Sworn To Conflict: Courtlight #3

by Edun, Terah

  What in the world was in her saliva that would fuel flames? Whatever it was, Ciardis didn’t want to come into contact with it. Then she took stock of her surroundings. Angry hisses from the women warriors all around them erupted as conversations stopped and suddenly focused on Ciardis and Inga sitting by the fire.

  “You tell them, Inga!” came a shout from a woman standing far behind her leader. When Ciardis glanced at her, she saw a necklace of fangs hanging ominously around her neck.

  Inwardly Ciardis gulped. Outwardly she stayed calm. Inga might be angry, but angry was good. Anger meant honesty.

  “What do you mean?”

  The frost giant’s eyes narrowed as she glared down at Ciardis seated in front of her. For the first time Ciardis noticed crossed lines that bisected Inga’s irises in the oddest way. Almost if her eyes were glass and cracks were radiating from the center. And then she realized why she hadn’t noticed them before. A thin membrane had descended over the pupil to protect it. The membrane flicked back and forth now as Inga stared down at her. A sign of agitation?

  Inga snorted. “You don’t know? What use are you to me, then?”

  “I know enough,” responded Ciardis, hoping to keep Inga talking. “I know this war has been fought for two decades. That men and supplies and wagons are constantly on their way through the northern villages of the Empire to the crag of the North.”

  Inga bared her teeth in a smile. “You know the Empire’s stories, then. It is true that those supplies come to the North. But they don’t stay here. A few go to the soldiers, and then they disappear.”

  Interesting. “Where do—”

  Inga cut her off. “No. You want answers. I want supplies for my women. You will tell your Prince Heir. ”

  Ciardis frowned as she said, “What do you need?”

  “Weapons.”

  Flipping her hand at the large broadsword that Inga carried, Ciardis said, “It would seem that you have enough of those.”

  “Mage weapons. Like the ones carried by the human soldiers.”

  Ciardis stared around at the weapons the women carried. They were huge, but looked no different from the ones that Kane and Titus carried. How was she to know if one group of soldiers carried ensorcelled weapons and the others didn’t? She wasn’t stupid, but this was far outside of her knowledge zone. Not to mention the fact that if General Barnaren had decided not to give them weapons, there must be a reason why. She turned to glance over at Titus, who stood to the right, but his face was unreadable.

  A brutal laugh brought her attention back to Inga. “Don’t look to him. The human soldiers here are instructed to never hand over their precious armor or blades to my kind.”

  “But you fight the same war. Engage in the same battles.”

  “No,” Inga said with cold fury. “We are the advance strike teams. We wipe out the small pockets of Sarvinians who have crossed into these lands in the dead of night. Women, children, men, and mages.”

  Inga continued, “You see the numbers we bear? We twenty-six have slew hundreds upon hundreds for your emperor. And yet we are given nothing to ease our way or to help us in the fight.”

  Ciardis’s face was frozen, but she continued to speak. “And yet you still fight for us?”

  “We have no other choice,” said Inga.

  Ciardis gulped.

  “You wanted to know why we’re really fighting in the north? Greed. Greed on both sides of the battle. My people, the frost giants, all we want is a home—a sanctuary. That is what we fight for.”

  “A fitting cause.”

  “We started this battle sixty strong, fit warriors from the frost giant race. I am down to twenty-six. And yet your general does nothing. He sends us again and again against the swelling ranks of the Sarvinian horde. His soldiers sit plump and fat while my women die. And yet you come to me to ask why we’re losing this war.”

  “I never said that,” protested Ciardis.

  “You didn’t have to. The whole of the encampment knows the emperor wants answers. Why else would he send his son, his son’s companion, and his trusted advisors to the bitter North?”

  Privately, Ciardis thought, Well, there’s a good explanation for my presence here.

  This wasn’t good, considering the anger in Inga’s voice. Ciardis wasn’t sure how much longer the general would be able to call upon the services of this frost giant contingent.

  “I will speak to the general, and I appreciate your honesty,” Ciardis said.

  At the front gates Ciardis heard an angry roar. Not as loud as a dragon’s or as strong as a chimera’s, but a roar nonetheless. A human one. The general was at the gates, and he was not happy. Come to think of it, neither was Ciardis Weathervane.

  She hadn’t been expecting to speak to the general so soon, though.

  Inga stood and threw her bowl down on the ground with a thud. With an audible hiss, she got up and strode toward the gates. Ciardis scrambled after her in the horde of women warriors that followed her. As they approached the gate, Ciardis saw General Barnaren and ten of his men standing at the entrance. He was smoking mad. Fire and flames encased him an eerie halo and all of his men stood at least five feet away from him in a ring formation.

  “General Barnaren, what do you mean by this? Coming to my encampment, snarling at my women as if they are your men.”

  “What do you think you’re doing here?” the general shouted.

  He was looking straight at Ciardis. She opened her mouth to answer, but Inga beat her to it.

  “What am I doing in my own encampment?” Her shout could be heard a mile away. Outside of her gates the soldiers closest to the frost giant’s area had stopped talking, stopped moving, and all was silence as they watched the drama unfold.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” he snarled without even turning his eyes to the frost giant leader.

  Ciardis had a moment to think, Uh-oh, bad idea, before Inga leapt into action. She drew her huge broadsword in midair as she raced forward to confront Barnaren. That caught his attention. With barely a pause, he gathered his magic and threw a hot flash of lightning into the air directly at Inga. She moved her sword to counter the bolt, and Ciardis feared she would be dead. The metal would do nothing but channel the energy of his bolt.

  And that was precisely what it did. Straight into Inga’s body. But she didn’t pause. With her next step forward she casually pushed the lightning down with her frost giant gifts. It went straight into the ground. But the lightning didn’t like the earth and flared up with a spike that sent energy in all directions. A bolt flew directly toward Ciardis. She had a moment to see her life pass before her eyes before she was hit with all of the force of a group horses running her over.

  Kane had jumped on top of her. With bruising force she fell to the ground and she saw him react to the lightning from where she lay curled against the chainmail that encased his upper arms and stomach. He was looking straight down into her eyes and she nearly screamed. His eyes glowed with the force of the lightning and she saw it emerge from his mouth—pure, unaltered lightning. Kane shuddered on top of her as he absorbed the powerful bolt into his own magic and Ciardis watched in awe. Some mages could harness the raw elements, but not many could absorb the energy that it unleashed. Particularly when unprepared.

  She heard silence around them. No clang of swords or the curses of fighting combatants. Kane still knelt over her rigidly. She could tell he was still absorbing the bolt, which had the power needed to stop a frost giant in her tracks. So Ciardis took the opportunity to peek out from under his arm. Unfortunately his heavy blue cloak was in her way, having fallen on either side of Kane’s body. It encased her underneath him like a child’s crib. She poked at it and pushed it aside. The moment she did, she yelped instinctively.

  Titus’s large face was staring at her contemplatively from under Kane’s left arm.

  He heaved a heavy sigh of relief when he caught sight of her open and curious eyes. She spoke to him in a whisper. “I think he’s s
ettling the lightning power.”

  Titus grumbled when he glance over at the beaded sweat on Kane’s face.

  “Yes, I’d say so,” he finally replied.

  “You don’t seem worried,” Ciardis replied in a low whisper.

  Titus flicked a glance back to her in surprise. “Because I’ve seen him do it a hundred times on the battlefield. Although admittedly never crouched over like this or with that much power. Why are you whispering?”

  “Because I don’t want to distract him or frustrate—” She stopped speaking when she saw an annoying smirk on Titus’s face. She swiped at him from underneath as she tried to get him to move away.

  “Let me out.”

  “Nope,” replied Titus.

  “Move. Now.” Two voices echoed the same words. One firmly. The other angrily.

  One voice was Ciardis’s own. The other was General Barnaren’s.

  Titus scrambled to get up, but apparently not fast enough. Ciardis heard him choke as a hand appeared and grabbed the back of his collar roughly. He didn’t resist as he was helped up but his face spoke volumes. The major who’d grabbed him released him and General Barnaren stepped forward. As Ciardis hesitantly scrambled out from under Kane’s massive form, she allowed Barnaren to help her up.

  “Miss Weathervane, what are you doing here?”

  She smiled. “Why, General, it’s the same thing I told Inga—”

  Titus quickly whispered, “Warlord Inga.”

  Ciardis corrected, “Warlord Inga. I’m meeting your soldiers.”

  A pause. The general’s eyes closed to her gaze. He was unreadable.

  “And what exactly did you hope to accomplish by meeting with the frost giants?”

  “They are your soldiers, are they not?”

  “They are mercenaries. Nothing more.” The words were stiff and unapologetic.

  Ciardis flicked a glance at the warlord. She still stood with her sword unsheathed. Her back was rigid and her skin tone was bluer than before. Her fists were clenched tightly and her teeth gritted. She was furious.

  Ciardis turned back to General Barnaren with steel in her eyes.

  Licking her lips, she said, “They fight your battles but aren’t good enough to win your wars—is that it, General Barnaren?”

  He looked at her like he didn’t know her and turned to Kane, who had finally regained his mobility. Kane stood behind Ciardis. She found it interesting that he hadn’t moved over to flank Titus, not even when faced with his general’s wrath. She approved.

  Unfortunately the general did not. A small tic had developed in his right eye, and he bellowed, “I thought you had better judgment, Lieutenant. I see I was wrong. Dismissed.”

  “Sir, it wasn’t his fault,” protested Titus.

  Ciardis yelled right after him, “He’s right. It was mine. Don’t punish them. They did their jobs.”

  “I said dismissed,” said General Barnaren.

  Ciardis flinched, but still Kane hesitated.

  “Go,” she whispered, not wanting to get him into further trouble.

  “My escort duties are not done,” Kane said firmly.

  “I will escort the Weathervane back to her quarters,” said Barnaren.

  That didn’t sit well with either Titus or Kane. Apparently they didn’t like the man. But they had no choice. Kane turned to leave Ciardis’s side.

  Just as he did, all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 8

  Ciardis heard a screeching sound in the air. It was coming from above. Just as she noticed everyone else did. The heads of every military man and woman surrounding her snapped up to survey the sky. And then the call went out.

  “To arms!” shouted General Barnaren.

  Ciardis stared around in confusion as swords came out of scabbards, and with barely a look between them, Titus, Kane, the general, and Warlord Inga surrounded her in a box formation. Their weapons bristled as they faced outward, trying to defend the only defenseless person in the area. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough.

  Out of the sky came huge balls hurdling at impossible speeds. They crashed into the encampment all around her. The impacts caused craters to form, and walls of snow and dirt sprayed into the air. It made it impossible to see for minutes at a time as ball after ball after ball came hurtling down from the sky. When the dust and the debris settled, she was able to look between General Barnaren’s shielded arm and the upraised arm of Titus standing next to him. What she saw made her stomach leap into her mouth. In outright terror. The balls were crystalized masses that easily gained the height of two men. Many had shattered on impact. Others were now fracturing in spider web patterns. She heard the web pattern cracking across the balls of ice in a chilling sound that reminded of her of the noise a frozen lake made when the surface cracked. The huge balls were perfectly spherical. Shadows and shades moved around in the centers as if a dark, dense mass resided inside. With horror, she and those around her soon realized why. Out of the ice capsules spewed dozens of nightmares—ravenous spidersilks. They reared up on a multitude of spiked legs and charged the soldiers around them.

  In the chaos, the huge capsules kept falling. Her barricade of defenders didn’t last long. A capsule fell directly in the middle of the group, forcing everyone to roll and duck for cover in the snow. Ciardis was grabbed and scooped up by Titus, who put her behind him and took on a giant purple spidersilk with six poisonous fangs and a body that was as tall as Inga. She realized suddenly that Inga’s spidersilk was on the small side. And that wasn’t a good thing.

  All around her soldiers were losing the battle as the spidersilks cut a swath through the unarmored men who’d rushed to the center of the fight. But Inga’s women were holding their own. They wielded their battleaxes with the ease of seasoned warriors and moved with the speed and dexterity that matched the spidersilks’ fast gait.

  Titus wore armor and chainmail, which was helping him in his battle. He swung his doubled-headed battleax and took off the leg of the venomous beast facing him. It screamed in fury but it did not stop. Two of its mighty forearms speared down to pierce Titus’s armor, leaving a trail of slimy ichor in its wake. Ciardis realized that the legs as well as the fangs on the damn things were poisonous.

  Titus screamed and swung the axe again, taking off its head.

  The multi-eyed monstrosity’s head rolled away from its body while its fangs still twitched independently and leaked ichor everywhere. Its death accomplished, Titus collapsed in the snow. Ciardis rushed over to him. She knelt down with her arm on his back and her side plastered to his as if she meant to lift him up and help him stagger away. She tried. She failed. He was too heavy.

  “Titus,” she whispered with horror in her voice as she looked at the long gashes on his chest.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he whispered, clearly in pain. “It’ll heal.”

  She stared down at the green pus pouring from his open wound and wished her powers included healing. She looked up and around for help but everyone was engaging in battle. There was no one to help her. No one to save Titus.

  He knelt with his fisted hand on the ground in front of him – trembling.

  She whispered, “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. We’ll get help.”

  She looked up and screamed in horror. A spidersilk, fangs dripping, was almost directly on top of them. Titus knew he couldn’t fight it. He did the only thing he could to get Ciardis an extra second to flee to safety.

  Shouting at her to run, he staggered up with a roar and turned to face this new enemy with his battleax gripped hard in a double-handed hold at his waist.

  Eyes wide, Ciardis did as she was told. As she turned back to call to Titus, she saw the massive spidersilk thrust down to pierce his armor and his heart.

  That was her mistake. She stumbled. She fell.

  The spidersilk tossed Titus’s dead body off of its forearm and clambered forward toward its intended prey: Ciardis.

  Breathing heavily Ciardis watched death come for her with detached w
onder. And then Inga was there. And she fought like a mythical Fury reborn.

  She took on the killer of Titus with a battleax in one hand and a shield that she had picked up in the other. It was pure luck that she had them both in hand, because the spidersilk thrust down its forearms with almighty speed, intending to spear Inga just as it had done to Titus. She thrust up the shield and the battleax in a cross, catching both forearms in the thick wood of the axe and the metal of the shield.

  Warlord Inga screamed her own battle cry of rage as she took off the spidersilk’s head and prepared to face another that had come up on the side. Ciardis stood waiting and watching to make sure than none snuck up on her again, and she heard an ominous hiss from behind her. Turning on light feet, her dress fluttering around her, she prepared to face her enemy.

  There before her was a vividly purple spidersilk. It crouched low to the ground with its six legs splayed out as if it intended to leap. And leap it did, right toward her. She couldn’t turn her back on it to run, but it turned out she didn’t have to. From her left a blurry motion moved with the speed of a racehorse across the snow. With shock she realized it was another spidersilk, and it was carrying something. A thick wooden spoon.

  What in the world?

  It leapt and met the other spidersilk in midair, piercing the body in front of it with its pincers. With a screech the rescuing spidersilk walloped the enemy spidersilk with the spoon over and over again as they landed on the ground with the dexterity of their race. Soon the bigger spidersilk’s head was reduced to red mush on the ground, and Ciardis realized that her savior was none other than Inga’s spidersilk. It chattered something at her that she didn’t understand and then raced off toward Inga, who was battling five of the creatures with another of the frost giant race and an armored soldier.

  Ciardis let out a cautious breath. There was nothing around her now but bloody mounds of snow, decapitated bodies, and the strange sounds of battles in the distance. Turning, she looked around to find a safe place to hide.