Raijaun did more than close the rift. He sealed it and twisted the weave to make its construction as indecipherable as he could manage in the short time he had. He doubted even his skill could thwart the Scions’ power for long, but he hoped to confound them enough to make it not worth their while. Raijaun tied off the last threads of his weave and made to hasten to the gate still standing proud amidst a field of destruction. A powerful explosion sped his retreat as a concussive wave sent him airborne and deposited him just a few yards from where it stood.
The Guardian sprang to his feet and scanned the sky. A huge ship had somehow managed to breach the shell over the plaza and floated a few hundred feet overhead. The vessel bristled with heavy weapons he was certain were far more lethal than their mundane appearance implied. However, it was not the armament capturing his attention but the figure leaning over the rail with an all-too familiar, satisfied smirk upon is visage. Raijaun wanted to blast the ship out from beneath him, but he was exhausted, in agony, and several dragons were pouring in through the breach behind the ship. Daebian flicked his brother a two-fingered salute from his brow as Raijaun leapt through the portal.
CHAPTER 20
“Destroy it,” Raijaun ordered the moment he stepped through the gate and entered the valley.
Wizards assigned to control the gates promptly obeyed. Special runes lit up along its surface, and the stone columns crumbled into dust.
The gates and the rift opened near the center of the valley, several miles from where the massive army camp stood in the event any of their enemy managed to break through or the Scions were able to reopen them. Even this far from the main body, ten thousand heavy infantry, a thousand archers, a thousand cavalry, and two hundred of Azerick’s constructs stood vigil over the gates in orderly ranks. This was but a fraction of the host occupying the east end of the valley.
The Duchess, General Brague, and several of Azerick’s people nervously waited in the crowded clearing near the gates. They rushed forward, pushing past the last of the people to come through and were still trying to get their feet beneath them. Mellina and Miranda embraced, gushing words of relief for each other’s safe return. General Brague greeted his officers and counted survivors, and several mages barraged Azerick with questions about where he had been and what was going to happen next.
Azerick brushed the queries aside with short, vague answers and an occasional scowling shake of his head. His only concern at the moment was Raijaun who appeared ready to collapse.
“I will be all right, Father,” Raijaun said in voice heavy with pain and exhaustion.
“I am sure you will be in time, but right now you are anything but. Lie down in one of the wagons for the wounded.”
“I can walk.”
“Barely. You need to recover as quickly as you can, and you will best achieve that by resting as much as possible and as soon as possible. That means starting now.”
A rider wearing the black chainmail of a Blackguard galloped in and reined his mount to a skidding stop. “Lord Giles, His Majesty requests you and your people come to the command hall with all haste.”
Azerick looked from the rider to his son. “I’ll be fine, Father. Jarvin needs your council more than I need you hovering over me.” Azerick nodded and turned, but Raijaun grabbed his wrist. “I saw Daebian.”
“Where?”
“Aboard one of the flying ships, their flagship given its size, just before I went through the gate.”
Azerick took a steadying breath, but his voice still quavered. “Was he a prisoner?”
Raijaun shook his head. “Knowing him, he was captaining it. He struck at me with one of the ship’s weapons.”
“You are sure it was him?”
“No one else can project that much arrogance across such an expanse.”
“I thought he was wiser than that,” Azerick said with rueful shake of his head. “Smarter at the very least. The Scions will never honor whatever bargain they made him.”
“Then perhaps some justice will prevail no matter the outcome,” Raijaun said with a bitterness Azerick had never before heard from his son.”
“Rest. I will see you in the camp.”
Azerick joined the rest of the retinue and mounted the horse he was offered. Despite the phenomenal exertion of his experience and subsequent battle, he was certain he could have opened a couple portals and reached the camp. However, once he sat in the saddle and the adrenaline rush wore off, Azerick was glad he had not tried. His strength seemed to roll away like rain cascading down a window, and the ground drank it up and carried it away.
Miranda rode close by his side, watching him as if he might suddenly bolt like a fugitive. Perhaps she feared he would simply vanish, possibly of his own accord or snatched away by the gods or something worse. Such thoughts would seem like lunacy, but his life made it barely unreasonable. He returned Miranda’s attention and forced a smile. Azerick did not have the clairvoyance of a seer, but he was certain there would be no happy ending for them. His fate was the tug of a riptide, invisible but drawing them inexorably apart. She was close enough that he could lean over and touch her, but she may as well have been in Sumara.
The ride was made largely in silence, but the grim, terrified faces of the people they rode past spoke volumes. In those thousands of pairs of haunted eyes, the history of Valeria, of their known world, played out from beginning to end. Their story began as one of pain and fear, then bravery and the joy of freedom. Now it was coming full circle again like the never-ending cycle of the seasons. Winter was upon their hearts and minds. Would they ever see another summer? Would history and the joyous victory be repeated, or would they all die beneath the ice and snow of defeat?
Trenches lined with sharpened stakes, abatises, and bulwarks built of stone and timber destroyed the valley’s once pristine symmetry. It was no longer an unspoiled stretch of nature but a field built to slaughter. Every square foot of ground was crafted to cause the death and debilitation of their enemy.
Azerick had planned out the camp as well as the battlefield, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of it. To call it a camp was greatly inaccurate. It was a sprawling city of nearly half a million humans and horses. Tents covered mile after mile of ground once covered in grass and foliage now churned into the mud and the waste of human settlement.
Tens of thousands of people shuffled along “roads” between tents arranged into districts similar to those of the cities they recently evacuated. Soldiers kept the new arrivals moving and directed them to the shelters where they would stay. The noncombatants, mostly the elderly and women with children, would only stay until rested and provisioned. They would begin the march to the mountains where a series of deep caves stockpiled with grain and fresh water would provide them with a relatively safe place to hide until the war was over. If it went badly for them, they would collapse the cave entrances and seek refuge with the dwarves. Already, caravans were underway as a river of people flowed eastward toward the Great Barrier Mountains.
There were a few solid buildings, mostly built of rough timber or a mix of stone and wood. Some of the soldiers, wizards, and engineers had garrisoned here for the better part of a year as they constructed the battlefield, erected tents and structures, and gained expert knowledge of the land and how to deploy the massive army.
The building designated as the King’s residence as well as the command hall was a sturdy affair built of solid logs atop a low hill surrounded by a palisade and abatis. Catapults, ballistae, archers, and a dozen constructs with their wizard controllers occupied the higher ground and kept a constant vigil over the heart of the kingdom’s army. Half a dozen Blackguards stood against the walls with an equal number of men wearing the distinctive armor of the Sumaran palace guard.
It took Azerick only a moment to spot his former mentor and who he assumed was his brother, the King. Two Sumaran’s leaned over a stout table covered with a large military map of the valley. King Jarvin Ollander and commanders from bo
th nations also hovered over the map and its many troop icons. Jarvin’s son, Miles, stood just behind them, hanging on their every word as they discussed strategy and troop deployment. All eyes turned to the newcomers as they entered the room.
Jarvin greeted them as they approached. “Lady Miranda, Azerick, everyone, I am glad to see you made it through. Is Raijaun with you?”
“He is making his way here on one of the wagons for the wounded.”
“Has he been hurt?”
“He is well but greatly fatigued. Combining the differing elements of his magic takes its toll on him, and he needs to recuperate.”
“I am glad to know he is well, and I wish him a speedy recovery.”
“I am sure he appreciates your concern.”
King Yusuf Sabaht rounded the table and held out his hand. “Lord Giles, my brother has told me a great deal about you.”
Azerick clasped his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Eminence, but it is just Azerick. I am afraid I am no longer afforded the privilege of any honorifics.”
Yusuf’s thick, black eyebrows arched in surprise, and he looked at Jarvin questioningly.
Devlin asked with a smile, “Have you been stepping on toes again?”
“It would be more accurate to say that I found one of them to be gangrenous and cut it off. It would seem that I overstepped my authority as the Defender of the Crown.”
King Sabaht turned to Jarvin. “Was his offense truly so egregious? Surely someone who has sacrificed and risked so much to protect you and your people should be afforded a great deal of latitude, or at least leniency.”
“Azerick struck down a nobleman within my hall in front of my entire council. Granted, the man threatened to jeopardize our defense and alliance but, under my rule, no one is above the law, and everyone deserves a fair trial.”
Azerick grinned. “Everyone?”
Jaw muscles twitched beneath Jarvin’s skin and his face reddened. “I will not entertain this discussion. We have more immediate concerns.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
“What is the state of Brelland?”
“It’s destruction is nearly total,” Azerick answered. “My son and I razed the majority of the structures still standing and set them aflame to hinder the ravagers as much as we could to facilitate the evacuation. Castle Stonemount still stood, but I imagine the Scions will level it simply out of malice.”
Jarvin sighed and his body slumped as if deflating as he leaned heavily onto the battlefield mockup. “You had warned as much, but to know it has actually transpired…It is impossible to prepare for such a blow.”
“Do we know of Brightridge’s status?”
“Brightridge’s people began coming through the southern gates less than an hour after ours fled through the western. Our most recent report was that the last line of defenders were beginning to evacuate. Their details of the damage indicated a similar level of destruction throughout the city. Even if—when—we win this war, few of us will have homes to return to.”
King Yusuf laid a hand on Jarvin’s shoulder. “You will not rebuild alone. Sumara is here to fight at your side, and we will not abandon you when the battle is over. You and I both understand that war is not finished just because the fighting is done.”
“Yusuf, I cannot thank you and your people enough. Most people would have stayed to defend their own homes, but you and your people traveled a thousand miles to come to our aid. I will do everything in my power to see than no one ever forgets it even if it means I have to return from my grave to remind them.”
“Do not be so quick to lavish me with praise. Were it not for my brother and Azerick’s convincing arguments, I would have done precisely that.”
Jarvin smiled and did his best to make it not appear forced. “Regardless of the why, you are here and I thank you.”
Azerick asked, “Do you have any word of the happenings in Sumara?”
Yusuf looked to Devlin who answered the sorcerer’s question. “It is much as you warned. Sumara is not free of incursion, but it is on a much smaller scale than what we face here. We have lost several smaller towns, but our garrisons within the cities have thus far been able to repel the invaders and crush them against our cities’ walls. Knowing what our kingdom will face if we lose here, our soldiers stand ready to die to a man to ensure Valeria and all of humanity triumphs in this valley.”
The hall door opened, and Headmaster Florent and two other senior wizards entered. Their robes were torn and, in the Headmaster’s case, scorched. Dust, soot, and blood, some of it dried, some of it still bright and sticky, dotted their faces and clothing. All were exhausted and appeared ready to collapse. Only their pride and decorum allowed them to remain standing.
“Someone get the Magi some chairs!” Jarvin commanded.
Several guards jumped to obey and grabbed the chairs placed near the wall. Headmaster Florent and her two associates sat, grateful for being spared the possible indignity of crumpling to the floor.
“Are you well, Maureen?” the King asked.
“Thank you, Highness. We are as well as can be expected under the circumstances. Better than that since we are still alive. I may have made a poor decision in conjuring a series of gates to expedite our arrival. There were five of us, but two were unable to continue after exhausting themselves.”
“I just thank the gods you made it. I think we could have waited for you to arrive by wagon.”
The Headmaster took several deep breaths and nodded her understanding. “I was unsure of Brelland’s status and wanted to deliver my report with all haste. Seeing Sorcerer Giles and the Duchess present, I must assume they were able to retreat successfully.”
“We were, Headmaster,” Azerick answered. “I presume you were able to defend your gates?”
“We were, but only barely. Had Raijaun not warned us of the trap beneath our feet, I fear no one from Brightridge would be here now. Thanks to his warning, we were able to turn the sewers and aqueducts into a crematorium just before they sprung their ambush. Even so, we nearly lost one of the gates when the dragons began releasing the vile creatures from the sky like bird droppings.”
Jarvin asked, “What is the state of the city and it’s young Duke?”
“The city is nearly gone, but Thomas is alive. He is with the Chosen who are tending to his wounds. He’s brave but still young enough to think he is immortal. I hope this experience has taught him otherwise and he commands farther from the frontlines. We are still counting survivors, but my best estimates in round numbers put the dead at around six thousand with perhaps fifteen-hundred wounded.”
Azerick added, “Our losses are likely half again as high, but I consider it a victory under the circumstances.”
“A victory?” Jarvin shouted. “Likely twenty thousand of my citizens dead by the end of the day, our four greatest cities lying in absolute ruins, and you callously call that a victory?”
Azerick remained stoic in the face of the King’s outrage. “I consider anything short of genocide a victory. Every day we are able to fight is a victory for us all. I understand the losses involved, particularly given the rather short duration of the battles, but our losses will be ten times as high here in the valley. We have yet to see the full weight of our enemy, but that is going to change very soon. It is the very reason I had us all join forces here where we could apply our full might against the totality of their numbers. Had we remained divided, as conventional military doctrine dictated, the Scions’ legions would have destroyed us piecemeal. Here, we control the field, and the battle lines are limited by the terrain. Our wizards and catapults can decimate the ravagers while most are bottlenecked behind their own kind. Their numbers now work against them as long as our soldiers can hold the frontline.”
Yusuf cleared his throat and spoke. “I brought a hundred thousand men, more than half mounted, and five hundred of our wizards and sorcerers. Even so, from what I understand of this enemy, our combined forces are still inadequate
to hold for long. We are also far more exposed to those accursed dragons.”
“We are, but my people have been training very hard to defend against their aerial assaults. I hope yours have been as well.”
Devlin smiled mischievously. “Yes, many balked at the intensity of your training doctrine at first, so I simply asked them if they were going to allow the soft northern wizards to outshine the greatest of Sumara. After that, even you would have been impressed with their efforts.”
“Having experienced your insistence at being the best first-hand, I have no doubt your people are very formidable. You are correct, Your Eminence, even with all our preparations, we would stand little chance. That is why I contacted representatives of the other races. This was never a human war, but a war for everyone who wishes to be a free people.”
“This is a matter in which I am uncomfortably ignorant,” Jarvin said. The tension of not knowing where or if they even had allies was evident in his voice. “It is somewhat difficult to employ our forces to their fullest effect when I have no idea what the other half is doing or if they are even going to come.”
“I apologize for not keeping you abreast, but the fact is that I do not have a great deal of information to share beyond what I have already told you.” Azerick directed his words to Yusuf. “The dwarves have allowed us access to their deeper caverns should the war go badly, and Duncan Runecarver, a notable person within the dwarven kingdom, has assured me that they are preparing their people to fight the Scions.”
“But are they going to actually come and fight with us, or will they hole up beneath the mountains and fight only if their homes are threatened?”
“I am confident the dwarves plan to join us here in the valley.”
“When?”
“That I cannot say. Communication with them is challenging, and my most recent…misadventure…has not afforded me the time to get clarity on their preparedness.”
“You spoke of the elves as well. What of them?”
The Sorcerer's Destiny (The Sorcerer's Path) Page 33
