friend.
* * *
—
The elves never stood a chance, thought Tawnos, sadly. All the valor and bravery and devotion in the world did not matter when you were armed with wooden armor and bone weapons facing remorseless metal and unthinking stone.
They came in waves—elves, sprites, centaurs, and treefolk. Some were riding great wildcats, and others were commanding herds of slugs that wrapped around the legs of an artifact and sucked its energy dry. The sky above rumbled and lanced down bolts of electrical fury, and the ground replied in the thunder of feet moving across the hard-backed surface of the ravaged earth.
And towering above it all was a titanic figure, a living embodiment of the torn forests of Argoth. It was huge and roughly humanoid, but the mane of its hair was trees, and its body was made of the living wood, entwined upon itself to form massive muscles. It born a stone sword that seemed to be forged from the heart of the mountain itself.
Tawnos remembered what Harbin had said about the elven magics, and knew that the elves had somehow animated the power of the forest and bent it to their will.
Urza’s forces were quickly arrayed in defense: avengers, sentinels, tetravi, and triskelions, insect-headed mechanical soldiers armed with weapons of new steel and statues crafted out of primal clay. Word was sent down the line for reinforcements as the first wave struck the Argivian lines.
The elves were slaughtered. For every mechanical device that fell, thirty elves perished; for every ornithopter that was brought down, there were fifty pixies. The treefolk screamed as they went up in flames, one after another, and still the elves came on. Tawnos was at the center of the line and felt it begin to waver, then to give under the relentless assault. Tawnos called for more support, but the auxiliary units were already committed to the flanks.
If the center did not hold, then the army would collapse in on itself.
The sky rumbled again, and the ground responded with a deeper cry. And Tawnos knew the reinforcements had arrived.
Urza had his own titan, crafted in the mountains of Sardia before the dwarves betrayed them. It was a hulking giant of stone and metal that towered over everything in its path. A single stride was a hundred feet, and crows and carrion birds had nested in its head. Urza had brought it to Argoth on a great barge, and it had acted as a lighthouse to guide the ships to safe harbor past the storms.
Now it met the only other being on the island that was its equal.
The tree monster bellowed a challenge, and while the colossus was silent, it turned and bore down on its opponent. The two locked in combat that dwarfed the lesser beings around them. The center of both lines broke to give the titans room to brawl, and those elves and devices that were too slow to get out of the way were smashed into the earth.
The stone sword arced through the air and bit deeply into the colossus’s side. The great animate statue shuddered, and plates of metal cascaded from its joints like scales shed from a snake. The forest titan reared back for another assault, but the colossus was too fast for it. It grabbed the attacker’s arm as it descended and smoothly and effortlessly twisted it from its socket. There was the sound of an entire jungle screaming as the forest beast’s arm was ripped loose and sent spinning across the shallow valley.
The forest titan was not to be denied, for as it lost one arm, it swung heavily with the other, a massive hand made of wood and rock. This smashed against the side of the colossus’s head, and most of the giant’s face became a cloud of dust.
The colossus did not need its head to think or react. It grappled the front of the forest titan with one hand. With the other, it reared back and slammed a fist into the creature’s chest like a battering ram assaulting an enemy gate.
The forest thing’s body exploded in a rain of splinters that cut down troops within a hundred yards of the brawl. Its legs thundered to the ground in two separate directions, and its head rolled backward and plummeted, screaming as it fell.
That broke the elves’ morale completely. Their assault fell apart with their gigantic leader, and they fled from the battle, dropping their weapons as they ran. Those machines that could pursue did so, cutting down the forest-dwellers with neither remorse nor pity.
Yet the forest titan had succeeded, for the colossus could not recover from its attack. The force of the blow ripped the stone statue’s own arm from its moorings, and it cascaded to the ground with the sound of an avalanche. Bolts of lightning shot from its metal-plated joints as the great statue slowly dropped to its knees, then sprawled forward, facedown, across the small stream that now ran red with blood and black with oil. The valley shook as it struck the earth.
Tawnos watched the rout and felt sadness. It was not the elves’ fault that they were forced to fight for a land they could not hold. They were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. Had their land remained secret, they would have been spared all this. But once revealed, they were cast in the maelstrom of war with the rest of them. He shook his head as a last group of elves and centaurs tried to rally on a mound of fallen triskelions, only be to overrun by soldiers.
All that was left after that was the cleanup. The bodies were collected and burned, and the artifacts were checked and repaired. The colossus was beyond help, but plates from its hide could be stripped and used for other creatures.
Urza arrived in the evening with additional reinforcements, along with more artificers and mechanics to held with the repairs. Though the elven force was almost entirely wiped out, it had taken a heavy toll on the Argivians.
Then the scout arrived with the bad news. Mishra’s force had been spotted five days’ march to the west and was making for their position.
Tawnos argued they should pull back, at least to the safety of the coastal forts, but Urza would hear nothing of it.
“Strip the forts within four days’ march of here,” he said. “We will fight here.”
“We are battered and tired,” noted Tawnos.
“Our machines are battered, but they cannot be tired,” said Urza. “What noncombatant living beings we have we can evacuate in time. Let this battle be at a time and place of our choosing.”
Tawnos looked at Urza and saw that Harbin had been right. Urza seemed resigned to battling his brother, regardless of the outcome. It would all end here, one way or another.
The scout also brought a message for Tawnos. He did not say where he had got it, but Tawnos knew who it was from the moment he saw the handwriting.
“Something important?” asked Urza. “Has Harbin had success against the raiders?”
“Message from an old friend,” Tawnos said, scowling. Urza was already poring over the maps of the surrounding terrain, and only nodded. Tawnos pocketed the message, and Urza said nothing more on the matter.
Tawnos thought of the date, and said, “If they take five days to get here and attack by the sixth, it will be the last day of the year. Perhaps we can begin the new year with a world at peace, when we win.”
“The last day,” said Urza softly. “And on the last day, we’re equal.”
“Pardon?” said Tawnos.
Urza shook his head. “Just an old thought. You get to an advanced age and that’s all you have anymore. Old thoughts, and regrets.”
* * *
—
In Koilos, the demon Gix heard the chants of his priests in Argoth and knew that it was time to go to them.
All the pieces were in place. The one brother was wounded, and his sibling was bearing down on him. The survivor would be battered beyond belief and in no shape to defend himself. Neither was prepared for the surprise the demon had prepared for them.
Gix smiled as a small point of light appeared near his throne. It grew until it had formed into a disk, like a reflecting pool that had been turned on its side
. There was the smell of smoke and the distant sound of crashing gears.
He looked around at his domain within the cavern, at the scattered parts of the demolished su-chi. He would soon return in triumph.
He looked at his observer, the poor priestess whose mechanical limbs had rejected her. She implored him with her eyes, for she no longer could speak.
The disk was almost fully formed, and Gix did not have much time. He walked over to her and cradled her head in his hands. His talons pierced the flesh of her scalp and drove through the bone into the brain itself.
Gix opened every synapse in the woman’s mind and let the holy fire fill her as every part of her brain fired at once. She jerked and spasmed in his hands, and then was still. He let go of her, and she slumped to the floor, a puppet with its strings cut.
Gix noticed that there was a smile on her sewn-together lips, and he smiled in return as he stepped through the gate and into the final battle between the brothers.
The Last Battle began before dawn, as the overcast sky was just beginning to lighten. The remaining mechanics on both sides began activating their destructive artifacts, and the thrumming of their engines was a bugle call to both sides. The vibrations grew on both sides as more wings were limbered, treads were checked, and leg armatures were put through their final preparations.
With the first light of dawn, the dragon engines surged forward, forming a wedge and bearing down on the Argivian position. Behind them lumbered two huge flanks of transmogrants, and the remaining Fallaji soldiers decked in Ashnod’s spiked armor. Bringing up the rear were Mishra’s great ground-shattering engines and war machines, protecting the flanks of the wedge. Behind these lines rose a dozen winged dragon engines, bugling battle cries and breathing flames into the morning air.
Urza had guessed his brother would try a direct assault, counting on the weakened state of the Argivian forces after their battle with the Argothians. For that reason he positioned all Tawnos’s mobile fortifications, the triskelions, in the center, supported by war engines of the Lord Protector’s own design. The rest of his units were broken into smaller groups of clay statues, avengers, and sentinels. Shapeshifting automatons, made of primal clay worked over adjustable frames, held the flanks. The sky was alive with ornithopters and ornibombers, protected by tetravi and clockwork avians that swarmed upward toward the great flying dragon engines of the enemy.
