by Rick Shelley
As the distance between the two groups of gods narrowed, the fury of their fighting increased. Reaction time disappeared. Each stroke had to be met as it was loosed, and the fury of it drove all of the horses, except Bay, almost to madness. Power crackled and snapped. Great heat rose around the combatants, and the air itself seemed to waver.
Finally, there was too little room for Barreth, Gioia, Gavrien, and their horses within their diminishing section of the pentagram. They were forced forward again, into immediate peril. The three of them drew swords, unable to prevent being drawn within sword's reach of Silvas and Josephus.
At the same time, Josephus moved forward, partly to close with the enemy, but mostly because his horse had started to spook again. Josephus and Gioia crossed swords over the line of power dividing the core of the pentagram from its outer reaches.
The battle ended then, in an instant of consuming flame. Gioia seemed to erupt into a miniature sun. Josephus was thrown back, against Silvas, and then sank to the ground at the wizard's feet, still wholly within the central section of the pentagram. Gavrien, attempting to come to his twin's relief, was caught up just as quickly. Barreth was thrown into the line of power just behind Gavrien, and he too was caught up in the blaze. The sun seemed to touch the ground in the land of the gods.
Silvas could not close his eyes in time to fully avoid the flaring light. Images danced on the inside of his eyelids until Maria took control of his damaged optics and restored his sight.
They were back on the road at the edge of the valley of the Seven Towers then, together, looking down at the smoldering remains of Barreth, Gioia, and Gavrien. Josephus, too, was on the ground. The armor covering his right arm had melted and fused against the skin beneath it. Outrageous pain was visible in Josephus's face, but he was a demigod as well as a warrior. He would survive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
There was near silence on the road near the edge of the valley. The maddening battle music had come to an abrupt end. A few horses neighed yet in panic, or whimpered in pain. A few of the wounded combatants moaned. But most of the fighting had ended. Following the overthrow of Barreth and the twin gods, most of their surviving troops quickly surrendered. Those who did not fell to the weapons of the defenders.
On the road at the edge of the valley of the Seven Towers, the figures of the three invading gods had suddenly erupted in flames, without any indication of what had started the conflagration. The gods and their horses had burned. Some of the troops closest to them had also been touched by a fire that could not be extinguished, even by rolling in the dirt.
The faces of the spectator gods vanished from the sky. The lavender clouds on which they had been projected faded to nothing. Then the chaotic sky of the barrier dome cracked—shattered—and fell into oblivion. No pieces of it reached the ground. All that remained were the rainbow hues of the extra layers that Silvas and Maria had added to the veil. The morning sun was visible, but nearing the zenith.
"At least night will come again to the valley," Maria said. She pulled the helmet off her head and let it drop to the ground. Then she dismounted to help Josephus.
Silvas nodded. He stared at the bodies on the ground. Barreth, Gioia, and Gavrien were rapidly being consumed by a flameless fire, smoking down to nothing but a memory. Their horses and armor had already been eaten by the fire. Not even bones remained of the unfortunate animals.
"Lord, is it over?" Felix asked. It was enough to wrest Silvas's eyes from the dead divines. He turned to Felix. The former monk's sword was red with blood. His helmet had been knocked from his head, and his left ear was bleeding.
"It's over," Silvas replied. With his attention finally engaged, Silvas took a moment to scan the rest of the battlefield. More than half of the invaders had fallen in the fight, killed or seriously wounded. The number of downed defenders appeared to be somewhat greater. The peasants who had rallied to the defense of their homes had suffered most of all. Few had escaped injury. More than half of them were dead, including March the miller.
Braf limped over toward Silvas and Maria. He had sheathed the two short blades he used in combat. "What do we do with the enemies who survive, lord?"
"Turn them out of our valley," Silvas said. "Send them back toward the land of the gods. Let them take what future they can find there. What of our folk?"
"Too many dead. Too many injured," Braf said.
"You're hurt yourself," Maria said.
"Not so bad, my lady. 'Twill heal soon enough."
"Immediately," Silvas said. Within their minds, Silvas and Maria echoed the words of healing, not just for Braf but for all who had been injured in the battle but survived—friend and foe. Braf tested his leg gingerly, then balanced on it, and nodded. Felix felt for his ear. Blood had crusted over the cut, but the cut itself was gone.
"Form up the invaders who survive, Braf," Silvas said. "Disarm them and tell them they're going home."
"Aye, lord." Braf hurried off to do that, testing his newly healed leg. There was no twinge of pain or discomfort left.
The surviving villagers moved toward Silvas and Maria. Most had a glazed look to their eyes. Some had completely vacant expressions and seemed not to realize that they were walking, or where they were going, merely following the others around them. All they knew to do was to collect around their lord, to wait for him to tell them what to do next.
The mercenaries and the guards from the Seven Towers moved to see to the prisoners. It was the work of some minutes to sort everything out. There were quite a number of spare horses now, animals who had lost their riders. Several of the esperia started to round them up, to add them to the stable of the Glade.
"There are bodies to deal with as well," Maria noted.
"To be buried with honor," Silvas replied. He looked down once more. Nothing remained of the gods who had invaded. The road was charred in the outlines of three bodies, but that was all that remained of Barreth, Gioia, and Gavrien.
"This time there'll be no bodies to carry home to the Shining City," Silvas said.
Even gods can find their minds numbed by combat. Though the fighting was over, Silvas and Maria sat in place, hardly thinking beyond the demands of the moment. Their expressions were perhaps not quite as vacant as those of the villagers who waited for instruction, but there was no great difference. Maria lifted her head finally and idly scanned the sky, noting how pale the rainbow hues now appeared. She became fixated on that, looking toward the north end of the valley, where the lines of color were narrowest, coming together.
"It seems that the barrier hiding our valley is broken," she mumbled eventually. "Our people may come and go as they wish."
Silvas looked with her then, trying to force his mind back to speed. "I think that perhaps a barrier is a good idea, a barrier of our own, one that will defend us, and hide us from unfriendly eyes." His voice was slow, lethargic.
"A barrier that our people may penetrate at need, though," Maria said, picking up the thought and continuing as if Silvas were still speaking. "One that will allow friendly outsiders to find us as well. We don't want to be completely isolated."
"Once the soldiers of Barreth and the others are on the road back to the Shining City," Silvas concluded, his voice showing a little more energy. It was another quarter hour before he had put those soldiers on that road and seen them clear of the rainbow curtain that covered the valley. Behind them, the glowing road disappeared, as Silvas and Maria sought to erase it permanently, hoping to close off any easy passage.
Two large graves were dug, by the thought of Silvas and Maria, one at either side of the road. In the first, the dead invaders were laid. In the second, the dead of the valley were laid to rest, after their families had time to come from village or castle. The bodies were laid in neat rows, and headstones marked each individual's resting place. The dead defenders were marked by name and their dates. The dead invaders could know no such luxury. They remained nameless, but each place was marked. Their names might be lost, bu
t their numbers would be known to history.
The sun had moved past the zenith before Silvas and Maria led everyone away from the place that would forever-more be known as Battle Pass. The vacant numbness that had followed the battle had started to lift, but there remained a heaviness of spirit that Silvas and Maria shared with their dependents. Too many had died.
The veil over the valley of the Seven Towers had been renewed and strengthened, imbued with the new conditions that Silvas and Maria had decided on. The roads had been smoothed over where they had been wrinkled by the earlier contractions of the valley.
The dead had been buried. Felix had spoken the words of the Church over their bodies. He had walked among the families of the dead, offering what comfort he could give. It was not enough, as he quickly admitted, but it was all he had to offer.
Silvas and Maria led the procession down from the pass, going first to the village. They spent some time seeing to the survivors of the battle and the families of the dead. "You will lack no help we can give," Silvas promised them. "We cannot resurrect the dead, but we can do much to help the living."
Then the procession moved south to the Glade.
"The Seven Towers still stand," Maria observed as they crossed the drawbridge and rode through the gateway.
For how long? Silvas asked, the images of the dead souring his outlook. Will we be faced with one challenge after another until a coalition of the old gods finally manages to destroy us?
Perhaps we'll have time now to find a better solution, Maria suggested. There must be a way.
—|—
The afternoon seemed to pass with incredible slowness after the chaos of battle. Horses were cared for. There was a meal in the great hall. Silvas spoke to the people of the Seven Towers, though not at any great length. Then he and Maria withdrew to the levels above the great hall. They closed down the pentagram in the conjuring chamber, then retreated to their apartments to bathe and relax after the labors of night and morning.
After a time, Josephus joined them. His sleeveless tunic showed that the skin of his right arm was pink where the steel had melted against it, but there were no blisters or other signs of the horrible injury he had suffered. In only a few days, even the skin would have regained its natural suntanned color. Only the memory would remain.
At first, they talked of the battle, and what might remain to be done in its wake. But none of them wanted to think hard on the fighting—the dying—so the talk gradually turned to other topics and, in time, faded to only an occasional remark to punctuate a comfortable silence.
It was nearly time for the evening meal, scheduled somewhat later than usual, before the three felt the attempt at contact. They were in the small sitting room near the rear of the keep.
A mind reached out to them in a questioning touch, seeking invitation. Together, Silvas and Maria acknowledged the touch and issued the invitation. The room split before them and Mikel stood there, still in his palace, but facing Silvas and Maria. They stood as well, moving forward until they were just on their side of the dividing line. Josephus remained seated.
"You look troubled," Maria said with some hint of sympathy in her voice. The words, and the tone, surprised her, but she did not attempt to modify, either.
Mikel looked at her, as he never had on their earlier meetings, with depth, as if seeing her as an equal for the first time.
"I thought you deserved to know what has passed in the Citadel since the battle's end," Mikel said, his voice subdued.
"We did not seek battle," Silvas said, gentling his words somewhat, but unable to completely conceal all of the emotion he felt.
"I know," Mikel said, shifting his gaze to Silvas.
"Nor do we seek further confrontation," Silvas added. "But we will meet any challenge that comes."
"There will be no new challenge, at least not for the foreseeable future," Mikel said. "That's what I came to tell you. There is no welcome for you in the Shining City, but none of my brothers and sisters stand ready to seek you out again. No one arms to avenge Barreth, Gioia, and Gavrien. No one talks of purifying our race by destroying you."
Then he was gone.
"Will we really have peace?" Maria asked.
Silvas hesitated, then shrugged. "For a time, perhaps. With luck, for a good, long time."
"There will be peace," Josephus said, his tones very positive. He stood and crossed to the others. "None of the remaining gods will start a fight. The strongest voices now will be those of Maentus and Sonolorem, and violence is alien to both." He shrugged. "Besides, we will grow stronger in the Shining City. You saw how people answered your call for help in that plaza. Now, more will come to you. The old gods are not so popular in their city as they might think."
"I can't see us living in that place," Maria said.
"Perhaps not, but some contact, some establishment, and occasional visits," Josephus said.
"There is always the sign of the Eye," Silvas said after a moment. He nodded to himself. "I think the landlord would welcome our trade, if not too often."
Maria smiled. The sign of the Eye. How poetic.
