by C. Gold
The front line shifted forward until it was at the base of the wall. The defenders dropped oil and lit it on fire. That slowed the enemy down only until the next wave. Then the wall was overrun with thousands of the things. Their only advantage so far was that all the horde were focusing on a narrow stretch of wall off to the side of the gate.
“Why are they attacking there?” Amira asked.
Ekewaka smiled. “My idea. I’ve subtly altered the look of the wall to make it more impressive everywhere but at that point. Makes it easier to defend.”
“Clever.” Even as the bodies piled up, it seemed ten more appeared for every dead. “Look there.” Amira pointed to a tall, humanoid with glowing red eyes and waving tentacles. It walked behind the far ranks and was the same creature she saw in her vision.
“That’s new.” A slight frown marred Ekewaka’s calm visage.
“It appears to be controlling the smaller ones.” The smallest of the misshapen things were grouping up next to Red Eyes. One of its giant tentacles coiled around the mound of creatures and whipped them at the wall. Amira ducked instinctively, but she needn’t have bothered—they slammed into the wall about half way up.
Ekeweka’s frown deepened. “I need to warn the mages.”
After he left, Amira clutched the staff and very nearly begged it for a vision. If those things got over the wall, the city was lost. Red Eyes launched two more groups, both getting higher up on the wall, before the mages reacted. Candlass led two others to the edge of the wall. He was gesticulating while the others nodded and formed spheres in their hands. From this distance Amira couldn’t tell what they were, but the light reflecting off them made her think of ice. The two mages tossed their spheres into the air, and Candlass raised his palms up. The balls shot off in time to intercept the next group with a meaty thud. Parts sprayed and the loss of momentum made them miss the top of the wall by a few inches.
The mages cheered and more scurried forward to form defensive groups. With the added firepower, each projectile was matched with magic artillery. This went smoothly until a second red eyes appeared. And then a third. All three began flinging projectiles, and some got past the defenses.
Amira was forced into motion when one of the bundles landed nearby. The things that spilled out were rat sized and rather sluggish. She easily squashed them and checked that there were no tentacles left alive. At a scream she whirled around and saw one of the regular soldiers beginning to turn. Without a second thought, she ran to him and used her momentum to knock him over the wall onto the enemy below.
“What are you doing?”
She dodged the blow from another soldier and shouted at him. “You get bit you turn into one of them.” He faltered, and she took that moment to point down. “Look at him now.”
The poor guy turned green when he saw his comrade’s corpse completely blackened and oozing with pustules.
“Spread the knowledge. Don’t let them bite you.” Amira didn’t bother waiting to see if he understood. More projectiles were landing and soon the walkway was slick with goo. Shouts below confirmed that some were clearing the wall. That sinking feeling of doom returned but there was nothing she could do about it except make sure her section of the wall was kept clear.
The ground underneath began to vibrate. What now? She searched for the newest threat but paused in confusion at the sight of the emperor and his ebony skinned guards kneeling with both palms flat against the ground. What are they doing? She frowned. A scraping noise drew her attention to the edge of the wall and she watched, spellbound, as crystalline spikes grew upward from the base. They looked delicate as they reached upward twenty feet in the air. At foot intervals, spikes shot straight out. They looked wicked sharp and refracted the light from the setting sun. The next enemy projectile bundles were impaled on their razor sharp spines and easily dealt with.
Once the last enemies were dispatched, an eerie calm settled over the battlefield. Mage fire turned the sky crimson as the last rays of sunlight faded below the horizon. Amira leaned against her staff and studied the red eyes. They had stopped attacking, and the horde had pulled back from the wall. Now they just sat there, doing nothing. What are they planning?
The lack of action let Amira’s thoughts turn back to Radcliff. She longed to see him and wondered if he had awakened yet. Does he hate me now? Sorrow pierced her heart. Her love was like this wall—doomed to fail. She only hoped she had the chance to see him one last time before the end.
CHAPTER 21
Radcliff vs Radcliff
Radcliff woke to the feeling of a body. Or perhaps it was just a really strong memory. Or a dream. It was hard to distinguish reality anymore. But his eyes actually opened when he commanded them and showed him a room. Small and nondescript, it contained the bed he was laying on and a simply made wooden table off to the side. A weak mage lamp provided dim lighting. He was fairly sure this wasn’t a memory though it could still be a potent dream. He’d created many of those in his never-ending confinement.
One of his hands was on top of the blanket. It looked thinner and older than he recalled. The nails were trimmed short but there was blood underneath one. When he tried to move the fingers, they actually obeyed his command and making a fist flexed the muscles in his forearm. He felt powerful. His heart beat faster and he dared a moment’s hope, quickly squashed because this might just be a new trick. Wary now, he looked for other signs that could inform him either way.
As his mind grew sharper, inner voices began clamoring for dominance. When Despair mounted an assault to take over the body, he unleashed a thousand years of pent up rage and ripped it to shreds. He was slowly remembering what had been done to him. Each council member had ‘gifted’ him a torment once Candlass had finished hobbling his mind. Radcliff howled like an animal and went on the hunt, chasing down Hopelessness and Self-Pity. He ripped off small pieces at a time and gloried in their agony. Hate and Doubt combined their efforts in an odd display of unity. But they were no match for the unleashed anger Radcliff sent their way. He snapped Doubt’s neck and ripped Hate’s black heart from its chest and sent their fragments spinning back to wherever bits go in the mind. He easily caught a few others and invented even more creative ways to dismember them.
As he traveled the darker corners of memory, Radcliff remembered more. He had tricked the obliviate spell by sloughing off bits of himself to create a separate persona while he hid within his own memories. Dark memories. He didn’t have many good ones, but it didn’t matter. His job was to rip through the barrier. But it always fought back. Doubt crept in to snuff out the tiny hope that said he was finally free. This was probably just a more devious delusion created by the spell entrapping him. Anger and hatred crashed into his tentative grasp of reality. Instead of fighting it down, he harnessed it to hunt down the last remaining mental progeny. It no longer mattered if this was fake, he was too lost in the hunt to be concerned either way.
His hunter instinct zeroed in on the final torment which was hiding nearby. There you are! He seized Depression and began squeezing its neck. For one thousand years this voice had urged him to suicide. A nasty bit of work Andurel added after Candlass left him to his fate. Too bad he hadn’t been able to kill the archmage himself. But he would deal with his creation. Time to meet your maker.
Not so fast. A duplicate of Radcliff popped up from nowhere. This one is mine. I was the one to suffer. Not you.
Radcliff’s frenzy of hate and anger paused at the strange interruption. In all these years, trapped inside a twisted mind, he was always alone or with a nightmare replica of someone from his past. A thought popped through the swirly murk surrounding him that his depraved mind was going to extra lengths in coming up with an exact duplicate of himself. He cocked his head to the side as he studied it. Something seemed familiar aside from the looks. Intrigue was a new feeling, or a very old one resurrected. It pushed back the menacing cloud of anger and hate and brought a moment of true clarity.
Do I know you? Probably t
he first actual words Radcliff had thought in centuries.
You should. I’m you. Or rather, the pieces you discarded and left to die. A diversion so the spell wouldn’t find you. The image glowered.
He reached for the memory but it eluded his shaky grasp. Anger flared, but he managed to contain it before he lost control. How do you know this when I do not?
Your mind is more tangled than a tattered ball of string. It shrugged. I happened upon it by random accident.
Radcliff didn’t believe in accidents. Not in this world. Not anymore. He was annoyed at this upstart’s ability to read his memories so easily. Once again he tried and failed to snatch a memory. He wasn’t even trying for anything specific this time.
Believe what you will. But you owe me.
The image put its hands on its hips and tried to stare Radcliff down. He actually felt the hatred pulsing off the image in waves and its need for vengeance resonated with his own, yet something was wrong. He clamped down hard on his errant emotions and concentrated as he sifted through ragged tatters of worn memories and finally latched onto a fragment of that terrible night before losing his memory the first time. He shunted aside a thrill of victory and studied it closely. And there was the inconsistency. I gave you only hope and love. You cannot hate. Therefore this is not real.
Dashing his own sliver of hope hurt more than he expected. That awful taste in his mouth, his body’s hunger, and the power of his clenched fist—he wanted all that to be real. Needed it to be. No telling how much longer he’d remain lucid before reverting to the primitive need for escape. The dark mindlessness of that was unappealing to him now but he could feel himself slipping towards it. His hate and anger licked at his mental walls, eager to be unleashed again.
The image growled, regaining Radcliff’s attention. After a thousand years of torture, what did you expect? That I’d remain weak and pathetic? That is how you saw me, right? The scraps that you didn’t want? Left to die?
Radcliff struggled to recall. Hiding from dangerous memories these long years had damaged his ability to access them. It took longer than he liked but his first success gave him added confidence. His image was right—his mind was a gnarled mess. Digging into that time actually hurt, but perhaps he did owe the copy his best effort. Finally he found the fragment of that fateful day. He could appreciate his bold and clever plan even if it didn’t work out as intended.
I was pretty sure you wouldn’t survive, but without anger, fear, and hate, the spell would have nothing to work with. It was a logical choice. The only chance. And using negative emotions in their purest state would let me punch through the spell from the inside. So there was no malice intended towards his image. And his plan would have worked, at least in theory. An image came bubbling to the surface of a spider in a web with him as the victim. That one had stolen his magic and sabotaged his efforts. Hate like magma erupted and his roar cowered even his duplicate. Another image bubbled up of the man lying dead and Radcliff felt sharp disappointment that the man died too swiftly.
The copy straightened to its full height and clenched its fists. If you are done bellowing, I want my revenge. You owe me.
Have at it then. He relinquished his grip to his duplicate and stepped back. His copy’s face turned ugly with hatred as his hands squeezed and popped Depression like an overgrown boil. The vicious satisfaction washing over him was disturbing, for it wasn’t his own, and it incited his own emotions to riot. He barely got them tamped back down.
The copy stood rapturous for a minute before turning to face him. We are still connected even as we are separate. It was eerie how it cocked its head the exact same way Radcliff did when he was thinking. We should probably fix that. Merge into me and I can take control of the body from here. You’d be more stable then.
Radcliff laughed at his image’s audacity. It had spunk, he’d give it that. I didn’t survive this long by yielding. I made you, and it appears you have reached the end of your usefulness. When he touched it, love, joy, and hope rushed through him in agonizing waves. He brutally shoved the copy away. What trickery is this?
I too have fought a long and difficult battle, albeit different from yours. You can’t just will me away and you certainly can’t destroy me—I’m part of you. At best we can merge together. It wrinkled its nose in distaste. I told her I didn’t want to become you and I was more right than I ever imagined.
The image of silver hair and violet eyes captured Radcliff’s attention. Like an irritating sense of déjà vu he knew the woman yet he also didn’t.
Amira loves me and I would already love her back if I could have truly remembered her. The image’s voice was soft spoken and yearning. In the end, she’s the only reason I’m glad the spell has been broken.
Ah, here’s the trap. I’m supposed to believe the spell is gone and give up. Well, I’ll fight to the bitter end.
The image shook its head. The spell was removed though you came close to killing us with your instability.
Better dead than enslaved for one more moment.
I was happy.
A snapshot of several days with the woman assaulted Radcliff’s mind and made him feel things he’d never felt before. He gritted his teeth and cut off the flow. Enough of that already. Go away and leave me alone.
You need my help.
I need nothing! Especially not from you.
The image gave him a pitying look. You’re barely holding it together. And with that parting shot it vanished, leaving Radcliff alone and desperate to punch something. Tired of his own mind, he went back to focusing on his body.
With a wince, Radcliff managed to sit up. His head felt like it had been pummeled. It had in a way, just from the inside. He stood and nearly lost his balance. Keeping one hand on the wall, he stepped carefully towards the door. Being disconnected from a body for so long, it took him a while to remember how things like walking worked. Fumbling at the door latch, he finally got it opened and looked out into an empty corridor. I don’t know where I am. He felt a stab of panic. Is this truly real or have I completely lost it? The panic ebbed when he realized it didn’t matter. This whole experience was at least something new. Since direction didn’t matter, he went right. Time would reveal whether this was reality or a new type of convoluted nightmare.
Troubled, he wandered aimlessly down the corridors picking directions at random while his thoughts rioted in a jumbled combination of anger, hurt, confusion, and emptiness. Random spurts of longing, hope, and fondness for that woman shot up from the buried depths of memory shared with his copy, furthering his frustration. Maybe he did need help after all. Or just time to sort everything out.
Walking, an activity he once took for granted, felt really good and he was no longer hanging onto the walls for balance. He was starting to hope again. Perhaps this really was reality? Another idea came to him but it made him so nervous his palms began to sweat. Holding his breath, Radcliff channeled a tiny bit of magic into a light above his hand. It worked! The relief was overwhelming, and he had to lean against the wall to recover. His eyes watered at the joy he’d not felt in a thousand years. I am not crying over this! He wiped his eyes and pretended it was from the bright light. I have magic again! The huge grin that formed on his face was another long lost stranger.
He played with the light as he walked down the corridor, exulting in the ability to manipulate it. Radcliff knew he had knowledge of greater works stuffed somewhere in his scrambled memories, but right now this was enough. As he neared a well-lit area, he heard voices up ahead which stopped him in his tracks.
“Master, we don’t have enough livestock for more than a few days.”
“Then you need to find more.”
“We already searched the extent of our range. There is nothing else left.”
“There’s always fish.”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, start catching fish and when that runs dry use the livestock and keep checking. Perhaps more fish will move into range.”
&nbs
p; Radcliff didn’t want human company, so he turned around.
Not going to help? His copy appeared in his mind with a disapproving scowl on its face.
Why should I? Radcliff wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.
You need to eat too.
His physical arm waved to all around him. This is just an elaborate illusion. Even if his hope was trying to tell him differently, he still didn’t believe. Dared not.
No it’s not. But even if it was, what’s the harm? Plus, don’t you want to see if you can summon?
Radcliff narrowed his eyes at the copy’s obvious ploy. It was like he knew exactly what to say. Well, if he is a part of me that makes sense. He almost continued walking away anyway just to needle it, but the lure had indeed been well set.
Radcliff entered a cavernous room with cages and pens of livestock covering every square inch of floor space. The pungent smell of offal took his breath away. Two men stood off to one side, clearly the ones he heard speaking earlier. Each wore black, knee length tunics with orange striping down the sides and an orange backed emblem with a rock in the center—the symbol for summoners. The man on the left was the taller of the two with short cropped blonde hair and a double circled emblem to indicate he was an adept. The one on the right was lanky with slightly longer, curly brown hair. His emblem was the broken circle of an apprentice.
The adept noticed him first. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking around.” Radcliff stepped farther into the cavern. It was lit with thousands of mage globes and he could see hundreds of animals from caged chickens stacked in numerous crates along the walls to row upon row of cows and other grass grazers, then finally bigger game like boars on the far end. “Quite the selection you have here.”
“You shouldn’t be down here. This area is restricted.” The adept chased after Radcliff and stepped in front of him.
