Mason had to sit down and catch his breath. He finally had someone from the other side, with their memory intact, to talk to directly–a person from this other world. The mercenaries were from the other world, too, but they were apparently working for someone–perhaps the people or beings responsible for the terrible cataclysm that was now being called the Merge.
Where to begin? “Thulkara. You said this was the New World. You wouldn’t have a map of it, would you? Does it include this region of the wilds?”
“Certainly. It is one of the latest colonial maps from less than two years ago. I’ve added some notes of my own, but these areas are still mostly uncharted and unexplored.” She produced what looked to be a bamboo tube with cork caps and canvas straps. Thulkara opened it and took out a roll of parchment that instantly smelled of some kind of waterproofing.
“Do you know how long the New World has been under colonization?”
“Within a lifetime. Barely threescore years since mariners discovered it. But word of it has existed in legends since the dawn of time. The Old World knew something had to be out here, but our ships were not strong enough to cross the wide seas to reach it. Once they were and we finally found these new lands, we flocked here.”
“And there were no humans living here in the New World?”
“None. The colonists have just barely been able to survive and push inland against the monster hordes.”
“But I take it that the Old World is quite civilized and run by humans?”
“Of course. That’s why everyone there wants to come here to get away from it, and to exploit the new lands and riches in this place.”
As soon as Thulkara spread the map out, Mason understood that he was looking at a world parallel in most respects to Urth–a sister world from an alternate dimension, most likely, with a different history, peoples, and creatures.
As rough and crude as Thulkara’s map was, it was still, very clearly a representation of the eastern half of what Mason knew to be North America and the U.S., yet with different terrain, cities, and towns. All marked in the runic language of the alternate world.
And apparently: wizards, sorcerers, and necromancers existed in this alternate world as well–all of whom could make use of magic in some form. Very interesting.
The mercs had been startled by the power and range of his blasts from his guns, but they still accepted them and reacted to them as fact. To them, his pistols were some kind of strange metal wands. These people had experience with mages and their powers, perhaps in warfare, as well.
After he demonstrated his powers, they and Thulkara naturally assumed that he was a mage of some kind, a magic user, and they had referred to him as a mage and a sorcerer from that point on.
So much to take in. He examined Thulkara’s map once more. Most of the cities were naturally on the coast, if the New World here was a recent discovery. But he did see a small number of fledgling cities located in expected points along the east coast, leading west along the water ways of their version of the Great Lakes.
He wished that he could read the writing on the map.
The furthest west the colonial cities went appeared to be what he knew as Chicago, and St. Louis to the south, and then New Orleans. This new world had its own version of the Mississippi River, which seemed broader and more or less a wide, inland sea that split the entire lower part of the continent in half. Or perhaps it simply had been charted badly. It was hard to know with hand-drawn maps. Yet they seemed accurate to a degree–enough to travel and navigate by.
Just like the north, the south had a few points of cities founded along the eastern coast, and a handful within the interior. But it appeared that the interior of the New World, including the Appalachians, were all still part of the Wildlands, and ruled mostly by violent hordes, tribes, and bands of these various monsters.
The closest cities nearest to the Michiana area seemed to be what he would call Detroit and Toledo. There was no equivalent city for Indianapolis, but further east, there was a city in the place of Cleveland. Imagine that.
His family could be interacting with these other humans at that very moment. Mason hoped they got along peacefully and worked together.
Mason studied that map intently for a long while.
“What language is this written in?” he absently asked.
Thulkara grunted and smiled. “Thuldoran, of course. The language of my people, the Thulls. I thought all mages could parse and speak the languages of the six lands and the six peoples of Tharanor?”
“I guess I never got around to learning them all.”
Thulkara suddenly nodded down the hill. “A rider with golden hair comes this way, drawing a packhorse behind him. He carries a crossbow and a saber at his side. He searches for something or perhaps someone. Do you know this fellow?”
Mason nodded. “He’s a friend and companion of mine. Do him no harm. I will get my own horse and call him up to us. Wait here, and keep your map out.”
“I will.”
Mason retrieved Winger and called to Blondie. “Up here. Come up here. I’ve made a new friend–she’s from the other world.”
Blondie came around the lowest side to make his way up to them. Mason secured his horse and kept talking to Thulkara while he got his notebook out and a pen. “What do you call the world–the entire planet?”
Thulkara blinked at him and shrugged. “Tharanor, of course.”
“And the six lands and peoples of the Old World?”
“Thuldor, the Thull Nation. Sylurria, the nation of mages. Khairun, the land of sellswords. Jattar, a nation of wizards and horse riders. Darshia, a nation of mages and great swordmasters. And finally Marrandor, a land of knights, great archers, and enchanters.”
Mason pointed on the map to what he would call Detroit. “What city is this and who rules there?”
“Why, that is Tornhold, the westernmost colony of the Thulls.”
He pointed to Toledo. “And this one?”
“Kellendra, the furthest, western city state of the Marandorians. How is it that you do not know these things? Have you just recently come here from the Old World? How did you get so far into the interior without a map or any knowledge of the colonies?”
“Let me ask a question,” Mason said. “What happened to the moon?”
“Moon?” Thulkara said. “What the hell is that?”
“I figured as much. This Tharanor probably never had one, for some reason.”
The Amazon suddenly gave him a hard look. “Who are you? Where do you come from?”
He pointed at Cleveland. In a way, it wasn’t lying.
“You’re from Dorundia? Funny. You don’t look like a Darshian–their eyes are slanted. Or perhaps you merely came over on one of their ships.” Thulkara began eyeing him suspiciously and pulled her map back, rolling it up.
Perhaps from being out in the wilds, Thulkara did not fully understand what had happened with the Merge.
Blondie rode up just then. He looked a little stunned to see Thulkara, and started rubbing his head as if it suddenly pained him. “Oh, ghods–a Thul!” he exclaimed.
Thulkara looked him up and down, and said to Mason. “You’re traveling with a Sylurrian?”
“How do you know he is a Sylurrian?”
She pointed. “His boots are. None of the other peoples would wear boots such as those, or their hair that way.”
“Thulkara, Blondie. Blondie, Thulkara. I knew it. I just knew it, Blondie. Get this. She says you’re a Sylurrian.”
Blondie folded his arms in front of himself. “And just what the hell is a Sylurrian?” he asked.
Thulkara pointed at him. “You are. Now I can tell so by your voice as well.”
Mason turned to Thulkara. “He must have hit his head at some point. Blondie doesn’t know who he is, or where he came from. Nothing.”
He turned back to Blondie. “You’re probably from Vaejan–what I would call Chicago.”
Blondie shook his head. “That means nothing
to me, either. You two are giving me a headache.”
Perhaps that was a good thing. Confronting him with a bunch of Tharanorian stuff could jog his broken memory.
“Why would you call Vaejan that?” Thulkara said.
Mason ignored her for a moment and turned back to Blondie. “She doesn’t seem to know about the Merge.”
“What is this Merge you speak of?” Thulkara asked.
“Where has she been for the last week or so?” Blondie asked. “Hiding in a cave?”
“No…traveling through the barren wilds, Sylurrian. But now that you say something of it, after I woke up one day, things around me started to look very weird. I began to see many strange things along the way. Things that should not be. I’ve kept to myself, and remained out of sight–especially after I rediscovered several mercenary armies out this way. Then one of their patrols spotted me briefly, and their gulluk hounds picked up my scent.”
She laughed. “The rest Mace knows. He chased them off with his sorcerous powers. I have never seen powers so strong or used in such a manner.” She let her glance rest on him with a certain gleam in her eyes that made Mason slightly nervous.
It was as if she admired him, and perhaps something beyond that.
She caught herself and quickly looked at Blondie, and actually sniffed at him. “You stink like a mage, but all Sylurrians seem to smell of magic. What sort of mage are you?”
“I…I don’t know,” Blondie said. “I still don’t recall very much since the Merge.”
She looked perplexed. “You two keep babbling about this Merge? What do you mean by that?”
Both of them tried to explain the current situation.
Blondie went directly into his theory on the matter, but that just seemed to confuse and worry Thulkara. She even looked a bit frightened, if it was even possible for a Thul to comprehend what others would call fear.
Mason chose a more subtle approach. “Thulkara, you said that you’ve seen many strange things in this area recently. Haven’t you noticed the strange houses and buildings and structures? Odd people wearing strange clothes, speaking in strange languages?”
She nodded. “I have seen many strange things, but the languages would not be a problem, if they spoke some other tongue,” she said flatly.
Now Mason and Blondie were at a loss. “Why not?” Mason asked.
She pulled an ornate silver medallion on a strong silver chain up from around her neck, set with many runes and symbols.
She acted as if they should know what the artifact was, but the two of them simply stared back at her and the necklace.
“These medallions and other similar devices are quite commonplace on Tharanor–throughout my world. Ages ago, the mages of our world devised a way to create many such devices with heavy enchantments on them. This type of magic allows the wearer and many within range of them to converse freely with one another, no matter what tongue each of them actually speaks.”
“Prove it,” Mason said. “Take it off and try to talk to me.”
Thulkara shook her head. “It would still work. I would have to take the enchanted medallion far away from us, nearly out of sight, and then return.”
Mason remained skeptical. “How do I know such magic works?” he said.
Thulkara reached over with a long finger and hooked it under the neckline of Blondie’s T-shirt. She pulled out a chain and a very similar golden medallion with different markings from another language on it.
“Because your Sylurrian friend is also wearing one, made by his people.”
Blondie stared at it and studied it as if it were a king cobra. Then he quickly stuffed it back down his shirt, out of sight.
23
“No, save Dirk!” David shouted. He leaped directly in front of the seven-and-a-half-foot-tall monster that towered over him like a tree. Four other fighters joined him to help keep the huge mor-kahl busy.
More defenders swept forward on either side.
They stabbed and cut down the torgs and ka-torgs trying to drag Dirk away.
Pete Steiner rushed in with them and booted a ka-torg in the face, and then ran the creature through with his saber. Pete helped the troops fight off the enemy and pull Dirk, battered and bloody, toward the rear to safety.
If Dirk was even still alive.
David grappled with his enormous foe, and rammed his wakizashi into the mor-kahl’s chest–up to the tsuba.
Then he thrust his katana deep into the thing’s maw as it snapped its sharp teeth down at his torso.
He pushed and leveraged all his weight. With the help of his comrades, they toppled the stricken monster to one side. David lunged forward, shoving the sword all the way back through the thick skull.
He rolled free, yanked his swords out, and came up slicing, battling beside the foremost twenty militia fighters.
Then the southern militia line collapsed to their right.
Countless more foes poured in from the south and west to aid their comrades.
These were the last of the enemy reserves–the final heavy counterattack.
They collapsed the thin militia lines, lines that had already been in confusion and disarray.
Only seconds, minutes at most before they all went down.
They were going to be completely routed and swept away.
The only logical choice was to withdraw.
“Pull back!” David shouted. “Wheel north to Greenlawn. Direct them down Greenlawn. Shields! All shields up front. To me. To me!” He gathered every remaining defender not struck down and formed first a skirmish line, and then a hasty shield wall.
They retreated, fighting among the yards and houses around the Haywards’ place once more.
Dozens of human archers on the rooftops poured murderous fire down into the enemy horde, heedless of any return fire–which was sporadic.
But the larger monsters flung smaller torgs up onto the roofs by the dozens to attack the archers.
The human archers cut down the torgs and took their arrows.
But all of that took time away from both sides.
The enemy charge faltered and stalled before it could completely sweep David and the others away.
All the while, the militia archers kept up their lethal fire.
The militia defenders in that spot dwindled down to a few hundred against many hundreds of monsters, perhaps thousands more behind them.
The enemy piled up at Jefferson, but already spilled over and raced down Greenlawn. There wasn’t any help for it. They’d most likely break out and do as much damage as they could in the area until close to dawn. Then they’d rampage back through the downtown and into the safety of the strange dark forests and hills to the west.
Only to attack again the next night.
David and his people could contain them only for a few more moments–fully expecting to go down fighting.
He backed up hard against a tree in the Haywards’ backyard. Two of his best fighters went down on his right.
“They’re coming!” someone cried. It sounded like young Steven Hayward up on the roof, protecting his mother. “Help’s coming. Hold on. They’re only a block away!”
A city block might as well have been a country mile. The relief would not arrive in time for them. He fought on, and thought first of Jerriel’s smile, and then his parents.
David and the militia killed foes each second, calmly and efficiently.
But it was Captain Pritchard who led them and held the line each precious second by force of will and his skill with swords. Even his own troops protected his flanks, but gave him room to fight.
No one wanted to be cut by those flashing blades.
David slashed throats and severed hands, arms, and legs–spinning, slicing, and cutting like a cyclone of steel.
His swords were steel razors, two and three feet long, wielded with a surgeon’s skill.
If the monsters could be called living things–nothing living came near him that was not cut deeply more than once or slice
d completely in two. Any foes who got in close to try to hit the captain were quickly impaled on a forward rush of spears and pikes or cut down.
The enemy advance stumbled and climbed over piles of their own dead and dying.
But exhaustion could eventually bring down anyone.
David and his people had been fighting all night. They were at their limit, and began to falter.
He dropped to one knee, cursing his own weakness. Damn it, he was failing everyone.
Their foes smelled blood and came at them fresh and fell for the kill.
A small, blazing comet smashed into the ground twenty feet into the horde and detonated. A blinding hot wave of white-orange energy incinerated the first few ranks of foes and flattened the rest onto their backs, fifty or sixty yards beyond that and into the street.
The blast wave leveled everyone who was up close.
Asphalt buckled and melted.
The enemy shrieked in terror and tried to pull back from the destruction.
As dust and smoke and debris cleared, David gasped in wonder and fell back on his elbows. Troops tried to help him back up.
What in the hell had happened?
Jerriel rose up out of that smoldering crater like a glowing star and twirled her glittering staff above her head. Lines of force and runes glowed all along its length.
She chanted singsong in her tongue faster than David could follow. The air around her crackled with energy, and her long hair and her garments rippled around her as if in a strong gale.
She looked like a young goddess enraged. His heart leapt in his breast to somehow be able to reach her side. But everyone stood back before her revealed might, friend or foe.
She cried out spell words and unleashed the gathered force around her as the enemy surged forward once more.
B00M0CSLAM EBOK Page 18
