Exile's Gamble_The Chronicles of Shadow_Book II

by Lee Dunning

  “Probably not,” he said and took her elbow. “Come, madam, the wall and proper battle await us.”

  Chapter 26

  W’rath, Lady Swiftbrook and Lord Orcbane’s people darted from the castle out to the bailey, scanning the sky above them. Someone had managed to raise an iridescent dome of protection over the walls and courtyard. The wards flared as hundreds of flying and leaping horrors tested them. W’rath surveyed those in the bailey and approached a robed Sky Elf. “How much punishment can this shielding take?” W’rath asked.

  The mage shook her head. “Normally I would say indefinitely, Councilor,” she replied. “There’s five—well, four now—taking turns keeping this bit of magic up, but it’s pitiful compared to the proper warding spell that collapsed earlier. There’re too many attackers weakening it. We have to constantly refresh it and we’re exhausting ourselves in the process.”

  Several flyers hit the ward simultaneously, sending a cascade of colorful lights across the dome of magic. The creatures lit up in a furious cloud of lightning and disintegrated into dust. W’rath raised an eyebrow, impressed. The wards were more than just a barrier. Highly useful but also why the mages exhausted themselves maintaining it.

  The mage blotted at her perspiring forehead with the heavy sleeve of her robe. “I’m supposed to be resting right now but Lady Teal collapsed during her last rotation, so I’m standing in for her. If we don’t get some relief soon, we won’t be able to keep this up.”

  W’rath worked through their limited choices. The mages could alter the shield to act as a defense only—not an optimal solution but one they might have to resort to soon. Lord Icewind already worked to keep the throne room protected. W’rath doubted Lady Winterdawn possessed the knowledge to help. That left the thin-lipped mage from Lord Orcbane’s group, Lord Mistborn. His assistance might buy them some time. Hmmm, perhaps he could retrieve Lord Icewind …

  “I may be able to dredge up some help for you,” W’rath told the exhausted mage. “Hold on a bit longer.” He trotted back to where Lord Orcbane issued orders to his soldiers. Some grabbed up bows before heading for the walls, while others popped their knuckles in anticipation of a heavy bout of spell casting.

  W’rath caught the commander’s eye and indicated the sagging diviner. Orcbane gave a terse nod and shouted over his shoulder to where Lord Mistborn hovered near the back wall. Apparently, the caster didn’t relish leaving the relative safety of the retaken throne room. As W’rath drew closer, Lord Orcbane snarled at the mage. “That’s an order. Do not make me tell you again.”

  Lord Mistborn sent W’rath a sour look as he stalked past. Ten more attackers, winged versions of the gray devils, hurled themselves into the wards and sizzled as the lightning took them. A thrum that sounded like doom pressed into W’rath. The dome flashed and for a second appeared to wink out. Lord Mistborn yelped and scurried out to the middle of the bailey, suddenly motivated to lend assistance.

  W’rath scowled. Demons often lacked for intelligence but devils usually possessed enough sense to understand the concept of self-preservation. That so many would commit suicide by throwing themselves headlong into the warding made no sense. He nodded at Lord Orcbane and rejoined Lady Swiftbrook.

  “Madam,” W’rath said, “What do you think about moving the people from the throne room out here?”

  A fresh ripple of power arced above them, announcing Lord Mistborn’s contribution to their security. Lady Swiftbrook let out a sigh of relief. “I see where you going with that idea. We could certainly use Lord Icewind’s talent. Bringing all those civilians out here, though?”

  “There are additional benefits,” W’rath continued. “We have people standing guard in there who could lend themselves to the fight.”

  “Including Chalice Renoir and that idiot human with the torch,” Lady Swiftbrook mused.

  “I’ll leave it to you to decide and make any arrangements. In the meantime, I have a little something I wish to try.” He sauntered over to the shadow of the wall and leaned against it, crossing his arms. “Take a peek at me now and again. If you notice anything unpleasant—rolling eyes, foaming mouth—give me a good shake.”

  Lady Swiftbrook pursed her lips. “Maybe I should do that right now. What asinine scheme have you come up with?”

  “Call it mental reconnaissance,” W’rath said.

  “We have diviners for that,” Lady Swiftbrook protested.

  “Madam, the diviners have their hands full trying to keep the wards up. My skills are varied. I can either hunt demons from the walls, stand here waiting with everyone else for the shielding to come down, or I can gather information we may need to survive this predicament.”

  Lady Swiftbrook’s brow refused to smooth. “You’re not doing something crazy like astral projection, are you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” W’rath said, unable to hide a smile. “These demons are so fond of possessing others, I think it’s high time I gave them a taste of their own poison.”

  With W’rath staring into nothing, presumably off to ruin some fiend’s day, Lady Swiftbrook went to work. She set two guards to watch over him and then dispatched two green-armored youths to the throne room to explain the change of plans to those holed up there. She made to approach Lord Orcbane when a voice called out. “Here they come!”

  Instinctively, Lady Swiftbrook’s gaze targeted the speaker—her young cousin, a sailor, Stench. Even she couldn’t bring herself to call him by his proper name, Elaugh’den. The moment he brought back the first of his smoking sticks, no one referred to him as anything other than Stench. The young sailor had managed to scale a wooden belfry and clung to the cone-shaped roof, well beyond the reach of the shielding protecting the bailey. He pointed toward the field where the enemy gathered.

  “Bloody reckless,” she hissed. The archers let loose a barrage of magic imbued arrows. Some had bows similar to the ones Lady Stormchaser had gifted to the Wood Elves. Those bows required no physical ammunition, producing sizzling bolts of power when the archer mimed the pull and release of a drawstring. The bolts streaked into the air, piercing even the most armored hides of their foes.

  She closed the distance to Lord Orcbane, pointing up toward Stench. We need height,” she said. “I can get us up there.”

  Orcbane scrutinized Stench’s precarious perch. “Your cousin is an idiot. He’s making himself a tempting target.” The commander took stock of the towers still standing. “That one there, the one with the crenulations. It’s mostly still standing.”

  Lady Swiftbrook already murmured the twisting syllables she needed to summon her wind disk. It was one of the few air-based spells she used with any regularity. She spread her hands and the flattened whirl of air spread to accommodate several First Born, herself, and Stench.

  “Sh’ren! F’en!” Lord Orcbane called. Two hard-eyed soldiers broke off from their spots on the wall and hustled down the stairs to attend their commander. “We’re joining Lady Swiftbrook on her half-mad quest for higher ground. We may have a chance to disrupt the demon’s foot troops if we have a better view of the field.”

  “And fewer flying freaks attacking us,” F’en said.

  “No guarantee of that,” Sh’ren said, eyeing Lady Swiftbrook’s nearly transparent disk with undisguised unease.

  “You let me worry about fliers,” Lady Swiftbrook said to the nervous soldier. She cocked her eyebrow at Orcbane. “Half-mad?”

  “I’m joining you, am I not?” the redhead said.

  All of them stepped onto the disk, some with less enthusiasm than others. Lady Swiftbrook directed the disk’s assent to pass by where her cousin continued to shout down news. When they rose level with him, the councilor yanked him from the belfry. “You couldn’t find a crow’s nest so you started scaling castles?”

  “Something like that,” the young elf said. He nodded politely to the First Born but disappointment furrowed his brow. “No Lord W’rath?”

  “He’s off doing something stupid,” Lady Swiftb
rook said. She started the wind disk back on a trajectory to their destination. “You didn’t have your fill of him on the ship?”

  “Oh, no,” Stench said. “In fact I brought him a gift. I got a hold of more smoke sticks for him.”

  “You’re the one who gave him those? You ingrate! I should strangle you!” Lady Swiftbrook’s ire caused the disk to wobble. It dumped them onto the partially walled tower Lord Orcbane had chosen for their stand. Up close, the tower didn’t look all that much better than the wooden belfry. Something had torn into the stone leaving huge gaps and a shifting, uneven surface.

  “Easy, Councilor,” Lord Orcbane said, “directing your temper at the demons would do more good.”

  Lady Swiftbrook gave her cousin one last glare of exasperation. The damn squirrel was bad enough by himself but he had the disconcerting ability to collect minions from all manner of unexpected sources. She sighed. “Make sure you don't get in the way.”

  Stench grinned. “You haven’t seen what I’ve learned since working on the ship,” the sailor replied. “Don’t worry, I've got some useful wind spells.”

  “Then do so, boy,” Orcbane said. “We’ve attracted attention. Prepare to have your resolve tested.”

  Lady Swiftbrook pushed away the First Born soldiers and sucked in the chill autumn air. The sky stretched endless over her. Mother magic sang in her limbs.

  She restrained herself in most every facet of her life, but in this, she could let herself run free. The slavering monstrosities bore down on them. Her hatred for their kind kept any tinge of fear from tainting her thoughts. She called upon the magic of the skies, the wind and rain, which had given birth to her ancestors. She roared out words of power, guiding the magic with her will. Only when she thought her very core would erupt with the immensity of the power bottled within her did she let it loose.

  A storm of electricity burst from her. Her eyes, her throat, her thrusting hands, all lent themselves to channeling her power. The streaking monsters flew into the torrent of lightning. It arced off them and leapt across to strike at another group of monsters about to overwhelm the archers. The spell split again and blasted an enormous worm as it tried to burrow under the walls. The forking magic finished off by exploding among a troop of spine-covered devils, leaving a crater in the ground and peppering the area with broken bodies and severed limbs.

  “Fuck me sideways!” Stench blurted.

  “Leave some for us to dance with, Councilor,” Lord Orcbane said.

  Lady Swiftbrook pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. She tried to suppress a smile but it spread across her face anyway. She couldn’t bring her dead kin back but every demon who perished by her hand made the ache within her hurt just a fraction less. At least for now.

  With the flying menace at an end for the moment, the Sky Elf stepped back and allowed the others to work their own magic. Her casting left her drained. She chastised herself for neglecting her combat studies in favor of the small spells needed to keep her apprentices busy. Although she liked to think of herself as a protector more than a warrior, the events at Second Home had taught her even guardians required enough endurance to keep the orcs at bay.

  Lords Orcbane, F’en, and Sh’ren concentrated on turning the ground to the south of the castle to a deadly field of heaving, grinding stones and suffocating earth. Stench called upon the northern winds to whip through the air. He guided his cyclone to dredge through the First Borns’ earthen meat grinder and pulled stones into its heart. When the deadly wind twisted back into the sky, the missiles caught up in it tore through the wings and the shattered bones of the fliers harrying the archers. Bodies cascaded out of the sky and pummeled the demon army below.

  Lady Swiftbrook scanned the horizon. She tried to discern a cohesive pattern to the demon’s attacks. About a quarter of a mile distant, a particularly repulsive group of devils, naked and grub-like, hovered in the sky. Even farther back, two bloated creatures the size of hill giants writhed as they clapped their clawed hands, and pounded the earth with their tails. She’d seen their like before. W’rath had called the one at Second Home a Duke of the Nine Hells. A tiny prodigy of a girl had remade herself in an effort to destroy one of them. A lump lodged in Lady Swiftbrook’s throat at the memory.

  Her eyes widened. One of the dukes had spewed something from its throbbing belly. “What in the hells is that thing?” As she spoke, a huge, squirming mass arced across the field and crashed into a tower east of where she stood. The top most part of the tower shattered upon impact. Tentacles whipped out of the thing’s body and set about tearing apart the rest of the structure. “Ancestors!”

  Lord Orcbane spared a glance toward the disintegrating tower. “That’s the sort of creature that crashed into the tower where Queen Cherish died.”

  “Oh, bloody hells,” she swore. “Is there no end to what these things can use against us?”

  Stench stepped back to stand by Lady Swiftbrook. His breath whistled as he sucked in air, his mop of silver hair drooping with sweat. He’d sent barrage after barrage of killing winds into the enemy’s ranks but the effort was taking its toll. “As much as I like heights, if they send one of those things here, we’ll be joining the queen in oblivion.”

  “You just had to say that,” Lord Sh’ren muttered.

  “Councilor, we can’t survive against those things for long,” Orcbane said. “Summon that disk of yours again—we’re leaving.” So saying he turned his magic to pulling the stones from the crumbling towers around them into a golem. F’en and Sh’ren added their efforts into the casting and a wave of heat passed over the little group as the automaton grew to the height of the tower, the cracks between the stones filling with lava.

  The tower rocked as the golem ripped itself free and inserted itself between them and the devils’ attacks. Lady Swiftbrook paused in her summoning, hope tickling at her breast. “Can your golem kill the Dukes of Hell?”

  “Ha!” Orcbane said. “Allow me to let you in on a little secret, Councilor. When a male shows you something impressive and claims it’s even more powerful than it appears—he’s lying. So please, if you don’t mind, the wind disk?”

  As much as W’rath desired to know what the demons and devils were up to, he also hoped to cause them a hurt or two in the process. He felt around with his powers for a suitable mind to overwhelm. Many of the demons had such alien physiology, he couldn’t hope to manipulate their unfathomable brains. Devils, on the other hand, held more in common with the average two-legged being. Usually more intelligent and magically adept, they could prove more difficult to dominate, but in the end, taking control of a devil made more sense.

  At last, he found one, a being of the type of devil often called a soul sipper. W’rath forced his way into its mind and recoiled. He’d presented Lady Swiftbrook with a cavalier façade, but in truth, he hated invading another’s mind. Even a fellow elf usually left him feeling unclean. A devil left him struggling to keep his psyche from shattering. W’rath had always considered himself a hardened, jaded fellow, but this creature stripped those delusions away.

  The devil proved to have an immense will. It turned upon the psychic invader and tried to overpower its attacker. W’rath seldom ran into beings foolish enough to resist him but the fact the devil boasted enough skill to back up its audacity put a different spin on the situation.

  The two wrestled for control. W’rath sent psychic blasts into his foe and then threw up walls to keep the creature from doing the same to him. For all its power, the devil lacked discipline and fought purely as an aggressor, leaving itself open to W’rath’s precise strikes. Its foolishness eventually meant its undoing.

  W’rath, now in control of the devil’s body, paused for a moment to recover and take in the details of the body he inhabited. He’d turned the devil’s mind to mush, so unfortunately couldn’t plunder the creature’s knowledge. W’rath only hoped Lady Swiftbrook didn’t notice any undo distress on his own body. He didn’t need her rescuing him now he’d managed to
acquire a host.

  The creature didn’t have eyes in the conventional sense. A series of sensors dotted its worm-colored body. It took in the world in a full three hundred and sixty-five degrees. The sensation made for an overwhelming experience. W’rath found himself hovering in the air, struggling to orient himself. He’d managed to find himself a devil of odder makeup than intended. Poor choice of hosts, old boy.

  A demon flew up next to W’rath and cursed him in its corrosive language. From its guttural Abyssal, W'rath gathered the devil he’d possessed used its powers to compel its lessers into hurling themselves into the wards as a means of weakening them. Now free of the devil’s control, the demon considered it a match for its tormentor. W’rath smiled within the shell of the devil and imagined its strange leech’s mouth expanding in response. The demon realized its error too late. It blew apart with the slightest trickle of W’rath’s will.

  That’s better. A sense of calm settled over W’rath. Killing demons had that effect on him. It helped him focus and adapt to his strange new senses. He expanded his perceptions, and his tranquility shattered.

  Two mountainous Dukes of the Nine Hells, much like the one Raven killed in Second Home, oversaw the battle from positions about a half mile from the castle. Even from where he hovered, W’rath could see the devil lords’ forms undulating with the trapped creatures struggling from within to escape—even as the devils’ bodies digested them. Whatever peasants had still worked the human’s fields now faced an end far worse than cold and starvation.

  W’rath dearly wished to take on the dukes. He could sense the magical protection sheathing their grotesque forms, though. They’d arrived to this battlefield much better prepared than the creature Raven killed. It would take time to break through their defenses. In the meantime, Castle Teres would continue to be bombarded.