Scions of Nexus

by Gregory Mattix

  “And I you.” She hugged her friend back. “Although I won’t miss this place. It has a stark beauty, but it’s too cold. I welcome a return to the green country I grew up in around the Illuminated Path Monastery.”

  Afna smiled but didn’t reply. They sat there in companionable silence for a time. Mira poured herself another cup of green tea.

  “I can’t believe, after all these years, I’ll finally be able to perform my service for her. Tell me again of the Lady of Twilight, Afna.” She’d heard the tale many times over the years yet was always fascinated by her friend’s adventure to the Nexus of the Planes.

  Afna smiled again, and her eyes took on a faraway look, reliving her experiences over twenty years past. “We were already in Nexus for about a month, as directed by Master Dagun. One day, Brother Cerador summoned us from our studies and told us the time had come and we must leave at once. So we departed the library where we had been studying and went down to the gates of Nexus. The war was in full conflagration then, the city besieged. Fiends roamed the streets, and we were attacked several times along the way. Smoke filled the air. It was hard to breathe. We arrived precisely when Cerador said we were needed. I remember it as if it were yesterday—the smoke cleared and there she stood, magnificent in her glory. Tall, beautiful, her eyes blazing like burning coals. I’ve never seen anything like it—without even focusing on the Weave, I could see the glowing strands of light enveloping her, intertwining everything and everyone around—it was incredible, like a hundred times greater even than Master Dagun’s place in the Weave. The Lady, with a simple thought, snuffed out a fire raging through several buildings. Brother Cerador offered our services, and she accepted. I was given the honor to lead five others to protect a gnome in charge of the Machine and key to the Lady’s plans. We defeated some hellhounds then found the gnome and protected him until the Lady summoned him. At that point, the war was finished and our duties done. The Weave directed us to return to Easilon once the portals were restored.”

  Mira sighed. She could only imagine what meeting the Lady of Twilight would be like. Before assuming her mantle as the ruler of Nexus, Neratiri herself had found Mira, abandoned as a babe and sole survivor of the massacre of Lakeshore. She’d pulled Mira from the ruins of a home and eventually turned her over to Master Dagun after defeating the angry spirit that had decimated their order. Mira knew their strands of fate were intertwined from that point forward.

  “Perhaps I’ll get to meet her someday,” Mira said wistfully.

  “If you are, then you’d better get packed and ready. Brother Cerador won’t wish to be kept waiting.” Afna sprang nimbly to her feet and yanked Mira up by the arm.

  Mira managed to prevent her remaining tea from spilling, allowing herself to be pulled along toward their rooms by her enthusiastic friend. Afna’s infectious excitement rubbed off on Mira.

  She had trained all her life for her Balance Quest, in which she would follow the Weave wherever it led her in service of the Balance, whether it be a matter of a few days or weeks or even years. Oftentimes, monks perished along the path, the Balance claiming their lives as payment, yet many survived. Once a monk completed her calling, she often returned to a life of peace to continue her studies of the greater mysteries. Afna’s Balance Quest had taken her to Nexus at the precise time the Lady of Twilight needed her and the others.

  I can only hope I can make such a momentous contribution to the Balance myself.

  She eagerly set about packing her meager possessions.

  Chapter 6

  With an anticipatory smile, Nesnys strode up to the double doors of the parlor where the war council was meeting. The Nebaran army had occupied a large manse at the far northern edge of the empire and set up its base of operations there, a short distance from the mountain pass separating the empire from its neighbor to the north, Ketania.

  A pair of guards lowered their pikes to bar her way.

  “Halt! None are authorized entry without the general’s writ.” The guard addressing her was short and squat, with a thick neck and shoulders.

  Despite his glower, she sensed unease at her confident approach. The other guard, a tall youth, couldn’t prevent his roving eyes from taking in the curves of her body revealed by her formfitting scale mail.

  “Stand aside! I am the emperor’s military advisor.” Nesnys fixed the short guard with an imperious glare.

  He blanched but stood his ground. “Apologies, milady, but I do not recognize you. No word was sent of the arrival of a new advisor.”

  Her gaze smoldered with disdain, and she stood with hands on hips before the pair. “And the emperor is obligated to send word anytime he or his councilors deign to act? And to a pair of mere guardsmen at that.”

  The youthful guard lowered his eyes, and his pike wavered. Not in the mood to be kept waiting or arguing with these fools, Nesnys snatched the pike from his hand. The youth’s mouth opened in protest, but he evidently thought better of it.

  More brains than this other fool, at least. Nesnys swung the pike and cracked the shaft hard into the face of the short guard before he could react. He staggered and fell onto his backside, his pike clanging loudly to the floor. Blood dripped from his crooked nose, and he blinked stupidly up at her. She ignored him and tossed the pike back to the youth, who stood stunned, mouth still open wide.

  Nesnys threw the doors of the parlor open. She was pleased to see the dozen men seated around the table start as the doors banged open loudly. A few had the look of hardened soldiers, but the majority had the soft look of lords and nobles and advisors. Maps were spread out across the table, along with decanters of wine and a goblet for each of them. Several men surged to their feet in outrage while the rest sat looking aghast at the intrusion.

  Nesnys didn’t slow, striding across the room, eyes challenging each of them for an instant.

  “Who… what is the meaning of this?” demanded an older man. He had thinning gray hair, cropped close on the sides of his head, and a sturdy frame. From his age and soldierly look, she assumed he must be the general.

  “General Leodegar?” she asked.

  “Aye. And who in the Abyss are you?” The general studied her, unintimidated.

  You’re more correct than you’d ever believe, she thought, giving the general a smirk. “I’m the emperor’s chief military advisor. You can refer to me as Lady Nesnys.”

  “I’ve not heard of you before. Whence do you hail?” asked one of the older lords with a confused glance at the noble beside him.

  “I hail directly from the palace in Orialan is all you’ve a need to know,” she snapped. “Seems you are no one of importance if you’ve not heard of me.” She gave the nobles a sneer, causing the lord who’d spoken out to flush in anger. She turned her attention back to the general.

  Leodegar kept a straight face throughout the exchange. Evidently adept at politics as well as warfare, he said placatingly, “We all serve at his Imperial Majesty’s pleasure, Lady Nesnys. What might I do for you?”

  At least this one is not a total fool, then. “You can start by explaining the cause of the delayed military action, General. The invasion is behind schedule, and the emperor is most displeased.” Nesnys cast an intimidating glare around the table.

  Save the general, the rest were cowed and looked away, unable to hold her gaze. Her lip curled in disdain as she took note of all the grayhairs with their soft bellies and weak sword arms.

  This lot will not do. A bunch of gelded old men. I require someone with youthful vigor, a born leader—a champion to lead and inspire this rabble. Perhaps a young officer will step forward and distinguish himself.

  General Leodegar cleared his throat. “We are bottled up at the Helmsfield Pass. The Ketanians’ Helmsfield Keep, a formidable fortress, occupies the strategic position, manned by a thousand troops reinforced by a cadre of mages. All attempts thus far to breach the gates have met with costly losses. The only other way around, save by sea, is to cross the Burning Wastes, and that would
mean certain death for my army. Transporting this entire army by sea is impractical and would require months.”

  “A thousand men hiding behind walls are containing the entire might of the Nebaran empire? Have we no mages of our own?”

  “Aye, we do, but all are of middling talent at best. None can get close enough with their defenses of ballista and catapults, archers and sorcerers. With such a steep and narrow approach as the pass provides, we cannot bring our numbers to bear, and the combined defenses will decimate my men.”

  “A score of men could hold that pass with those defenses,” one of the lords observed sagely, and others nodded their heads and muttered agreement.

  Nesnys had to restrain the urge to throttle the lot of them. “The emperor is not interested in excuses, nor am I. Give me two score of your best veterans and five mages. I will open those gates, and I expect the fortress pacified by sundown. Is that clear?”

  Leodegar had just taken a drink of wine. At her last statement, he choked on it, spattering droplets on the map before him. “By sundown?” After meeting her hard gaze for a moment, he swallowed hard, stifling his protest. “Aye, my lady. ’Twill be done by sundown as you wish.”

  Nesnys smile coldly. “Much better answer. From now on, I will be taking command of this military operation. You will all address me as ‘warlord’ of this army. Now, have those men attend to me in the courtyard in one hour. And have your full army on the march in ten minutes.”

  The general stammered his acquiescence, and she strode out of the war room, pleased with the outcome of the first skirmish. The next one looked to be even more gratifying, for it would be no bloodless battle of wills.

  Blood shall be spilt this very day.

  ***

  The two score Nebaran soldiers assigned to Nesnys were solid veterans to a man. The mages, on the other hand, were all either young or weak of talent or both. No matter. They should prove sufficient. Had she wished, she likely could have opened the gates by her own devices, but she needed the distraction the humans would provide and couldn’t risk even a slight chance of failure in front of her army, should mages or priests powerful enough to thwart her be holed up in the keep.

  The entire army was marching up the pass toward Helmsfield Keep. As the general had noted, the twenty-thousand-strong force couldn’t effectively bring its might to bear, due to the constraints of the pass, but once the gates of the keep were opened, the defenders would be routed and the victory hers.

  Nesnys turned to the men and women gathered before her. “Today is your chance to prove your courage and earn glory and recognition by helping to secure this key victory for His Imperial Majesty’s army. Tend to the task given you, and the day will end in a victory celebration.”

  The soldiers watched her curiously, the mages somewhat fearfully.

  “And what tasks will you assign us, milady?” asked a grizzled soldier, the sergeant assigned leadership of the group.

  “I will teleport all of us inside Helmsfield Keep. While the enemy is focused on defending the walls from the threat outside, we shall take them from within. Your tasks are to defeat the mages, archers, and those manning the ballistae and catapults on the walls. I will throw open the gates for the army.”

  “M-my lady… there’s a thousand men within those walls!” An older mage regarded her, eyes wide with fear. “Surely, we’ll be cut down within moments.”

  She fixed the wizard with a stare that made him gulp audibly. “Tend to your own tasks—defeat the enemy mages. Let me worry about the rest. Anyone else have anything to add?”

  The soldiers were silent, used to following orders without complaint. The mages exchanged nervous glances, but nobody else spoke up.

  “Very well. Stand close to me, and ready your weapons. I suggest using arrows first then swords.” Nesnys shapeshifted back to her true form, knowing it would instill fear in their foes.

  Mutters of shock and surprise surrounded her. Faces ranged from awed to frightened. The many warding signs made against evil she found amusing. She drew Willbreaker, keeping its form as a longsword. The sergeant barked a command, and the group closed in around her, arrows nocked and ready.

  “On my mark,” she warned. She spoke a few harsh words in the fell speech. The manse’s courtyard blurred around them and reformed into the grim bailey of the fortress as she remembered it from flying overhead previous to interrupting the strategy meeting.

  “Attack!” Her spell finished, she launched into the air with quick strokes of her wings.

  Several hundred men were milling around in the courtyard, readying for the assault at the gates while many more were issuing forth from the barracks. About three score were manning the walls, backs turned as they faced the army marching up the pass.

  Startled oaths rang out upon their arrival. Her soldiers immediately loosed arrows at hastily chosen targets, and men fell from the walls. The sergeant barked orders, sending half the fighters rushing into the mass of milling Ketanians, laying about with their swords and axes and causing a chaotic scramble while maintaining a defensive perimeter. The remaining soldiers continued to loose arrows at the Ketanian defenders on the walls. The mages responded by casting minor offensive spells. A couple robed figures cried out and fell from the walls when struck by bolts of energy.

  An arrow shattered against Nesnys’s wings as she flew up atop the barbican and landed on the outside walkway among a handful of shocked warriors. Willbreaker lashed out, cleaving a startled soldier nearly in twain, the man sent tumbling from the wall with a shrill scream. She whirled, flaring her wings, and the sharp tips slashed two other soldiers who had moved in to attack, forcing them back. Nesnys was on them in an instant. Willbreaker hewed off the first soldier’s arm at the shoulder. He screamed and fell into the bailey below. She drew Bedlam Judge in her left hand and spun, slashing the second soldier. The droexhal dagger sliced the man across the cheek, and black veins of corruption erupted across his face and into his eye, the white of the orb darkening as if ink were pouring in. The man screamed in agony as he died.

  Nesnys ran inside the barbican. A trio of soldiers moved to surround her. One man, who had been standing beside the door, threw an arm around her neck, striving to take her down. Another jabbed his sword at her stomach. She slammed the man on her back against the wall, moving out of reach of the stabbing sword. Unprepared for her strength, the soldier grunted as he slammed hard into stone and his grip around her neck loosened. She drove her elbow into the man’s sternum. Bone cracked, and he wheezed harshly. She then slashed Bedlam Judge across the meat of his forearm. With his grip loosened, she sidestepped, grasping his wrist and slinging the man around to intercept his fellow soldier. The second man’s attempt to stab Nesnys went awry, his blade instead sliding into the first man’s back.

  She ignored the dying man and leaped at the second soldier, who was staring wide-eyed at his bloody blade. Willbreaker struck his head from his shoulders. The other two defenders balked and fell back a few paces. She snapped her wrist, and Willbreaker flowed into the form of a whip, the laksaar teeth coming apart before reengaging. She whipped the lash out to snake around the forearm of the man on her right. With an easy tug, she set the whip tightening. The soldier’s eyes bulged as the teeth cut deep into flesh, tearing through muscle and sinew then grinding through the bones. With a wet crunch, the whip severed his arm. He wailed in agony as his blood spurted onto the floor.

  The fourth soldier turned to flee out the other side of the gatehouse. He made it two paces before Willbreaker entangled his legs. He tripped up and smacked the ground hard, his sword tumbling from his hand.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” She pulled on the whip, dragging the terrified soldier toward her. He shrieked in fear, nails scrabbling against the stone floor. The stench of urine filled the small room as his bladder let loose.

  “For the hate of Shaol, show some courage, you bloody craven.” Nesnys spat in disgust on the floor. She had thought to drink the man’s blood, but the
blood of a coward would be deeply unsatisfying. Instead, she jabbed Bedlam Judge into his back, barely sparing him a backward glance as his feet drummed on the ground in his death throes.

  Nesnys threw the latch for the portcullis mechanism. Chains clanked, and counterweights descended, drawing the portcullis below upward. She peered through an arrow slit and saw the front ranks of the Nebaran army a bowshot away and closing fast at a steady jog, ducking behind their raised shields. Arrows fell upon them but no ballista bolts or stones hurled from catapults, which pleased her.

  Exiting the barbican, Nesnys saw that her group’s assault on the walls had bogged down. Her soldiers were dying on the stairs as the Ketanian archers regrouped, turning their bows upon them. Black-and-gold clad bodies littered the bailey and steps, yet a few were fighting on determinedly. Down in the courtyard, the weakest mages had fallen, save one woman who was in the process of casting a desperate spell though harassed by swords and spears.

  “Weakling fools.” Nesnys wasn’t terribly disappointed, for the defenders posed no true challenge to her, and her gambit had bought her the time and distraction she needed. However, she had still to ensure the gates were opened.

  She dropped down from the wall, wings extended to slow her descent, gliding beneath the barbican. The portcullis was up, yet the thick gates, formed of ironbound planks of wood, were secured with a stout crossbeam.

  Aware of a squad of men approaching rapidly, Nesnys spread her wings to momentarily shield herself. Crossbow bolts and arrows impacted against the Abyssal iron harmlessly.

  Ignoring the missiles, she focused on the iron binding the gates, using innate powers inherited from her father. She’d never bothered to hone that particular skill, for she regarded it as little more than a curiosity, yet it proved to be of use in this situation. She gestured sharply, and the iron hooks holding the crossbeam drooped, and the log tumbled free. Iron bands loosened, suddenly viscous as if turned to molasses. The wooden planks sagged, and the hinges snapped off, and both gates collapsed flat.