The surface split open with a loud crack and the flaming crown of the giant head appeared, encrusted with blackened soil. A geyser of molten earth accompanied the djinn’s arrival, mimicking the eruption of a volcano. Sorial didn’t hesitate and launched his feint of an assault immediately, tearing asunder the immediate terrain and pelting the djinn with every form of debris imaginable. Were there any humans present to witness the spectacle, they might have been awed, but the attack did no damage nor had Sorial expected it to. It was a distraction that allowed him to move closer to the flaming creature without his proximity being challenged.
It began to laugh - the unnervingly guttural noise that shook the land like distant thunder. Still more than a body’s length from the djinn as it wriggled free from the ground, Sorial shrunk from its blast furnace-like heat. He had been in forges before; this was hotter. By now, the djinn’s arms were free, allowing it to counterattack. It raised its hands high above its head and smote them together with a sound that would have rattled mountains had there been any in the vicinity. At the instance when Sorial was summoning the rock wyrm into action, there was a flash of light. Something radiating crimson as bright as the sun flared from the djinn’s clasped palms to strike the wizard’s left leg and the torment of the inferno engulfed Sorial.
The pain was crippling, but that wasn’t the reason Sorial lost his balance. With one leg turned to ash below the knee, he was unable to remain upright. Even as the wizard hit the ground hard, the rock wyrm broke through the surface somewhere to the left. By now, the djinn was either completely free of the earth, or nearly so, and was able to confront the new threat. It turned its attention away from the broken man, providing Sorial with what he needed: an opening.
Eyes watering from a combination of the agony and heat, Sorial struggled against the seduction of unconsciousness. The worst was yet to come; he was frightened of what would now be required of him - fearful not only of the pain but of the price this action would exact. He was only dimly aware of the struggle between the djinn and the rock wyrm, although the panicked and desperate screams of the latter told him all he needed to know about how the battle was progressing. Time was short. He had to act, to find the courage and the will to do this thing. An image of Alicia in this monster’s power was enough to rouse Sorial. Whatever the cost, he wouldn’t allow her to suffer in the djinn’s clutches.
Unable to stand, he clawed his way forward, hands scrabbling at the blasted surface, slithering like a snake on its belly. One of the djinn’s tree trunk-like legs was directly in front of him. The heat radiating from it seared his eyebrows and blistered his skin. He started to extend his right hand then snatched it back. Although pain clouded his mind, he retained sufficient clarity of thought to realize that, if he survived this, it was better to keep that hand. Instead, he shifted his position and stretched out the stump, reaching for the djinn’s leg. All he needed to do was touch it. Such a seemingly minor action with repercussions he knew would be devastating for him.
The moment of contact nearly killed Sorial. The living fire wreathing the djinn’s body leapt to the wizard’s arm, feasting greedily. Flesh, bone, blood, and muscle were consumed. It was as if Sorial’s arm melted away. The attendant torment was unbearable, an excruciating paroxysm of anguish that took root in the arm and blossomed throughout his body. Heat scorched his veins and exploded into his mind. For a moment, all thought was wiped away, including his purpose. Then, like a cool breeze in a blaze, he remembered. And acted.
Sorial’s concentration sheared through the pain. He divorced thought from body sufficiently to bring his power to bear, latching on the one aspect of familiarity within the djinn: earth. The creature could control the element because it was in part comprised of it, but Sorial was its ultimate master. With one command, he directed the earth to vacate the djinn immediately and unconditionally.
The result was instantaneous. Both Sorial and his opponent screamed at the same time - loud, ragged cries of unmitigated torment that reverberated through the ground and across the firmament. Now that his mind had snapped back into communion with his ruined body, his concentration broke and the pain overwhelmed Sorial, Blackness rushed in with such suddenness that he was unable to determine whether he had killed the djinn or merely crippled it. And, as oblivion stretched out its arms in greeting, Sorial knew he would welcome death as a relief from the anguish wracking every cell of his body. His last thoughts as he sunk into blackness were of Alicia and the hope that his suffering had spared her.
* * *
Killing was exhausting, emotionally and physically. Alicia was depleted - she hadn’t been this weary of body and mind since the trip to Ibitsal. She had been given latitude in choosing her targets; this had enabled her to save her father’s life twice. Azarak had known it and hadn’t objected. Carannan was one of his most loyal subjects, a man who had stood by him when others had deserted, and he was a stalwart fighter. The army was better with him than without him. But he was in a dangerous position on the front and Alicia didn’t know how many times she could come to his aid. The army couldn’t afford for her to act as his personal guardian much as she might have wanted to.
Over the past two hours, her attacks had decreased in frequency and intensity. She was taking longer rests to husband her resources in the event she was needed at a critical juncture. There was still no word from Sorial. Of course, if he had succeeded in his goal of keeping The Lord of Fire away from the battle, he might be out of contact for days. But that didn’t stop Alicia from seeking him, using her mind to probe rivers, streams, and especially underground waterways for any echo of his passage.
When it came, it was so forceful and obvious that she would have recognized it even if she hadn’t been paying attention. It was loud and ragged and raw, an expression of pain that permeated the earth and, in the process, seeped into the water. Alicia heard it clearly and, the moment it reached her magical senses, she knew it was Sorial and that he was very badly hurt.
The color drained from her already pale face and she would have fallen if not supported by one of the guards. Her vision swam and, for just an instant, she glimpsed the image of some monstrous red creature wreathed in flames, towering high in the air. Was that The Lord of Fire?
When she was again fully in her body, she noticed Azarak’s approach. “Sorial?”
“Yes.” She was surprised how little force her voice had. It was the whisper of a little girl. “He’s been injured. Seriously.”
“Is he…?”
“I think he’s still alive.” She didn’t know why she felt that way, but it was stronger than intuition. Maybe something to do with their shared magic. But what she had felt... he might not be dead but something terrible had happened. He might be dying.
“And The Lord of Fire?”
“I don’t know.” Her shoulders sagged. “It might be him. Or it might be something else. Nothing’s clear. All I know is that something happened to Sorial that hurt him so badly the earth broadcast his pain.” He needs me. But she couldn’t say that. Her duty lay here.
The king saw things differently. “Go to him. Save him if you can and bring him home. If The Lord of Fire doesn’t participate in this battle, we’ll win it with or without you. If he comes, I don’t think you’ll be enough to make the difference.”
The words were meant kindly but they stung. Alicia couldn’t disagree with him, though. What could she, an untrained novice, do against someone who had been studying and honing his craft since before her birth? It had never been intended for her to face Justin. If such a confrontation came to pass, Alicia had no doubt as to what the outcome would be. And if Justin had caught Sorial then it argued that evasion wasn’t an effective tactic.
Still, to leave in the midst of a battle - it felt wrong, like desertion. It was as if she was turning her back on a lost cause, giving up for dead all the brave men fighting below. Yet in the deepest reaches of her heart, she yearned to go to Sorial. Especially if he was still alive. Especially if her pr
esence might mean something.
Azarak read the conflict in her features. He understood her inner struggle and absolved her of the responsibility of making a decision. “Your Magus, this isn’t a request. It’s a command. Your primary goal must now be to restore Sorial. He’s Vantok’s principal wizard and, whether the city stands or falls, he must be returned. You have your orders.”
No more than ten minutes later, Alicia was stripping off her clothing and diving into the river. She would ride it all the way to the sea then head up the coast. Few saw her departure and, among those who did, none marked it as significant except one.
Justin allowed himself a thin smile as he watched Alicia’s departure. Now, Vantok was truly defenseless. His patience had paid dividends. He could move forward without fear of magical opposition or interference - the way he had planned it at the beginning before circumstances had muddied his strategies.
Justin had felt a similar shockwave to the one that had disoriented Alicia, although its impact was not as dramatic when filtered through fire. He had no idea what it meant beyond reflecting the acute pain of a wizard. Sorial might still be alive. In fact, Justin doubted Alicia would have departed so hastily if he was incontrovertibly dead. But he was unlikely to be much of a factor in the Battle of Vantok. And what of the efreet? Justin didn’t know. He could summon the creature and it would have no choice but to answer, but what if the struggle with Sorial wasn’t yet finished? Recalling the djinn now, if the task was incomplete, could result in The Lord of Earth’s escape. Justin had no intention of allowing that. The efreet had its orders. It would return to him once the mission was accomplished with both Sorial and Alicia dispatched. The specifics were unimportant except as a matter of satisfying curiosity.
Time to move forward here, to end this charade of a battle that had arguably gone on too long. At this point, based on the number of casualties, the men of Vantok might have formed the mistaken belief they were winning. He wondered if anyone had considered how foolhardy his seemingly unsophisticated battle plan was. Did any of the rival commanders suspect there was something backing up the ten-thousand soldiers? Were they celebrating their apparent battlefield superiority or waiting in a vise of uncertainty for the trap to close? If the former, they were about to experience a shock. If the latter, they were about to see their grim expectations realized.
From Justin’s perspective, the Battle of Vantok was won. His total number of dead and critically wounded would exceed three thousand, leaving him with sixty-five hundred able bodies for the next phase of his campaign. Perhaps he could pick up new recruits. Nomads all across the South would flock to his banner when the news about Vantok’s defeat became common knowledge. Maybe some who had defended the city, eager to join in the spoils, would turn their allegiance. For those, Justin might be willing to offer amnesty even though his policy was that enemy soldiers should be hunted to extermination.
Justin let out a high pitched whistle, a prearranged signal that he wanted to confer with General Gerthak. After a brief delay, the big man entered and bowed low to The Lord of Fire.
Justin regarded him through the veil of flames separating them. There were aspects of the battle strategy the general had opposed. He had been reluctant to sell the lives of some of his men so cheaply, favoring instead a more “traditional” attack plan. But Gerthak’s was the strategy of a conventional war, and there was nothing conventional about what Justin planned next. Now, the general was about to learn a thing or two about how magical wars were fought.
“General, the time has come for us to engage the enemy more aggressively.”
“Beggin’ Yer Lordship’s pardon, we’re losin’ far more men than we should by throwin’ ourselves at the strength of their line rather’n punching through a weakness. I’ve lost at least three whole regiments up front that shouldn’ta seen action yet.”
“That’s why there are reinforcements, General.”
“Reinforcements? We ain’t got no reinforcements! You told me ta throw everythin’ at ’em an that’s what I did!”
“Not your reinforcements,” said Justin, his tone sharp as well-honed knife. “Mine. The time has come for me to call in my reinforcements so we can end this little drama and take the city.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: REINFORCEMENTS
At first, Azarak wasn’t sure what he was seeing. With his attention focused primarily on the immediate battle area, he had paid little attention to what was happening further back behind enemy lines. After all, it was the front that mattered and it was encouraging to see the stand his troops were making. With every passing moment, the possibility of driving back the invaders was looking more realistic. For every two defenders that fell in the melee below, three attackers went down. But Vikon’s eloquent “What the fuck?” caused him to look up and behold something odd to the north. The moment he saw it, he was convinced that his decision to preemptively evacuate the city had been correct. He didn’t know what it was at first but it augured a grim turn of events: one way or another, The Lord of Fire was no longer a bystander.
From this distance, it appeared that eleven tiny pinpricks of fire were approaching, all elevated some fifteen to twenty feet above the battlefield. Their movement was slow, almost leisurely. It didn’t appear that any of the soldiers on either side were aware of this phenomenon. There was something else as well - something much larger and more distant. It couldn’t possibly be...
As they grew closer, the eleven floating fires resolved into parodies of human shapes. They were remarkably similar in appearance: larger than men with deep red hides, bald heads, and muscular bodies. Fire emanated from their skin, making them glow. Azarak swallowed hard. He recognized these creatures from stories of ages past: djinn, elemental creatures that could be summoned and bound only by a fire-wizard of enormous power. Legends told of twelve djinn, the mightiest of which was their king, the efreet. That most powerful entity was not among those moving toward the battle, but the other eleven were there, doing the bidding of their master. Their participation portended a grim turning point in the Battle of Vantok. In her weakened state, Alicia never would have been able to stand against Justin’s reinforcements; he was glad he had sent her away. At least she would see another dawn.
Then there was the other creature, still too distant to be seen clearly even in the bright light of the summer afternoon. Even this far away, Azarak could observe that it was large and winged - a crimson monstrosity approaching from the sky; unlike the djinn, it was moving rapidly. If The Lord of Fire could resurrect one legend, why not another? In another circumstance, Azarak might have felt awe. In this one, he felt only terror and despair.
Justin’s plan was no longer obscure. In fact, it was deceptively simple; from a purely tactical perspective, Azarak couldn’t help but admire its straightforwardness. The efreet had been used to draw first Sorial then Alicia away from Vantok. Once the city’s magical support was gone, The Lord of Fire had unleashed the creatures capable of delivering the most damage. The human enemy - the group currently fighting against his army - had been a distraction. They would be used for clean-up duty once the djinn and dragon had devastated the defenders.
“Elven djinn and one dragon,” said Azarak, his voice surprisingly calm. Once one had come to terms with the reality of wizards, accepting other mythological creatures wasn’t hard. The men fighting below wouldn’t be as composed when they saw what was entering the combat zone. But the king’s perspective was one of detached objectivity and that point-of-view revealed one indisputable fact: the battle was lost. Vantok’s fall was as certain as tomorrow’s sunrise.
Vikon looked thunderstruck. His eyes, wide as saucers, stared in frank disbelief at monsters out of children’s stories come to life. “It canna be! It’s gotta be some wizard’s trick!” His voice held no conviction, however.
“It’s no trick,” said Azarak. Below, the battle continued as it had for hours, with the defenders slowly but surely winning the hand-to-hand struggle with their less skilled and mo
re poorly equipped opponents. To those on the ground, it probably seemed only a matter of time before things were settled. Had anyone looked skyward to the north yet?
“Should we retreat?” asked the king, deferring to Vikon’s experience in tactical matters. Continuing the battle seemed pointless; an exercise in mass suicide. This wasn’t about saving Vantok anymore; this was about preventing the wholesale annihilation of the city’s militia. In the old legends, the twelve djinn had wiped out armies larger than the one being fielded by Azarak. And dragons had been known to incinerate acres upon acres with their fiery breath and rip apart enemies with their sword-like talons and impossibly sharp teeth.
“Nay,” said the Overcommander in a defeated voice. Like Azarak, he knew this was no longer about winning. It was about minimizing casualties. But he saw no way out of the carefully prepared trap. “If we show ’em our backs, they’ll run us down from behind. Plus, I don’t think there’s anywhere we can go to get away from those…things. The best we can do is stand our ground… maybe drop back slowly… and buy time for those who evacuated.”
The majority of those on the field would die. Some stragglers might escape, especially toward the end when order broke down and no one was giving commands any more, but the concept of the army regrouping to the south or west was no longer a realistic expectation.
The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) Page 52
