Am I a superstitious Istran? His father had taught him that there was no such thing as evil, at least not in the sense of a supernatural force that made men commit atrocities. Selfishness, greed, inhumanity, yes, but not evil. For every man had his justifications for what he did and few, if any, believed their actions to be wrong.
Unfortunately, every time Rayome looked at him, Gevan’s belief in that philosophy wavered and the only word he could think of that fit whatever it was that looked at him through the window of Rayome’s eyes was evil.
Sitrell watched through a fourth-story window as the Aukasian army left the hamlet of Hirath’s suburbs. He had left the roof of this building, a textile factory, an hour ago so as to join Valek and his musketeers in sharing cover that they hoped would protect them from thousands of retaliatory Niazeride bolts. Only the scouts had remained up top. Valek had arranged his thirty thousand soldiers like this all throughout the city, each one of the fifty plus battalions holed up in a building with musketeers on the top floor to lay down fire until the Niazeride weapons were neutralized, and infantry hiding on the ground level to spill out and ambush the enemy force as they passed. It was a good plan, one that would work provided they were able to neutralize the Niazeride hand units. If they couldn’t do that, then their ambush would turn into a slaughter, no cover of stone being able to withstand more than one energy bolt.
As the enemy entered the city proper they split into several detachments, each marching down a different arterial street in order to accommodate their large force. And to more thoroughly plunder. The emperor’s entourage, escorted by the strongest concentration of Niazeride pistol-wielding troops, predictably began marching down the center street.
“Ready!” Valek ordered, the sound of his voice followed by the clicking of a hundred hefting muskets.
Sitrell glanced down at the counter measure now cradled in the crook of his left arm. He reached down with his right hand and turned the blue dial clockwise, just as the knight had instructed him to do. He heard a high-pitched whine that faded after hitting the height of its crescendo, the only indication that the device was charged and ready.
Lorta sat straight-backed and regal on his white stallion, pleased with how their arrival in Hirath was shaping up. He would lose no resources be it man, beast, or machine this day, and the banner of the golden lion would soon fly atop Hirath’s palace. Furthermore, the dauchen cowards that had fled this city would have had little choice but to leave behind more than enough spoils to revitalize his army, not that he needed it, Lisidra’s crops and stores provided more than enough for their march to the country’s capital. Still, it was always good for the morale of his soldiers to have a chance at plunder, to claim some trinket or treasure as their own personal prize, tangible proof of their service that they could show off to family and friends upon returning home.
Yes. Lorta smiled. The ease of our conquest is proof enough that the gods have indeed chosen me to take up the reins of Valcoria’s future!
A cacophony of startling popping sounds rang out, followed by screams and shouting. Lorta glanced around him in disoriented panic, searching for the source of the clamor. His eyes found the lines of soldiers marching ahead of him. They were breaking in confusion as dozens of men fell from both the right and left sides of the column.
“Musketeers!” Lorta shouted.. “In the buildings! They’re hiding in the buildings!”
Lorta heard the horrible sounds of the surprise attack echo repeatedly from neighboring streets. An ambush.
“Your Highness, we must get you out of the street!” Salache shouted.
He looked to his side to find Salache motioning for him to fall back.
“No,” Lorta growled. “I want to watch you annihilate them.”
Salache hesitated before relaying a command to one of the other generals. “Niazeride volley! North building, first! “
Lorta smiled as the lines ahead reformed and his soldiers raised their hand units, collectively taking aim at a row of windows on the fourth story of a brick building to their right. A sound like a frenzied host of cicada erupted followed by hundreds of flashes of emerald light so bright they lit up the night sky.
“Cover!” Valek screamed as he ducked beneath an exploding window.
His men hadn’t needed that order as most were already kneeling on the ground covering their heads as the entire wall exploded inward; glass, dust, and stone filling the air. The force of the blast, with its flying debris, knocked Sitrell to the ground. He screamed as his wounded side struck the floor, his eyes widening with pain and horror as the rest of his sutures tore and his wound fully re-opened. Although the shock was severe, it was superseded by a stab of panic as the Niazeride counter measure rolled out of his grasp and across the floor.
“Trauel!” Valek shouted over the din of cracking stone and dying men, his voice tinged with uncharacteristic panic. “Now!”
Summoning all of his will, Sitrell rose in spite of the pain biting at his side and scrambled after the metal sphere, keeping his head low to avoid the maelstrom of glass and fist-sized chunks of stone. He dove for the counter measure, seizing it just in time to save it from rolling down a wooden staircase.
Lying on the floor with the metal sphere again in his grasp, Sitrell reached up with a hand that he just realized was bleeding, and pressed the red button beneath the blue dial.
Gevan watched in horror as the building on the south side of the Hirathi street crumbled, hundreds of screams testifying to more than just musketeers hiding within. Now, Commander Trauel! he mentally shouted. You need to do it now!
As if in answer to his unspoken cry, a low boom like muted thunder resounded through the night. He turned toward the sound, the building on his right, and saw a translucent wave rippling the air.
The energy pulse exploded from the building, taking on a dome shape as it blasted outward to blanket the city. The repeated buzzing of charging Niazeride hand units cut off, confused soldiers looking at the devices as they went dark in their hands. Gevan looked at the sky above an adjoining street. The emerald cast lighting the night air faded along with the distant sound of Niazeride energy blasts. Gevan turned to his left, watching as the energy wave dissipated over Hirath’s suburbs.
He had done it. He had had robbed the Aukasian army of their secret weapon.. The rest was up to Commander Trauel and his soldiers.
“Vaekra take me!” Emperor Lorta screamed. “What in YaJiann’s holy name was that?”
“That was the device that was stolen from me,” The Medasylas answered from his left.
Lorta rounded on the robed man, shouting, “Fool! Why would you create such a thing?”
“To protect us in case the Niazeride technology was turned against us,” the Sage snapped.
Though it made some sense, Lorta had trouble accepting that answer. He suspected that his adviser’s statement was only a half-truth at best. “Well your device has been turned against us! Why did you not sense this coming?”
Lorta caught General Salache in his peripheral, the man riding up to him with an urgent expression on his face. “We must get you away from the combat, Your Highness!”
Lorta ignored him, letting his stare linger on the Medasylas, a mixture of anger and panic storming inside him. “What now, Sage? We are likely to lose half our force just winning this battle, to say nothing of how we are going to take the capital bereft of our advantage!”
The Medasylas stared at nothing, looking as though he were listening to something only he could hear. He nodded to himself before turning back to face Lorta. “I have a solution.”
“What is it?” Lorta demanded.
The Sage shook his head. “There isn’t time. Go with the general, fall back to a safe position. I will handle the enemy army.”
The Medasylas’ words soothed Lorta’s angry panic. “Go, then.”
“Infantry!” General Valek shouted.
Sitrell watched through the gaping tear in the building’s south wall as hundreds of m
en poured out onto the city street, taking the confused Aukasian soldiers by surprise. A veritable slaughter commenced as the enemy soldiers, depending solely on their advanced weaponry, scrambled to draw their swords and raise their spears.
As Sitrell scanned the confused melee, he caught sight of the emperor’s entourage, several soldiers and ten men in Imperial Guard armor, riding back toward Hirath’s suburbs. That’s it! A twisted sense of excitement and relief bubbled up inside him. He had done his duty to his fellow soldiers. Now his time had come. He was ready. His father would come to save him or he would die.
Sitrell drew Enot Trauel’s sword and made for the stairs. He heard General Valek shout a reprimand as he flew down the flight of steps. His wound bit at his side, but Sitrell used the pain to fuel his run. His opportunity had finally arrived and he had to take it. Reaching the building’s ground level, Sitrell raced out onto the street and toward the direction in which the emperor had retreated. A spear wielding Aukasian soldier intercepted him, but Sitrell deftly sliced open the man’s chest, cleaving his spear in the process. Sitrell leapt over the dying spearman and entered a full sprint. Another enemy soldier assailed him, but Sitrell lopped off the man’s head before the Aukasian soldier could even strike.
As he pushed through the melee, the distance between him and the emperor’s entourage rapidly widened. I won’t catch up on foot. I need a horse! But the beasts were hidden away in Hirath’s palace stables along with the Amigus cavalry, who would only now be riding out to join the fray. He scanned the city street that had become a full-fledged battlefield until he found a stray member of the Aukasian cavalry battling a group of Amigus footmen.
Marking his target, Sitrell raced toward the mounted soldier, fending off attacks from both sides with a ferocity that frightened even him. Nothing was going to stand in his way. He would know or he would die. Nothing else mattered; not his mother, not Ashra, not Yuiv, nothing.
With a reckless abandon that gave the Aukasian rider pause, Sitrell reached up to the man, grabbed the side of his coat, and flung him from the saddle. Before the Aukasian could recover from being forcibly dismounted, Sitrell leapt onto his horse and galloped away.
Gevan watched with relieved satisfaction as the Amigus army decimated what was left of the Aukasian front lines. It was working! Shards of the Crystal Star, but his plan was working! He turned to where Father had been to implore him again to flee, but was surprised to find him dismounted and rounding his wagon transport.
Gevan heeled his mount and rode to the back of the large wooden box on wheels where he found Rayome standing, looking again as though he were listening to something only he could hear.
“Rayome!” Gevan called. “The battle turns ill. We have to go!”
Rayome did not reply. Instead, he shot his right arm out to grip the large iron padlock that sealed the wagon’s rear loading door. Hiss eyes flared crimson as he crushed the lock in his hand, as though it had been made of glass instead of iron. Letting the twisted remains of the lock fall to the ground, Rayome flung the wagon’s rear door open revealing a piece of technology the size of a horse. It vaguely resembled a ball and powder cannon, its long cylindrical tube resting on a wheeled metal base, but where there would normally have been a loading hatch, there was a control panel arrayed with a number of buttons, switches, and lights.
“What are you doing?” Gevan asked, this time veiling his words in the ancient language.
“Improvising.”
Rayome climbed into the wagon, knelt before the Niazeride cannon’s metal base, effortlessly tore off its posterior metal paneling, and fished through a tangle of wires and other electrical innards.
“The EMP would’ve destroyed the cannon’s circuitry,” Gevan commented as he watched Rayome work. “Salvaging it would take weeks, if it’s even possible.”
“When the counter measure went missing,” Rayome strained as he reached deep inside the cannon’s open cavity, “I retrofitted the outer shell with shield plating in order to protect it from the pulse.”
As if in testament to Rayome’s claim, the cannon’s dashboard suddenly woke with a fury of blinking lights and whining electric charges.
“It was something the ancients did to protect against such disabling tactics.”
Gevan’s heart dropped and he felt as though he wanted to vomit. “It still works?”
Rayome stood and nodded as he dug into another side of metal paneling.
“You said that with such a concentrated output of energy, the cannon could only sustain a beam for a minute before needing to cool. That won’t be enough to turn the tide of this battle.” Gevan noticed that his comment had sounded too much like a plea.
Rayome scoffed. “I’m not going to use it to fire a beam.”
“Then what?” Gevan asked, but received his answer as Rayome straightened, a triumphant expression on his face as he held up a cylindrical component connected to severed and frayed wires.
“The flow regulator,” Gevan said. “You’re going to turn the cannon into a―”
“Bomb,” Rayome finished. “One with enough yield to wipe out most of the city proper.”
“Father!” Gevan called, but Rayome ignored him as he punched three buttons, activating the cannon.
“We have fifteen power cycles before the coils overload, which gives us five minutes at best,” Rayome said. “Best ride as far away as you can, and fast.”
Rayome leapt out of the wagon, jogged up the right side of the wooden trailer, and stopped next to the front of the transport. His eyes flashed red as he shot a hand out and flung the driver from his seat. The man hit the ground hard and didn’t rise. Rayome jogged to the front of the team of horses and slapped the lead animal on the rump, sending the animals into a wild dash that would take the wagon further into the city.
“Come on, “ shouted as he retrieved his waiting mount, climbed into its saddle and began charging back toward Hirath’s suburbs, leaving Gevan no choice but to follow.
Enot Trauel’s blade sang through the air taking off another head, this time from the neck of an Aukasian soldier who had launched his spear and missed. Sitrell rode the headless corpse down, gritting his teeth as the consequent saddle jolt flared his stabbing pain. Warm liquid oozed down his thigh from his re-opened wound. The pain he could endure, but the fever and blood loss were taking their toll and he had difficulty focusing his vision.
Hundreds of Aukasian soldiers still stood between him and the emperor’s retreating entourage. I will cut down every single one of them if that’s what it takes! Part of him, the sane part, warned that he wasn’t thinking clearly, warned him that his grief was driving him to suicide. He ignored that voice, spurring his already lathered horse to greater speed.
He could see Lorta and his ring of Imperial Guards now, perhaps half a mile ahead of him. Blackness crept in to edges of his vision and he shook his head to delay the imminent syncope. He rode down two more enemy soldiers as he left Hirath’s metropolitan center and entered its suburbs. Only a quarter mile.
And then what? A familiar voice whispered to his mind.
Father?
A deafening sound like thunder shook everything around him. Sitrell actually felt the reverberation enter his back and thrum through his chest. He glanced over his shoulder and was blinded by an explosion of horrible emerald light. A half a heartbeat later, an invisible wave of force slammed into him, hurling him out of his saddle and sending his sword flying. Time seemed to slow as the ground rushed up to meet him and a vision opened to his mind. The scene was of Kyen lying in a coffin dressed in his finest clothing. Sitrell remembered how peaceful his little brother had looked, like he was only sleeping and that Sitrell could wake him with a shake. Pain flared in Sitrell’s head as he struck the ground hard, and slipped into darkness.
Gevan shielded his eyes as he watched a column of emerald light erupt into the sky, followed a second later by a deafening sonic boom. After that, a gale force shockwave exploded outward the epicenter of the bl
ast, powerful enough to knock Gevan from his horse. After rolling onto his stomach, he stayed on the ground, too terrified to move, wanting to bury his head to escape the horrific display of destruction, but he couldn’t turn away.
Screams rang out all around as chunks of stone, broken planks of wood, and shards of glass rained down on the Aukasian soldiers falling back to Hirath’s suburbs. Blood trickled down Gevan’s right cheek from a shard of glass that had grazed his temple. After a few heartbeats, the blinding emerald light faded and the maelstrom of deadly debris stopped. It took Gevan’s eyes a minute to adjust to the absence of so much light, but when they did he almost couldn’t believe what he saw.
Hirath’s metropolitan center was gone, replaced by a wide, shallow crater.
It took Lorta a moment to register the full scope of the destruction he had just witnessed. An entire city, thousands of enemy troops, all gone in a matter of seconds. It was as awe inspiring as it was terrifying. The level of devastation the Medasylas had just wrought was something he thought possible only by gods or monsters. A wondrous thing, this technology.
Heroes of the Crystal Star (Valcoria Book 1) Page 24
