Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  “Well, this is as close as we should get,” Guildmaster Millinith said. “We’re at the maximum range of the ballista, and thank the gods for that. Any closer and it may have fully penetrated that barrier you used to protect yourself.”

  Chanté felt a spell being woven through the link, felt a pulse of magic from Nantli, followed by a scream from the woods. Deep satisfaction came through from her.

  He looked at his bond-mate. W–What was that?

  Safisha’s Flame. It was countered, but it remained for a few seconds beforehand. That person will not be shooting arrows anytime soon.

  He grunted. Mayhap he could—

  Guildmaster Millinith turned and called out. “Bertram, do you have binocs?”

  The man glanced down at them. “I do, but I am not expert in the sorcerous arts.”

  “No matter. Give them to Chanté.”

  Chanté blinked. To me? For what purpose?

  Bertram hurried down the rise, jogged over to them, and handed him a pair of field-glasses.

  Just then a dragon team flew over, high above, and the ground around the obscured ballista burst into purple flame. There were a few yells and then the flame winked out.

  Everyone was working at stopping the attackers, it seemed. The dragons were divided into three groups up in the sky. The group here occasionally did flyovers, apparently casting spells.

  “There’s either some sort of protective enchantment on the spell nodes,” Guildmaster Millinith said, “or they used magi-mechanical devices. If that’s the case, their circuits have to be physically destroyed. I hope it’s not the latter, but I can’t seem to slip a counter spell in.”

  Chanté turned to her, tried to focus on what she was saying. There was so much happening all around that it was difficult. Another arrow deflected off his barrier, making a small flash of light, and he flinched. He took a breath and turned his attention to the task at hand.

  He had to fiddle with the binocs for a few moments to focus them, but then he saw the small clouds of sorcerous potential. “I see a few of them.”

  “Good. Try your luck at countering them.”

  Chanté frowned. If she’d been unable to do so, her supposition about magi-mechanical devices was likely true. “Did you notice? They seem to have been positioned very carefully, almost geometrically. Their placement is likely critical to the ward itself. And as such . . .”

  They called the spell Tretan’s Enchantment of Relocation, according to the primer. It was related to a spell he had often used, though was much less powerful. It would serve nicely for this, however. He placed a modified anchor, a two-foot cube, and set the spell to move its contents to a location four feet up and four feet away from the train. He completed the spell.

  A mass of soil lifted and, trailing dirt, flew to the destination he’d set. The domed barrier flashed, but did not fail. A portion of it, however, where the node had been moved, continued to shimmer and flicker wildly and appeared to be weakened.

  “Oh, ho,” Guildmaster Millinith said. “Well done, Chanté! Let’s try that on a few more nodes.”

  It took three nodes before the domed barrier failed. When it did, cheers could be heard from the train.

  The ballista fired.

  Chanté immediately cast a barrier between the train and the ballista, and felt a pulse of magic come from the Guildmaster as well.

  The heavy quarrel arced toward the train and struck a barrier a few feet before his. That barrier exploded in light and failed, and the quarrel continued on to his barrier, which flashed and pulsed but held. The enormous bolt tumbled to the ground.

  “Ha!” Guildmaster Millinith chuckled. A pulse of magic came from her, and she turned to him. “Keep an eye on that damn ballista. As the barriers fail, put up new ones. Now that the people on the train have air, I’m going to see how we’re faring elsewhere. Well done on the ward nodes.” She grabbed his shoulder, squeezed it, and walked over to Master Gella and Bertram, a few feet behind.

  He glanced at his shoulder. That . . . had felt nice, that acknowledgment of his efforts.

  The ballista fired again.

  Damn it! He spun and witnessed—and felt—his barrier fail. The broken enchantment rebounded, making him grunt. The quarrel fell at her barrier, which this time had been set closer to the train than his. He placed a barrier behind hers. Perhaps if they were farther from the ballista, the quarrels would lose enough force to not penetrate.

  He glanced over at the obscuring ward that hid the weapon. Where was that woman Bertram had sent and the people she’d taken with her? That ballista was dangerous.

  Through the link he felt Nantli cast another spell, and when a scream came from the trees to the south, she let out a grunting laugh.

  You’re having entirely too much fun. That flame can cause damage, you know.

  As can the arrows.

  One struck the barrier near him, causing it to flare and him to twitch.

  Which they continue to shoot at us!

  True enough, lovely. True enough. Carry on.

  Another dragon team flew overhead. It was Anaya and Aeron.

  He scowled. They were entirely too close to the ground! Aeron was leaning in the saddle. It seemed as if he were trying to see something in the trees. What was he looking for?

  Arrows flew up toward them. One arrow did not arc down with the others, however. Its moving blur continued upward!

  “Longbow,” he yelled.

  The arrow was moving too quickly to see clearly enough to anchor to, so Chanté began casting a barrier. His heart began to race as he focused on what was happening. Could he complete the spell in time to block the arrow? Oddly, the projectile’s rise seemed to slow.

  No. Everything appeared to have slowed, as if time itself was drawing out.

  In his peripheral vision, he saw Guildmaster Millinith turning toward him. He felt Nantli’s concern at his yell as she turned to see what he was looking at.

  Ignoring the strange, plodding pace of everything, ignoring the things going on around him, he thought desperately about how he could help Anaya and Aeron.

  He realized that he could not use the same spell he’d learned from the guild, Francisco’s Barrier. That tried to prevent everything from passing through. If anchored to a dragon team, flying would be nearly impossible, would be like carrying a large baffle. And like the train, breathing would be impossible if the barrier surrounded them. Air would need to pass through as if it weren’t there. It should only stop arrows or quarrels and such. But how?

  Anaya’s wings moved in slow-motion, and the arrow drew ever closer. Neither she nor Aeron were looking the direction the arrow rapidly approached from.

  Chanté raised his brows. Velocity! The barrier should only stop things traveling over a certain speed! And instead of trying to stop projectiles at its surface, it should quickly slow them down, spreading their kinetic energy across itself, rather than absorbing all of it at the point of impact. That should keep the barrier from immediately failing against powerful projectiles like those from a ballista.

  It would not be possible to build the spell in the same fashion the guild taught in lessons, however. He’d have to use trilateral symmetry in order to use multiple foci as primaries. But was that knowledge truly something these people had? Would using it violate his father’s stipulation?

  Whether by luck, happenstance, or something else, light reflected from the metal tip of the arrow, catching his attention and forcing his decision.

  He modified and then completed the spell, anchoring it to Anaya. A sphere appeared around the team, a tight grid of thin, green lines, then was gone. With its fading, the rapid pace of everything around him resumed.

  His invisible barrier was struck by the arrow, causing a pulsing of light to spread over much of it from the point of impact. Anaya let out a bark of surprise, banked away from the impact, and the arrow fell slowly toward the ground.

  The two flew on, safe.

  Chanté let out a loud breath.
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  “Aeron!” Guildmaster Millinith’s look of concern turned to relief and then anger. “What in Yrdra’s deepest hells are they doing so low!” Her eyes went flat a moment.

  Nantli, eyes on the pair as they flew on, let out an angry rumble.

  Clanking, mechanical sounds of some kind drew all eyes to the train. A large crossbow rose into view on the rear car.

  Chanté grunted. They must have completed their repairs.

  With a loud clank, the weapon stopped moving. All the train cars, metal wheels lowering from underneath, began to slowly drop toward the tracks. The wheels touched the metal rails, then moments later, the armored cars . . . hunched down slightly, as if they were preparing for something.

  More clanking came, and the crossbows turned a bit and angled up a touch.

  The sound of the ballista firing made Chanté twitch. The large quarrel struck the Guildmaster’s barrier, which flared and failed, then the heavy bolt struck his barrier and dropped to the ground.

  Chanté grunted. So much for that idea. Even at their current distance, the ballista could still penetrate the barriers.

  It destroyed your earlier barrier where you are now, so why would it not destroy those that are even closer to it?

  Abashed, he glanced at Nantli. That’s . . . true.

  Feeling a little embarrassed at that lack of judgment, he prepared to replace the forward barrier, but a woman appeared on top of the rear train car, distracting him.

  Head and torso just visible next to the rear crossbow, she held an enormous, strange bow and stared to the south. She must have spied something, for she quickly raised, drew, and released. A scream came from the trees.

  “Who’s barriers guard the train?” Master Gella, the device in her hand again, looked around.

  Chanté swallowed. “I–I’m in charge of them.” Had he done something wrong?

  She started writing and said, “Get ready to remove them in a few seconds when I say.”

  He drew his brows together. Why would she want the barriers dropped? He concentrated on the remaining one—he’d not replaced the other yet—and waited.

  “Drop the barriers.”

  He removed it.

  “Be ready to raise them again when I say.”

  Chanté nodded. What was she doing?

  With loud clangs that made him jump again—damn all these sudden noises!—the crossbows on the train simultaneously fired bolts toward the ballista. Then fired again, and again. Every four seconds or so, bolts flew toward the obscuring barrier and the siege weapon within. After the first two rounds, the people there started raising their own barriers which flared and failed as the bolts struck them.

  Chanté turned to the large crossbow on the rear car as it fired again and again. How was it doing that? From what he recalled from seeing them used in battles, it took some time to crank the drawstring back into position and reload.

  “Raise the barriers, now!”

  Startled by her yell, Chanté quickly raised both barriers. At least he hadn’t jumped or twitched.

  The ballista fired, destroying his first barrier. The quarrel struck the second, but the barrier held. The large bolt fell to the ground.

  It went on like that for some time, back and forth, the train trading shots with the ballista. Each time his barriers were raised, a person appeared up next to the crossbow and removed a large box of some kind from atop it, replacing it with another.

  In one of the short lulls between shots, the woman Bertram had sent off returned with her people.

  She frowned. “They’ve completely surrounded themselves with the obscuring barrier, now, even from above. When our sorcerers counter it, there’s always another one up, ready. We tried firing into it, but with no visible targets and no way to remove barriers within, we’re just wasting arrows.”

  Bertram frowned. “I hate to say it, but we may need to just rush them.”

  Master Gella shook her head. “Not yet. I’d rather try other methods first.”

  “Can we unload the chests?” Guildmaster Millinith asked. “Our dragons can ferry it wherever you need. Then, at least the, ah, cargo will be safe.”

  The ballista fired and destroyed a barrier.

  “That is probably our best option.” Master Gella wrote on the device.

  Chanté glanced back, lowered the other barrier, and then the crossbows fired. He replaced the two barriers.

  “They’ll start bringing the chests out the back of the train and carrying them over.” Master Gella tucked away the device. “We’ll help provide cover as they do so.”

  The door of the rear car opened and four guards hurried down followed by four others, sorcerers by their looks. They moved in pairs, sorcerer and guard, and spread along the track. Four pairs spaced out along the north side and four along the south. They must have all placed barriers, because every now and again an arrow would cause a shimmer three feet in front of a pair before clattering to the ground. Neither guard nor sorcerer flinched when that happened. Eyes darting about the area, they all waited.

  A group of what looked more like soldiers came out the back door, carrying a large chest. They began walking along the track between the defensive pairs, toward Chanté, toward the people waiting.

  The ballista fired.

  Chanté was ready to replace his barrier, but the quarrel wasn’t heading for the train, it was heading—

  “Look out!” That was the Guildmaster’s voice. “It will penetrate one barrier!”

  Chanté looked at those north of the track.

  One of the guards stepped toward his sorcerer partner, moving in front of her, his back to the oncoming projectile.

  There was an explosion of light as their barrier failed, and a metal spike appeared out of the guard’s left breast. The impact forced him to take a staggering step toward the young woman.

  Blood running red over his armor, he fell to his knees. “I’d have liked . . . that coffee.”

  His head slumped forward and his body fell sideways to the ground, enormous quarrel still protruding.

  Leaning forward slightly, hands reaching toward him, the sorcerer stared at the guard.

  Her hands suddenly clenched into fists and she turned to the obscuring barrier. “Bastards!”

  Tears running down her cheeks, eyes wild, her head turned this way and that. “Anchor, anchor, anchor,” she murmured over, and over, and over. “Anchor! Anchor! Anchor!”

  Looking back toward the ballista, toward the shifting, shimmery barrier that hid it, she thrust her fists forward with a guttural yell that was half growl. “Aargh!”

  The large tree nearest the hidden ballista glowed brightly from within, then disappeared in a massive explosion that sent jagged pieces of wood flying.

  Screams came from behind the obscuring ward, which flared and dropped. Six or seven people lay on the ground around the ballista, some writhing, some completely still.

  “Get over there!” Bertram gestured to the woman from before. “Make sure they’re restrained and then tended to.”

  She ran off with the same group of people.

  The soldiers dropped off the chest and hurried back toward the train.

  “We’re not finished here.”

  At Guildmaster Millinith’s words, a strange kind of trance broke, and Chanté blinked.

  A pulse of magic came from her. “We need to get the chests moved up to the camp and round up the remaining attackers.” Her eyes went flat for a moment. “The dragonlinked are keeping an eye on the people in the south and west. A group of four left the western group and is heading north. Aeron and Anaya are following.”

  There are horses just north of that . . . ballista machine.

  Chanté glanced at his bond-mate. “Nantli says there are horses north of the ballista, should someone wish to give chase on the ground.”

  “An excellent suggestion.” Master Gella waved her people over. She turned to Guildmaster Millinith. “Have Aeron guide me to those fleeing.” She and hers jogged off.


  Everyone seemed to know what needed doing. With the ballista taken care of, Chanté was at a loss as to what he should do next. He felt light-headed, too, which made thinking more difficult. That barrier spell he still maintained on Anaya was draining. He could not remove it, however, as the two were in apparent pursuit.

  He turned back to the train, to the people still lugging over the chests, and to those who kept watch as they did so. From somewhere, another pair had moved to the north side of the tracks.

  The young sorcerer still stood near the fallen guard, her eyes closed, head and shoulders slumped. The hands hanging at her side were no longer in fists.

  After a moment, she let out a breath, opened her eyes, and knelt. She placed a hand on the dead guard’s shoulder. “I would have, too.”

  + + + + +

  Lord Koen shoved the ’writer aside. “Gods damn it!”

  It had failed. Somehow, reinforcements had arrived in time to assist, including those accursed dragons. National Transportation’s failure to deliver had been a disappointment, but the loss of this shipment was beyond frustrating. What had happened?

  There was a hard deadline, however, so there was no time to dwell on this failure. He’d need to formulate a contingency immediately. Nothing arranged on such short notice would likely equal the profitability of the failed undertaking, but profit was the least of his worries, now. He needed to pay for those expensive devices.

  He couldn’t help thinking he was being overcharged for them. There was little choice, however. None of his own people had the required skills to produce the items, and part of the reason those people charged what they did was their discretion. He’d pay much and more for that right now. Perhaps the number of them required could be reduced?

  He stood, walked to the map of Stronghold, and glanced at the markers arrayed across it. “I want this annotated with the city’s hospitals, police stations, and fire stations.”

  Cadoc nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Along with their locations, I want to see the number of staff at each. This setback will require adjustments to the plan.” He frowned. “I also want everything there is to know about dragons and their damned guild on my desk as soon as possible.”