Missing Piece

by Robert Priest

  With one hand over the deep wound on the left side of his chest, Torgee somehow rose to his feet and staggered toward the western gateway into Ulde. There, to his surprise, he encountered quite a number of very well armoured and curiously weaponed guards at the gate. They all carried double-bladed axes that looked too big for their shoulders. Several of them had golden sabres and scimitars. All were clad in plate armour and heavy chain mail, their heads in feathered helmets, their visors down. Seeing his red academy jacket, no matter what state of dirty raggedness it was in, the fellow at the forefront lifted his visor and saluted him as he approached.

  “You are wounded, sir.”

  “Never mind that right now. I need one of you to deliver a message.”

  “Who to, sir?”

  “To my sister, Tharfen. Do you know where she is?”

  “Last I seen her she went down to the bay to fight.”

  “Well, I need you to take a message to her.”

  “But there’s a battle going on there. We would get killed. Have you no bird, sir?”

  “No, I have no bird. Now one of you had better take a message before I bleed to death.”

  “Not us, sir. We are not messengers. We are guards only.”

  “This is an emergency.”

  “Respectfully, sir, we were told to stay here in force and to not leave under any circumstances.”

  Torgee could see that there was no swaying this man, but now he saw to the side of him seated on the ground, his back leaning against the wall, another fellow. He, too, was clad in illustrious armour and wore a long sabre in a bejewelled scabbard at his side. He had a paper folio on his lap and a small stub of a pencil and with his visor down was completely engaged in writing something.

  “Hey you,” Torgee called to him, wincing at the pain this effort caused.

  The youth didn’t look up. “Just a second.” He continued writing.

  “Hey, you. I need you.”

  “Just a moment, just a moment.” The lad’s pencil continued to scurry over the page until he was finished whatever he was writing. When he finally looked up, he said, “Why, it is Torgee!”

  “Yes, it is urgent that you take a message.”

  “Of course, sir.” The poet lifted the visor, showing his face. “It is me, sir.”

  “The scribe.”

  “Yes, sir. You are hurt, sir?”

  “No time for that now. I need you to take this message right away. It is to go to my sister, Tharfen, and it is most urgent.”

  The poet’s face lit up. “I will do it, sir. I will do it with windspeed and whatever spell there is in my feet.”

  “You must tell her — no — you have paper there — write this down.”

  “Yes, sir.” The poet turned over the sheet he had been writing on and prepared to take down Torgee’s message.

  “Montither with a squad of kwislings is going to the tower where Xemion is keeping Saheli.”

  “Yes, sir. And thank you, sir. I have lived to do this.”

  “You are a brave fellow.”

  “It takes no courage at all, sir. This is a deed of love.”

  “Now please leave me some of that paper and pencil and I will send other notes other ways.”

  “I hate to give up my paper and pencil, sir, but ...” The poet handed Torgee his sheath of papers and his pencil.

  “Good fellow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fast now.”

  With a wave to the others, the poet dashed off toward the battle and was soon out of sight. Torgee collapsed to his knees. “Water,” he said in little more than a whisper.

  “We have not water, sir, but wine and ale.”

  Jik surrendered his wineskin from which Torgee drew a long draft into his mouth. Then he sunk down farther. He crawled to the inner side of the wall and lay there with his back against it, blood still leaking over his fingers from the wound in his chest.

  59

  The Battle in Ulde

  As they fought their way down Phaer Point, the invaders irealized another one of Prince Icrix’s pronouncements had been wrong. He had led them to expect a poorly armed and poorly trained few to overcome once they were into the city. But they had never seen such a profusion of weaponry as that which was held in the hands of the defenders. Nor had they seen such well-wrought armour, flags, and pennants. And the defenders, at least those at the front, were far from poorly trained. Some of them were veterans of the previous Battle of Phaer Bay, and all of them had undergone years of training with the sword, the mace, the pike, and the rapier. Certainly there were some who, though gloriously bedecked, knew not what to do with such weaponry. These were easily overcome. But even with their armour lying shattered like broken glass at their feet, most of these still attacked bravely. It was slow, fierce, and bloody fighting, and both sides took many casualties as the invaders inched their way down Phaer Point. The wind was blowing hard now, and more and more of the great ships were clogging the harbour, their crews with cutlasses in mouths scampering from one deck to another trying to get in on the melee.

  When the invaders had fought their way close to the portal that led to Shissillil, Lirodello’s plan with the theatre company came into play. The prop makers had fastened realistic walls and porticos to the portal so that it looked just like a small but elegant house. Positioned nearby, a special squad chosen by Lirodello for their bravery began to draw enemy fighters into one-on-one fights. Suddenly, they would turn and, as though fleeing, run through the prop doorway. As often as not their opponent, with sword upraised, would run in after them, sometimes leading a number of other invaders in as well, so that gradually a stream of more and more Kagars and Nains were decoyed into the slippery streets of Shissillil, where they slid out of control along the frictionless surface and away from the battle. Whenever there was a lull in this activity, the children from the theatre company tugged at the ropes that had been tied around the waists of the decoys and pulled them out of Shissillil to execute the ruse over and over again. Many of the invaders tricked in this way were spat out high over the bog. Others suffered the same kind of collision as Xemion and Tharfen had, not only with their fellow invaders, but with Phaerlanders who had unwittingly entered the portal in hopes of fleeing the battle. There are many intersections in Shissillil, and at each of these people were dashed through people again and again. Any of the Kagars who were lucky enough to eventually emerge safely had lost so many pieces of themselves to other people they didn’t dare continue their fight for fear that in slaughtering the enemy they might also slaughter themselves.

  Not all the invaders were so foolish. A great horde of them pressed on beyond the gates and down the peninsula into the heart of the city. But still they found a populace dense and fiercely armoured to resist them. Sometimes Phaer swords snapped or whistled in mid-swing, or their shields flopped like cloth and fell away burning from them, but there were also many who had good, strong weapons, well-sharpened, and the invaders began to realize that the booty they had imagined so easily attaining would, in fact, only be acquired at a terrible cost.

  60

  Reversals

  Xemion needed to get to the battle as quickly as possible. But that would require the use of spellcraft. He knew in his heart this power was still available to him, but his whole body tightened at the thought of the pain it would awaken. But this was no time for resistance or fear.

  Saying nothing, he took Saheli’s hand and allowed the first surge of agony as the magic began to rise through him. It felt like his marrow was suddenly too big. Allow it, he told himself. It was what he had to do. When the enemy came was not the time to throw down your weapon — even if you hate and fear that weapon. You take it up and use it the best you can. Even if it brings a horrible kind of joy to you that you never want to feel again. You take it up. Knowing that everything ever said about the danger of power by anyone i
s absolutely true. You take up your power.

  Xemion put one arm around Saheli, took up his power, and hurled it against the enemy. He and Saheli like two bound spears were flung across the distance between Vallaine’s tower and Phaer Point, landing atop one of the three turrets of the castle.

  Saheli eyed him with gratitude and amazement. “Your powers are astonishing,” she said. “I know they must also be a great burden to you.”

  He nodded at her and smiled.

  “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you had to hold them back on my behalf,” she said, “but I want you to know now that I trust you to use them wisely.” For another brief moment they held each other’s eyes, but in that moment all that had ever been between them felt clear and resolved. Then she kissed him hurriedly. It was just a little peck on the lips followed by a quiet goodbye.

  “Thank you, friend,” he replied as she quickly found the stairway and disappeared down it in search of Torgee. Once she was gone, Xemion made his way to the rampart to assess the situation below.

  It was early evening and the tide was coming in. Thousands of the invaders were already in the city and there were easily a thousand more who had landed on the beach below. To make matters worse, as the tide flowed in and the ocean slipped back into the familiar grooves of the bay, more and more of the big ships were being blown in, their decks brimming with pirates. Beyond the bay and out to the horizon there were at least fifty other large galleons, their sails full to bursting with the increasing wind. No matter how valiantly the Phaerlanders defended their ground in the city above, they would be swept away forever if all of these attackers succeeded in landing.

  The only thing left to do was to turn the wind. There was a spell for that in Xemion’s memory, but it was one of the most difficult and draining of all spells. Tensing in expectation of the pain it would cause him, he hesitated, but only for a moment. Something was dissolving in his chest, melting in his bones. Something was lifting from him. He breathed in deeply and began to speak the spell. There was only pain where there was resistance, so he gave up his resistance and there was no pain.

  The moment he finished the spell a wave of energy moved up through his body into the index finger of his left hand. He pointed it toward the north side of the bay, into the oncoming wind, and immediately a thin strip of the wind reversed on itself. He spread his feet wide apart to brace himself and slowly began to swing his arm southward. It took immense concentration and finely focused intention. The wider he swung his arm, the wider grew the area where the wind reversed. He could see gulls now on the north side of the bay being caught in it and swept out beyond the entrance to the bay. And all the while, even as some of the invaders were retreating from the city above, more of the smaller oar-driven vessels were entering the bay on the south side. Many of these who would enter with the wind at their backs were stunned to find themselves swept round the curve of the shoreline and suddenly propelled in the opposite direction as the overall effect of the two contrary winds began to create a fast circular current. The interaction between the crosswinds was causing a shrill whistling sound and anything or anyone trying to sail from one side to the other found themselves caught up in a small whirlwind.

  The pirates who remained in the city had already been having far too much difficulty. Not only were they facing a well-armed populace, but here and there, as the Great Kone reached its full turn, there occurred frightful manifestations: Leopards and tigers summoned fifty-five years ago by circus kones popped into being, hungry and ferocious. Their sharp claws and fanged jaws made quick work of the first of the invaders unlucky enough to encounter them. Other invaders who arrived late and were foolish enough to break into the warehouses on the docks in search of booty found themselves beset by stinking tangles of cadaver limbs and other body parts captured from the bog. Some of these limbs were set on fire as the marauders tried to escape them, but soon the warehouses were engulfed in flames and there were many casualties.

  The invaders did not turn and flee at once, but as the sky darkened and the shrieking of the opposing winds grew so loud the sounds of battle could barely be heard, more and more of them took flight. Most of this involved a chaotic scrambling down the giant stairway formed by the collapsed cavern. The siegemen, however, left with the same kind of order they had arrived with. Though they were fewer in number, they found their way back to their towers, and began to disassemble them as they descended. In short order, and with great precision, they were dismantled plank by plank, rail by rail, and all these pieces were skillfully fitted back onto the frames of the boats they had arrived in and which had all this time been waiting for them. As soon as their anchors were lifted, these boats, along with many others, were caught up in the current and swept first toward the north side of the bay and then through the mouth of the bay and out to sea.

  All this time Xemion had firmly held his stance. While the sky grew darker and darker he watched the enemy sails grow smaller against the horizon. Not till the last of the ships faded into the sinking orb of the evening sun did he put his arm down.

  He felt strangely calm. There was still some fighting going on atop the cliffs, but there was less and less of it. Only a few foolhardy Kagars remained, and most of them were now retreating, though their journey away from the isle would not be with arms full of booty as they had hoped.

  Many discovered when they finally got to the shore that their ships had already departed and they had no choice but to surrender to the Phaer forces, who, to their surprise, treated them kindly in accordance with the provisions of the Phaer laws.

  61

  A Spell to Break the Earth

  It was the middle of the night. Those Phaerlanders who had survived the battle had begun to take care of the wounded and the dead and a steady stream of them were silhouetted in the moonlight as they carried the living off of the beach.

  Xemion searched among the strewn bodies himself, looking to see who he might assist. Suddenly he heard a voice calling his name. He looked around. It had been a woman’s voice, but there were no women nearby that he could see. Again the call came, and this time he actually felt something move across his chest and rattle against his ribs. The piece had moved. He’d felt it. “Tharfen!” he called.

  Someone lying among the wounded called back, “She’s dead.”

  “She’s not dead,” he replied. “I can sense her.”

  “She’s under the Lion’s Head,” the wounded man said. Xemion approached and knelt down beside the man. He wasn’t badly wounded, but had a gash in his lower right leg. “Brave girl. She pulled it down on herself for all of us,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Xemion asked.

  “Didn’t you know, sir? She lured all them Cyclopes into the Lion’s Mouth. They chased her in, and once they was all inside — boom — she pulled the whole thing down.”

  “But there’s an escape route.”

  “Supposed to be, sir. Not finished yet. Brave girl. She knew that when she went in. There’ll be no getting her out of there.”

  The piece was banging like a fist against a brick wall, and suddenly Xemion could sense Tharfen clearly. She was in trouble. “I will send someone for you,” he told the wounded man. Then he rose and ran to the massive crystal stairway that had once been the tunnel to the sea. If its construction had been completed as planned, there would have been a narrow rift between two of the long fallen monoliths of crystal so that whoever triggered the cavern’s collapse would have a way out. Unfortunately for Tharfen the work had not been completed and two monoliths had fallen side by side, blocking the way. A group of Nains with picks were hammering away at the tight seam between the two but their tools were having little effect.

  The Elphaerians who had designed the mechanism to trigger the fall of the Lion’s Head took care that the alcove containing the trigger be made of solid granite so that it might bear the incredible weight of the crystal that would fall on it.
The alcove was six and a half feet high, three feet wide, and two feet deep — a granite closet. But where the opening at the front should have provided access to an escape tunnel, a crystal slab had fallen, effectively encasing Tharfen inside.

  It would be inaccurate to say that she had spent her many hours entombed here with faith and patience. It didn’t even take her very long to regret the action she’d taken. There must’ve been some other way. This was no way to die. She screamed and cried and eventually as her mother had taught her, even though she didn’t believe, she prayed for deliverance. For a long time air continued to come in through the gaps among the crystals but as the great weight shifted, bearing them down further throughout the day the oxygen grew less and less. Toward the end all the wrong things she’d done began to haunt her. If this was indeed the end she wished she’d lived a better life and been more generous and kind. She wished there could be some kind of forgiveness. As always chief among her sins was the thought that it was her action that ultimately caused Saheli’s death, just as Xemion had said. But she also regretted her treatment of her half-brother, Torgee, and wished she could see him one more time. As the air flow continued to diminish she grew more and more light-headed in the heaviness of her regrets. Finally she slumped down to the ground and hung her head between her knees, ready for the final sleep. There was only one person who might possibly have the power to get her out of here now. Silently in her mind she said his name.

  Xemion found the tight seam between two of the giant fallen crystal monoliths and put the fingertips of his right hand into it. There was a spell to shake the sky, a spell to divide a river, and a spell to break the earth — that was the one he needed now. He lifted his face to the sky and shouted it, his long hair buffeted by the wind. With a retort as loud as a thunderclap, the monoliths cracked open, though just slightly. He pushed his hand deeper and shouted out the spell again. With a squeal and a snap the crystals cracked wider. He inserted his hand again and again, each time causing the rock to open further to him as he steered his way down and toward her.