Equilibrium: Episode 5

by CS Sealey

  She heard movement to one side within the dead leaves at the base of an old oak. She leaped aside as a trail of golden sparks, hot as fire, shot past her and exploded against an oak trunk. Angora found her feet and swung her staff around in the final movement required for her first summoning. The staff vibrated violently and a coil of shimmering light shot out from the head and began to form in the air before her. The wildcat crashed to the ground on large furry paws, then roared and took off, its sense of where danger lurked much sharper than its mistress’s.

  Angora risked a glance back at Kayte but the veil of smoke hid the sorceress. Her wildcat darted across the lawn of the first garden and struck a large sculptured hedge that stood against the boundary wall. A scream echoed around the bleak entrance garden, followed by a loud crack, a sizzle and a thick cloud of smoke. But it had not been a scream of pain, rather one of delight. The wildcat was dead.

  “Tarvenna!” Angora cried. “Show yourself!”

  “Well, if it isn’t Her Royal Majesty!”

  There was a high-pitched cackle before the smoke wavered and parted. The dark-skinned witch stood in the clearing with her hand firmly gripping the tousled hair of a quivering young castle maid. Angora recognized her immediately as the head cook’s assistant, the maid who had instructed Angora on table manners when she had first arrived at the castle.

  The woman’s frightened gaze met Angora’s and she wailed. “Oh, milady!”

  Tarvenna laughed again and imitated the maid’s distress with savage enjoyment. Angora had never seen the woman in such a state of elation and was shocked at how close to madness she seemed, almost as cold and ruthless as Varren himself – a drastic change to the serene and often impassive woman Angora had grown used to in Delseroy. She wondered whether her near-death encounter with Tiderius had changed her, or whether she had previously worn a mask in Angora’s presence.

  “Let her go,” Angora commanded, lowering her staff. “Your fight is with me, not her.”

  “You are wrong,” the witch responded, smiling maliciously. “My fight is with all Ronnesians and their…friends.”

  “Let her go!”

  “You have no authority here.”

  Without warning, Tarvenna tightened her grip on the maid and released a burst of magic that engulfed the woman’s head in red tendrils of flame. The woman’s scream was terrible but short. Her body stiffened and Tarvenna sent her toppling to the ground, the head blackened and featureless.

  Fueled by unspeakable anger, Angora sprang into action, raising her staff and twirling it about her to complete another summoning. But the spell was cut short as she was forced to leap aside to dodge a bright blue flash of pure energy that tore through the air like lightning. She felt the heat of it as it passed and smelled the scent of singeing hair.

  Raising her eyes, she silently called to her eagle. The winged beast replied with an ear-piercing screech. Tarvenna’s spells appeared to have little effect on the summoning as it swooped and circled. The balls of fire, bolts of hot magic and sparks deflected harmlessly off its glimmering feathers. Sweating and cursing, Tarvenna was no longer laughing.

  The witch’s attention turned to Angora once more and the brief respite was broken. Ignoring the eagle’s attacks where she could, the witch aimed spells at the leika with such fierce determination that the garden was soon ablaze with unnatural fire. Angora would not be able to withstand it for long; her throat was sore from coughing and the smoke was stinging her eyes.

  She darted behind a low stone sculpture and tried to regain her breath. Spells flew all around her as Tarvenna tried simultaneously to force her out of hiding and beat away the summoned eagle. In hiding, Angora heard a loud crack and was suddenly blinded by a dazzling light. A dreadful silence followed. She heard only her own shallow breaths and the dull thud of her heart throbbing in her ears. Eventually, though, the light began to fade and, cautiously, Angora raised her head.

  Peering around the side of the sculpture, her eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom of the smoky night once more, she saw Kayte standing in the center of the gardens, quite alone. Angora crept out of hiding, glancing in every direction for any sign of the witch. As she emerged, Kayte raised her arms and smothered the fires that dotted the surrounding trees and shrubs. Then, with a great skyward twist of her wrists, the smoke began to rise and dissipate, leaving the air welcomingly clear.

  Angora breathed a deep sigh of relief. “What happened? Where is she?”

  “Took herself off again,” Kayte muttered. “The coward. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I climbed the garden wall to find a good vantage point, but pinpointing her through the smoke was harder than I expected.”

  A distant voice called to them. Hoping for survivors, they quickly searched the charred gardens. They looked and listened, ran and walked until they finally located the owner of the voice. Beneath the protective domed roof of a stone shrine, a crumpled figure sprawled across the ash-covered flagstones, her clothes ripped and blackened. As the woman raised her face and fixed her dark eyes upon them, they gasped.

  “Kayte. Angora…” Aiyla murmured. “I can’t feel…”

  They bent down to help the seer rise but Aiyla appeared too weak to do so. Her hands shook and her eyes were unfocused as she anxiously looked between her two friends.

  “You have to take her to Milena,” Angora said. “We cannot linger here. If Tarvenna should return with one of her companions – ”

  “You’re right. She needs a healer and we’ll get no help here.”

  Kayte looked in the direction of the castle but there was nothing to see through the gloom. The distant sounds of fighting and the screams as people felt the sharp bite of metal against their skin drifted through the night.

  “What happened, Aiyla?” Kayte asked.

  “As the queen suggested, I led the last of the servants out through the passageway from the dungeons. There is an opening in one of the gardens behind a statue of Araxus. We almost made it out of the gardens but Tarvenna was waiting for us. It was as if she knew…She didn’t show any mercy…”

  “Kayte, take Aiyla to safety,” Angora said. “I will stay and do what I can for those who still fight.”

  “What can you possibly do against so many?”

  “Rasmus and his men are preparing to hold back the tide through the castle gate. They will be easily overcome. I must persuade them to escape.”

  Angora looked up and spotted her eagle circling them. She silently bade him to descend and land upon a wide stretch of lawn, the only area not covered in bodies. As she was about to climb onto its back, Kayte called to her. Angora turned back and their eyes met.

  “May the blessing of the Spirits go with you, Angora. No matter what has passed between us before today, I would trust you with my life. I pray no evil befalls you.”

  “I may need more than your prayers,” Angora replied, as she took to the air. “Go!”

  CHAPTER 59

  From the uppermost gate of Te’Roek, Varren and Vrór rose on the back of a great gray eagle and flew high above the army marching up the hill to the castle. Varren had only ever flown astride one of Vrór’s summonings twice before, and both instances had reminded him just how much he preferred his own method of travel. Behind them, the city was smoking profusely, but Varren could see groups of Ayon soldiers moving through the districts, smothering flames with buckets of water or heavy rugs. Although those within the castle remained defiant, the Ayons could claim that the city was now under their control.

  The ram, strung between two large wooden frames, was being worked by two dozen men. The soldiers heaved on the ropes, drawing the ram back, and then released them, letting the huge wooden beam plough into the ever weakening castle doors. The resulting booms reverberated through the air like thunder.

  A few feet higher, Varren and Vrór cleared the castle’s magically fortified parapets. No soldiers were positioned on the roof, which told Varren that, if there were any Ronnesians left to defend the castle, they
had all been stationed at the gate, providing the two Ayon mages with an effortless entry.

  “The first floor!” Varren shouted over the thumping of the eagle’s wings.

  Vrór nodded and sent the eagle into an immediate dive down into the courtyard. The beast skilfully weaved through the canopy of the oak trees, before suddenly leveling out, making Varren’s stomach lurch uncomfortably. The eagle glided in a great circle beside the balustrades of the first floor corridor. Varren braced himself, let go of the beast’s feathers and leaped from its back into the air. He stretched out with his arms, catapulted over the balustrades, hit the floor in a roll and came to a grinding stop. He took off at a run along the open corridor toward the queen’s meeting room. If he could capture her, the war would be over. Under his control, she would not be able to negotiate the details of a peace treaty. She would have no choice but to accept his demands and surrender entirely. He could almost picture her face falling in despair as he stood before her and declared that she bow in submission.

  He heard a great boom and a crunch, followed by the sound of creaking wood and many shouts. The ram had breached the heavy gates. Soon, the Ayons would be swarming the castle in search of cornered Ronnesians.

  As he reached the door of the queen’s meeting room, there was a loud crack inside and the strong scent of magic. Emil. Varren raised his arms and sent a hot jet of light from his palms, blowing the door off its hinges. As the resulting smoke dissipated, Varren peered into the room.

  He cursed. He was too late.

  For a moment, Archis Varren was greatly disappointed about missing the opportunity to capture the queen. He strode about the room in anger, but then stopped. The castle had been abandoned. The queen had fled. The Ronnesians’ last defense had fallen and now the capital city was under Ayon control.

  He, as lord general, had taken the city of Te’Roek – a feat none before had ever accomplished, or even thought possible. The southerners had bragged that no force could breach their walls, but he had. The battle had proven not only that he was a competent leader but that, even without a king, the Ayons were still as powerful, as formidable and as great as ever before. The Ronnesian army was largely defeated and what reinforcements they could send for were scattered across their vast empire; it would take months for them to receive word of the defeat, mobilize and then converge on the capital in an organized force.

  Dawn was drawing near. Only an hour remained until the sun rose upon the latest city to fly the crimson flag.

  *

  Rasmus and his brother had never hoped to hold back the host of Ayons that swarmed through the castle gates. Despite being reinforced with complicated enchantments, protecting the wood from all manner of spells, the gates had not withstood the might of a simple but powerful ram. So, as their companions fell in battle all around them, Rasmus shouted the order to retreat. There were only three options left for them – risk being cornered in the dungeons and take the passageway the castle servants had used, fight their way to the kitchen gardens and the secret path to the monastery, or retreat to the roof and make a last, defiant stand. The brothers saw in the faces of their comrades that surrender was not an option.

  Rasmus glanced at Tiderius. Though his brother would never admit it, Rasmus recognized the telltale signs of fatigue in his fighting style. What little protection the magic in Anathris provided them both from the oncoming scourge would soon fade, leaving them at the mercy of the enemy.

  “Come on, Tiderius!” Rasmus seized his brother’s arm and hauled him back from the throng. “Retreat to the docks!” he shouted to his remaining comrades. “Retreat while you can! Save yourselves! Retreat!”

  The handful of men still on their feet glanced at each other before dispersing, each going his own way.

  “I will not surrender,” Tiderius said, “but the Ayons will be on every floor by now and…I am so tired.”

  “Dawn is nearing,” Rasmus replied. “I’d rather die with the sky above and the city below than to be struck down in a dark corridor with my back to the enemy!”

  “Then let’s go!” Tiderius swiped his sword erratically and caught an Ayon soldier on the arm.

  They fought their way to the roof, but no matter how many they struck down in their retreat, the number of Ayons never seemed to lessen. They heard the screams of the remaining servants erupting from every corner of the castle. On the roof, Rasmus looked around anxiously for Angora but found the battlements completely deserted. He felt a ripple of fear sweep through him. He doubted she would have fled, and that meant she had either left her post to attend to a greater threat elsewhere, or Vrór had lured her away from the castle. He searched the sky frantically for any sign of a summoned creature, silhouetted against the clouds or caught in the dull moonlight. There was nothing.

  The brothers slowly backed away from the staircase, fighting off approaching soldiers, steadily drawing closer to their doom as a second group of Ayons emerged from the opposite stairwell and began to close in. Rasmus and Tiderius stood back to back, staring at each group of invaders. Their muscles ached with exertion but their resolve had not abated and the sight of the smoking city below them only fueled their anger.

  But the soldiers did not attack them, they simply stood, forming a solid barrier, denying any chance of escape.

  “Come on!” Tiderius shouted, thumping the hilt of his sword against his chest. “What are you waiting for, Ayon scum? Come on!”

  Rasmus watched the faces before him, their ears deaf to his brother’s cries. They were waiting for something.

  “Now is as good as later! Come on!” Tiderius continued. “Gods – Rasmus, what are they doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Quit this taunting! You’ve come this far, finish it! Come on, you cowards!”

  Still the soldiers did not attack. Rasmus began to feel unnerved by their silent ranks, for the two Ronnesians had nowhere to go and were clearly defeated. It would have been better had they been jeering.

  The brothers did not have long to wait. The wall of soldiers facing Rasmus parted to reveal a tall man making his way through their ranks. Rasmus nudged Tiderius in the back with his elbow and gestured to the figure.

  “Gentlemen!” Varren exclaimed, opening his arms and smiling. “What a surprise! I didn’t expect to see you still here. I thought you would have gone with your precious queen.”

  The brothers did not respond.

  “Left you behind, did they?” the sorcerer asked, then chuckled. “That is unfortunate for you, of course, but I wonder whether it’s more unfortunate for her in the end. With one of her Circle of Protection dead, she may find herself a little pressured when we inevitably go in search for her.”

  “We’ll tell you nothing!” Rasmus growled. “You’ll have to kill us.”

  “Oh, I fully intend to. But I don’t need you to tell me anything, Captain Auran. Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you. In fact, my men chased you all the way from Kilsney. I expect you’re a little weary. Perhaps we should put you to rest first. But how? No use wasting this opportunity to make any example of you. Perhaps down in the middle city square would be a more fitting arena for such a famous captain. Wouldn’t you say, Maxis?”

  “Yes, sir,” a nearby Ayon captain said. “Where his people can see him. Have him hung and drawn!”

  “You lay one finger on him and I’ll cut you to pieces!” Tiderius growled, taking a step toward Varren with his sword raised. “There’s still some power left in me – enough, at least, to finish you before your pawns can take me down!”

  “Ah, the equally famous brother! You seem to have escaped the jaws of death remarkably often. But time is running out for you too. Drop your sword and we will grant both you and your brother the quickest of deaths.”

  “Let my brother go, he is nothing to you.”

  “Indeed? You are in no position to negotiate, Auran,” the sorcerer said, then nodded to the men behind the brothers.

  Rasmus felt his arms seized and tried in vain to
twist himself free. A man prized open his fingers and ripped the sword from his grasp. A moment later, Rasmus felt the sharp, bloodied edge of his own blade pressing against the skin of his neck.

  “Don’t give in!” he urged Tiderius fiercely. “Take him down if you can. I am not afraid to die, Varren!”

  “So it would seem, but you have not yet experienced the pain of death.”

  The sorcerer raised a hand, palm open to the sky, then began to close it into a fist. For a moment, Rasmus did not understand what the man was doing and was about to curse him, but then he felt his heart lurch in his chest and burn with pain. It was as though a great furnace was blazing inside him, searing his heart and lungs. He clamped his teeth together, determined not to give Varren the pleasure of a scream. But as the pain increased, he found he could hold it in no longer. From his lips came a wordless cry of agony.

  What followed was a confusion of shadows, flashes and noises. Rasmus heard his brother shout and saw him lunge at Varren, who blasted him back. The soldiers who had captured Rasmus suddenly released him and he collapsed onto his hands and knees. He pressed a palm to his chest, trying to stem the pain, but to no avail. Again, he saw Tiderius leap forward, his sword ablaze with blue flame, and heard his cry of rage. There was a blast of blinding white light and a hot wind threw Rasmus onto his side. He could hear his brother shouting furiously, though he could not distinguish what he was saying.

  Rasmus realized the spell that had clutched at his chest had lifted, but he still found it hard to breathe. His heart was beating fiercely, as though in defiance, but the rest of his body was weak and trembling. As his sight returned, he slowly rose to his knees and looked about him. Four Ayon soldiers were slashing at Tiderius’s exposed sides, distracting him from Varren’s attacks.

  Unnoticed, Rasmus took a deep breath and stumbled back onto his feet, fighting the feeling of lightheadedness that threatened to topple him. He drew out a long knife from his boot, leaped onto the back of the closest Ayon soldier and slit his throat. Before the man fell, Rasmus wrenched his own sword out of the man’s grasp and struck the next soldier behind the knees, bringing him down. He found the strength to fight on until he was, once more, standing back to back with his brother, glaring defiantly at the Ayons surrounding them.