by Ben Hale
Again, Trin thought she would cry, but she visibly reigned in her emotions and some of the old Mae crept into her expression.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Trin warned. “You are not going to close up on me again. I care for you too much to let you do that.”
Her eyes widened at his words, and she said, “You would care for me after what I have done?”
“What did you do?” he scoffed. “You tried to protect your father, even when evil had overcome him, and stayed close to your brother, protecting him as much as he protected you. From my eyes, all I see is heroism.”
She stood in the dim corrider, stunned at his words. “Is that really how you see me?” she asked in a whisper.
“Always have,” he said with a grin. “And I am not about to see you disappear behind your wall again. Like I said, I care about you too much—”
“—I care about you too,” Mae interrupted, her expression hesitant, and then she smiled, her blue eyes sparkling. “Sorry, it took me a minute to hear you. I just didn’t believe someone could feel for me after what I had done . . .”
A shadow crossed over her face, but Trin embraced her before she could dwell on it, too happy to finally voice his feelings. “Thank you for opening up to me,” he whispered into her ear.
“Thank you for believing in me,” she whispered back.
Grinning, he turned her towards the light a hundred paces ahead of them. “Let’s catch up before they come looking for us.”
She flashed him a warm smile, the one he knew was forever reserved for him. “They already are.”
Together, they strolled down the darkened tunnel with Trin's unbridled happiness reflected in his grin. Now he just wished they weren’t about to die.
***
Siarra threw a ball of light into the air ahead of her, lighting her path as she began the descent. Feeling like she was walking into the jaws of death, her thoughts turned to Taryn and her other friends, but ultimately settled on Jack. She felt annoyed by his actions—but even more piqued that his actions bothered her. Why did she feel such a connection to him? The answer to that question was just as much an enigma as the thief himself. Sighing, she realized she was unlikely to ever find out. Then she heard the hurried footsteps behind her.
Whirling, she readied her magic, but then she recognized the sounds. “Jack?” she said, lowering her hand at the same time he slid into view.
“Who did you expect?” he said with a snort.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, pursing her lips in annoyance at her sudden streak of satisfaction.
“I needed to talk to you,” he said, the perpetual smirk fading from his lips.
It was rare for Jack to be serious, and that by itself was enough for her to pay attention. “What is it?”
His sudden nervousness confused her. When had he ever been nervous? Just before she broke the silence, he said, “Sorry about . . . back there. I just don’t like public . . . I didn’t want to say how I . . . I mean, I just felt . . . well, you know.”
She frowned and folded her arms. “No, I’m not sure I do.”
He growled and shook his head. “Look, I just wanted to give you something before you go.”
“What is it?” she asked, curious despite herself.
He reached into a hidden pocket and withdrew an ink colored pouch which she recognized immediately. “A darksac? What would you need that for?” She had only seen such a rare artifact once when she was young, but the color was unmistakable. Created by magic, the lightless pouch was built to keep a magical item contained within, making it invisible to sight.
He smiled and reached inside, only to withdraw a second black sac. “I have to keep it inside two, or it’s still visible.”
She blinked into her sight to take a peek. Blurred by the second darksac, but still obvious, the most intense blue light she had ever seen filtered out, casting streaks into every direction. Then Jack reached in and withdrew an object. The blue light flared so brightly she clenched her eyes shut and returned to normal vision.
She’d never seen something so powerful.
Opening her eyes again, she saw that even in normal light the object shimmered, like a perfect, glittering orb of power. “What is it?” she breathed, reaching out to take it from him. Squinting, she saw the small round stone had been hung on a white chain, and had been marked with three pulsing triangles.
“An amplious,” he said, his tone tinged with smug satisfaction.
Her mouth went dry as she understood. An amplious hadn’t been seen in thousands of years, not since the age of oracles. The legend of such an object was steeped in magical lore and mingled with ancient myth, yet it remained one of the first things a young mage learned from his peers, because the single blue gem was the sole artifact that could make a mage more powerful.
“I thought they were all lost,” she whispered, caressing the smooth texture. “Where did you get it?”
“Let’s just say . . . I found it,” he replied, and even without looking she could hear his smirk.
“There were only three you know,” she said, her voice soft, “created by the council of oracles as a safeguard.”
“I thought there was only one oracle at a time.”
She answered without looking at him, unable to tear her gaze from the amplious. “In the old world there were more—and different types—of oracles. In their age, many could use multiple kinds of magic. These talented mages were called Verinai, and were more powerful than almost any single magic wielder. All the magic guilds, including the guild of Verinai, were governed by a group of five oracles called the Eldress Council. Each of them used all types of magic. For many years, the council kept the peace—until the betrayer.”
“Who?”
“One of the members of the Eldress Council, who decided she wasn’t satisfied with the power they had set out to destroy the other four bloodlines. Enlisting the aid of the guild of Verinai, who already believed themselves superior, she sought to take power. In the ensuing battle most of the Verinai perished, along with four members of the Eldress council, including the betrayer. Only the youngest oracle, a very gifted elven girl survived. There has been only one ever since.”
“I hope it helps,” Jack said, his voice quiet.
Siarra shook herself from her reverie and smiled up at him. “It will help, Jack. I don’t know where you got it—and I don’t think I want to—but it will definitely help.”
A moment of silence passed between them before Jack spoke, his voice tight. “Will it help . . . enough?”
Her gaze met his, and she saw real worry reflected back at her. “I honestly don’t know. An amplious is very powerful. It depends on how I use it. It’s an artifact that can magnify my power twofold for years . . . or a hundredfold for a couple of minutes.” She saw him open his mouth but she raised a hand to stop him. “But if I use it too fast . . . it could kill me. Mankind was never meant to wield such power.”
Jack looked away, but Siarra closed the gap and reached up to palm his cheek. Turning his face to look at her, she said, “Thank you Jack. It may help us win the war.”
He grabbed her hand and slowly pulled it away from him, his voice turning bitter. “I don’t want to win the war. I only want to win you.”
Before she could respond, he whirled and stalked into the darkness, leaving her alone with the amplious in her hands. Unable to move, she stood rooted in place for several minutes, her gaze lingering on the dark tunnel. Closing her eyes tight against the swirling emotions, she turned around, drawing in a deep breath as she did. With the utmost reverence, she bowed her head and lifted the white chain, placing the amplious around her neck.
“Goodbye Jack,” she whispered, burying her feelings for Jack deep down, where they couldn’t break free. Forcing them into a tiny box in her heart, she closed the lid and locked it. There was no room for distractions. She was an Oracle, born to protect the races of Lumineia. If ever there was a time to fulfill her calling, it was now.
&
nbsp; Her eyes snapped open, clear and focused. She was ready.
Day 7
Chapter 28: The Essence of Fire
Braon blinked awake and his first thought was of Thacker’s son. He had placed Seath in the position that had gotten him killed, and the weight of that responsibility cut through him. Closing his eyes against it, he felt a single tear leak from his eyes.
He only allowed the emotion to wrack his body for a few seconds before he walled it away. There would be mourning later—if they survived today. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he climbed out of the bed he’d only entered an hour before.
By nightfall tonight it would be over. If they lasted till then . . . they might survive. If Taryn did not succeed in vanquishing Draeken by sunset, then there would be nothing left to save.
So this is the end, Braon thought, leaning forward and rubbing his forehead. With everyone gathered to Azertorn, they just might stand a chance—even with the city breached. Before he had collapsed into bed, the fiends had breached the Second Great Hall, but he held out hope they could stall them throughout the day.
In the last six days, over two thirds of their force had been killed or were missing. At this point, they still had no way of knowing how accurate that count was, despite the accounting Braon had ordered as the battalions had come in. Haggard and exhausted, the black elves, gnomes, orcs, dwarves, Azüre, giants, rock trolls, barbarians, humans, and amazons had all entered the city the same way, dirty and carrying their wounded or dead.
There were no longer racial boundaries, or hatred of any kind. The gathered races had fought too hard over the course of the battle to have any energy to waste on such a petty emotion. With the hard losses felt by everyone—be it family, friend, or unexpected ally—everyone had drawn together. Every race had now bled and died together. One and all, they were allied in a single purpose, survival.
Braon shook his head wearily, finding a small measure of consolation in the forced unity. Draining the glass of tepid water on the stand next him, he wondered how long it would last. If he was going to find out, they had to last the day. Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet.
It was time to get to work.
Wearing the same clothes he had for days, he stood and stepped out of what had once been his office, but for the past six nightmare days, had been his sleeping quarters. Grabbing a piece of bread and cheese, he tore off chunks on his way to the once pristine map. Of the entire length of the map, only Azertorn remained clear. The other sections were either damaged, leaving them flickering with patches of fiends, or completely dark.
Newhawk looked at him, his eyes bloodshot and soot staining his face. Weariness coated his body like a cloak. Braon wondered if he looked the same.
Braon swallowed against the scratch in his throat and asked. “Anything to report?”
“The fiend army from the north has joined the one from the south, and our troops barely made it through the gap.” He indicated the ceiling with a glance. “See for yourself.”
Following his gaze, Braon saw the ominous dark shadow had grown. Spreading in every direction, and extending all the way to the horizon, the black cloud revealed the breadth of the army they now faced. Above the city, a small hole in the shadow remained clear. Still hours until dawn, a few stars were visible, twinkling faintly.
Braon turned away from the sight, unable to quench the surge of fear, anger, and sadness. “How are we doing?” he asked.
The forces on the battlements are holding well, for now,” the druid said, his voice hoarse with fatigue. “As you instructed, the dwarves and black elves joined the rest of the elves in the Second Great Hall. Loken, Val-Trisian, and Onix are defending the three routes that lead to the city. With the narrow corridors, they seem to be holding, but all three are reporting heavy losses. I am not sure how long they can hold up.”
“How are the azüre holding the gardens?”
“I just dispatched reinforcements from Graden’s command to reinforce them, but their line is still buckling. The fiends seemed to be concentrating on climbing the cliff and entering the city there, but the added troops have temporarily stopped the breach.”
“How is Reiquen?”
“In a word, exhausted,” the druid answered, sighing. “He found a niche in the great tree to sleep. I hope you don’t mind that I told him to rest.”
Braon shook his head and swept his hand towards one of the adjoining rooms. “You need some sleep as well. I will wake you if I need you.”
Newhawk blinked and nodded before trudging towards a bed. Taking his place, Braon moved to the map. Still chewing on breakfast, he manipulated the patchy map with practiced fingers. Glancing back at the telepathic father, he said, “Thacker, I hope you had got enough rest, because we have a long day ahead of us.”
The fisherman just shook his head, the sorrow of his son's loss written on his features.
Biting his lip against the sudden flood of his own emotions, Braon focused on the map. This late in the battle, he couldn’t afford to lose his cool. Without looking, he called to Thacker in a brisk voice. “I need a full report from all battalions, how they are holding up and if there is anything out of the ordinary they have seen.”
In a dead voice, the telepath began relaying reports, and Braon reacted.
"Adaeze, light trap 312 in ten seconds, there are four krakas approaching it and you can take them out together. Then pull two commands from your right flank and move them to your left. In ten minutes, move them back.
"Loken, have your water magi redirect streams from farther up the city so they don't keep running out.
"Val'trisian, your soldiers are holding well. Be prepared for a larger assault in thirty seconds. They are massing to attack you. Use your dwarves to detonate the last of that corridor's traps if you must.
"Graden, close both breaches on your left flank with the last of your reinforcements. Then as quick as you can, move them to your center. They will need the additional men as soon as they can get there.
"Talfar, your orcs are being driven back. I am sending what I can from the druids. Also, summon more spears for your forces, their stock is on the verge of being depleted—and watch out for that hole forming just to the left of your center.
"Onix, your line is thinning on your right flank. Adjust your forces accordingly. Also, dispatch a score of stone mages to Loken. Their core of stone magi has suffered too many losses."
Hole after dangerous hole he plugged, sometimes seconds before it would have turned into a rout. Breach after breach he adjusted his forces, trying to keep the dark at bay, but each solution felt rushed, and each fix was temporary. By the time the sun came up, he was sweating, and glad that Newhawk had only been directing the battle for a short time.
—Then he spotted something odd on one of the flickering sections of the map. Cocking his head to one side, he moved it closer and enhanced the view. Bending down, he squinted into the patchy image of the plateau east of the city. The fiends, represented by the red blobs of light, moved in a very odd manner. They seemed to by crouching down to attack the earth, or swinging their weapons at the ground? It looked like they were digging . . .
He blanched and slid the map northward, following the line of makeshift diggers, through a dark section of the map, until he came to the end. Moving light flowed just north of the city, representing the river. Deep and fast, it split at the city and fed the two waterfalls on either side of Azertorn. Like a living moat, the river itself impeded attack, and was a large reason why the cliff top defenses were holding. With the amount of fiends working, and the trench they were working on, the truth was obvious.
They were going to divert the river.
“Braon!” Thacker yelled, “did you hear me?!”
Braon spun to face him, the orders in his mind dying on his lips as he saw the horrified expression. “What?” he asked, dread sinking into his soul.
“The eastern gate from the Second Great Hall is falling! The black elves are being forced back!”<
br />
“Quickly,” he said, “have the dwarf stone mages I placed with them drop the ceiling. Seal the tunnels so they can’t get through.”
Thacker shook his head, the words tumbling from his mouth, “The dwarves have already been slain.”
Now Braon felt fear seep into him, stopping his heart. He’d already planned for this contingency. To have it fall apart now due to chance was unthinkable. “What about the dwarves in the north gate, or the ones stationed with the elves at the western entrance?”
After a quick message, Thacker’s face turned to ash. “As you ordered, the stone mages are already preparing to seal those tunnels. If they are called away, it will leave them vulnerable.”
Braon felt the blood drain from his face and he spun back to the map, adrenaline dumping into his veins as his mind kicked into overdrive. Adjusting his map to get a better view, he saw fiends smashing into the black elves, driving them backward. In minutes, they would overrun the last gate and then there would be nothing to stop them.
They would flood the city in minutes.
Casting about for something—anything—that might stop them, his mind buzzed through the other forces near enough to help. The dwarves? He moved the map sideways, but no, they were defending the north gate to the Second Great Hall, but they looked hard pressed, and were also being driven back. Scanning further, he saw the remaining elves battling fiercely to stop the fiends from breaking through the last opening on the western flank. Soon they would be driven back as well.
Who?! his mind screamed, who can help? The Azüre and humans were next closest at one tier up, but if he pulled strength from them, the fiends would break through there. I only need fifteen minutes! he pleaded silently, desperately looking for something to do—but there was nothing close, and nothing strong enough. Clenching his fists in anger, he ran through the possibilities again, but he already knew the truth. They were lost. There was nowhere else to go. The city would be overrun before noon, and the races would be annihilated.
