by Jon Bender
“Is it going well?” Tamrick asked, rejoining him. The man was a powerful mage, but he had no understanding of battle or tactics.
“So far,” Cribble replied. “But we must not become overconfident. We know next to nothing about Tamn. He may be trying to lure us deeper in, or he could be as simple at planning as he has appears.”
“For our sakes, I hope it is the latter,” Tamrick said.
Cribble agreed, though he was not about to continue with that in mind. As far as Cribble was concerned, Tamn was a military genius who knew his forces were out-matched and had prepared his defenses accordingly. If Cribble was wrong in that assumption, he would be pleasantly surprised.
No longer able to come at the soldiers in large groups, the militia were beaten and scattered every time they tried to hold ground. Cribble commanded the men with him to turn down a larger street from where the palace was easily seen. Between him and the large structure, hundreds of militia stood shoulder-to-shoulder across the wide avenue. Cribble ordered his men into a similar formation. Lifting the horn to his lips, Cribble ordered a slow advance to close the distance. As they approached, he could see the nervous shifting of the militia. By now, they knew that their advantage in numbers had not been enough to make a difference. The discipline and training of Cribble’s soldiers surpassed any amount of men they could produce.
Cribble blew his horn again, and the Ale’adarian soldiers charged forward, yelling their anger. When the men were twenty feet away from the militia, a group of four riders struck the defenders’ line from the air. The durgen bit and clawed a path of blood through the unsuspecting men before taking again to the air. Seconds later, soldiers slammed into a distracted and scared force, cutting down dozens before they could respond. Tamrick’s plants erupted from the cobblestone street, adding to the fear and confusion. The fight lasted a mere ten minutes before the militia fled, leaving over one hundred of their dead behind. Cribble checked for his own fallen soldiers and found a dozen unmoving with more wounded. Those who could not continue in the fight retreated as best they could back to the breach where the healers were.
As his small unit of men advanced, another large group of militia came running out of a side street pursued by a thick column of flame. The fire caught four of the stragglers, burning them alive as they screamed their last breath. The fire mage rode his horse calmly out onto the avenue, followed by hundreds of the Guard. At the front, Jerup rode with his left arm slung across his chest, blood seeping through the hastily applied bandage. Cribble and the fire mage joined him, and the unit of five hundred Guardsmen fell in with the soldiers.
“What happened to you?” Cribble asked the wounded man.
“Damn group of archers hiding in windows,” Jerup said with anger. “I lost eight in the first volley, and another five clearing the houses of the vermin.”
“It will be over soon,” Tamrick said.
“Let’s just hope that the warlord has not been able to slip away while we were dealing with his fodder,” Jerup replied.
“If he has, he won’t get far,” Cribble said. “Brenin’s riders will catch him wherever he goes.”
By the time they reached the wall, Cribble had close to two thousand of the three he had brought in, but the storm mage had yet to appear. Not wanting to wait and give the warlord time to escape, Cribble told the fire mage to begin destroying the heavy wooden doors of the palace gates. No men were stationed above to defend it. The mage hit the doors with one explosive fireball after another until it was a charred ruin. Still no one came to oppose them. The lack of resistance put Cribble on edge.
Waving his sword forward slowly, a group of fifty Guardsmen moved cautiously into the large courtyard. When they were halfway to the ornate double doors of the palace, Cribble saw a streak of red fly down from a window. The arrow struck the ground and exploded into flames. The fire spread quickly to the surrounding men who screamed in agony.
“Put the flames out!” Cribble yelled to the fire mage before charging toward the gate.
Passing through the remains of the wooden door, Cribble pulled his horse in just on the other side. The fire mage was already casting before he came to his side, commanding the flames to extinguish themselves. With the fire out, Cribble could see his men half burned and still screaming. Many were already dead, and those who survived would be horribly scarred.
“Remove the door,” he said to the fire mage in a cold voice.
The mage nodded and raised a hand in the direction of the palace. The ball of flame that formed was the largest he had seen the mage create. When he released it, the blast that followed shook the palace so hard that windows high above shattered. As the smoke cleared, Cribble could see that not only was the door gone, but part of the wall that had held it. Behind the door was a large room filled with the bodies of militia who had been too close when the fireball hit. Cribble blew the horn long and hard and heard it answered by the shouts of hundreds of men, flooding through the gate and up the stairs. Cribble climbed down from his horse and was joined on the ground by the mages and Jerup.
They climbed the stairs through the press of men who stepped aside to let them pass. Tamrick and the fire mage stayed back near the blasted out door while he and Jerup moved deeper into the large room. The militia was already falling back into the palace through side halls and corridors. When the mages added their magic to the fray, it only increased the enemy’s panic. With Jerup on his right, so he could support the man’s wounded side, Cribble gripped his sword in both hands. The Ale’adarian soldier in front of him took a serious wound to the leg. Grabbing the collar of the wounded man, Cribble pulled him back and took his place, thrusting his sword low. The tip of the blade passed through the thin leather armor of the man who had slashed the soldier. He could see shock on the man’s face as blood spilled from his mouth. Withdrawing his sword and allowing the man to fall, Cribble looked around. The room was packed with Ale’adarian soldiers and guardsman who were pushing the militia back, forcing them to the sides and up a grand marble carved stairs.
Leading the push forward, Cribble began to hack with his sword in controlled strikes. He did not try to strike flesh unless an easy opportunity presented itself. Instead, he concentrated on beating back any nearby enemy with brute force, hammering away at their weapons and stepping forward with every hit. Jerup, seeing what Cribble was doing, joined in the tactic. Together, they advanced. The Guard and soldiers following. They forced the militia to the wide base of the stairs and were soon back-stepping up them as best they could. The task grew more difficult as the marble steps became slick with the blood of their comrades.
When they made it halfway up the stairs, their momentum slowed. Cribble could see Jerup tiring, but he knew the soldier would not leave his side. Cursing the man for his stubbornness, Cribble placed a hand on the captain’s shoulder and pulled him back as others took their place.
“I am not going to explain to your wife that you died because you thought you could keep up with me,” Cribble yelled over the sound of clashing metal and the screams of dying men.
“I’m fine,” Jerup yelled back, his face pale from blood loss.
“Get back to Tamrick and direct the men from there, or by the gods I will have you picking up horse manure for a ten-day,” he ordered.
Doing as he was told, Jerup slid past the men on his way to the base of the stairs. Looking out behind him, Cribble saw Tamrick had been joined by the storm mage near the door. Another few hundred soldiers now waited outside with the rest of his men. The hall was large, but still not big enough for the entirety of his force. Catching the green mage’s eye, Cribble waved and pointed to the top of the stairs. Nodding his understanding, Tamrick raised his hands. His face took on a look of concentration. A rumbling beneath the floor shook the men on the stairs. To either side of the marble steps, green trunks as thick as two men erupted from the floor, continuing to grow until they reached above the top of the stairs. When they had achieved their fullest height, vines eru
pted forth to pluck the militia from the top and toss them to the ground below. If the fall did not kill them immediately, soldiers nearby finished the job.
The deadly trees soon cleared the top of the stairs, allowing Cribble and those with him to make it to the next level. Passing the trees on his way up, Cribble watched as they seemed to wilt and shrink back down. Stepping away from the stairs, he could see that the enemy had pulled back from the overhanging balcony. The Ale’adarians pushed forward. With nowhere to go, the militia were butchered to the man.
When the area was cleared, Cribble moved closer to the twelve-foot double doors and pulled on one of the large metal rings. It would not budge. Walking back to the balcony, he found that the great room now only contained his men. The sound of fighting echoed from the many halls as the rest of his army poured in. He waved the mages up to join him and met them at the top of the stairs.
“I need another door opened,” he said to Tamrick.
“I’m afraid my magic will not work up here,” he said, indicating the floor.
“Ours will,” the fire mage said, moving to the doors with the storm mage in tow.
The Guard and soldiers moved back, allowing the mages room to cast. Raising their hands, the storm mage loosed a bolt of lightning as the other hurled a flaming ball against the door. Both casts hit at the same time, blowing the doors off their hinges. Cribble made his way to the now empty doorway and stood at its threshold. Inside, the would-be king sat on the throne of Denra. He was nothing like what Cribble had expected--a thin man close to Cribble’s own age with light brown hair. If Cribble had to guess, Tamn was the type that never got his own hands dirty, letting others do violence on his behalf. He was the type of man Cribble despised, a coward. Between Tamn and Cribble stood another few hundred of the worthless militia, but standing in front of the militia were commoners. Men, women, and children, all with their hands bound behind their backs.
“I am King Tamn. Welcome to my palace,” the man said in a nasally voice. “Leave now, or they will suffer.”
Cribble ignored the man and turned to the mages. “Can you get them out of the way without harming them? I want to get to him as quickly as possible.”
“Maybe,” the storm mage said. “It will be rough, for them… and you.”
“Just get me to him,” Cribble said.
The storm mage nodded. “Walk forward a few steps and be ready.”
Cribble did as the man said, gripping his sword tightly and tensing his muscles to run for the warlord. The air in the throne room began to move, causing the clothes of all those present to flap in a strong wind. Suddenly, the strong wind intensified tenfold and flew past Cribble, forcing the commoners and militia to part. Cribble winced at seeing the people thrown about so. Just as he began his sprint for the warlord, another wind picked him off the ground and hurled him toward the small man. Cribble had just enough time to see the look of surprise on the warlord’s face before he slammed into the throne, knocking the gilded wooden chair and Tamn off the dais. They landed in a heap.
Cribble was stunned but forced his body to move and dragged Tamn to his feet. He felt a sharp pain in his upper chest and thought it likely he had broken his collarbone. Spinning the stunned Tamn to face away from him, Cribble placed his sword against the man’s throat and stepped back to the far wall. The militia were also climbing back to their feet, many of the people they had been holding hostage having manage to escape behind Cribble’s soldiers. The fight was over in minutes. Much of the militia threw down their weapons in surrender. Cribble handed the warlord over to a pair of the Guard and looked at the other men.
“Don’t just stand there. The Palace is still filled with these bastards,” Cribble said, indicating the kneeling enemy militia. “Check every hall and room.”
Two of his captains started barking at the men to carry out their commander’s orders. Cribble walked back to where the mages stood at the door. He looked hard at the storm mage. “You almost killed me.”
The man shrugged. “I told you it would be rough.”
It took the remainder of the day for Cribble’s men to find the rest of the militia throughout the city. Most fled when they realized that the Ale’adarians had won. They had captured over a thousand of them who were now being watched in a large market place surrounded by soldiers. Tamn was being held in the palace while Cribble got the city under control. The thousands of people who lived there flooded the streets in celebration. With their oppressors gone, they drank, danced, and thanked every Ale’adarian they could find. Cribble was forced to sternly discourage a few from showing him their affection.
A large group of those people had gathered just outside the marketplace where the captured men were being held. They had demanded Cribble execute all of them, but so far had appeased themselves by throwing rocks and other items when they could. Cribble had decided not to dissuade the behavior. The militia deserved far worse, but he had not yet come up with a way to deal with them. The warlord Tamn would be executed publicly, but the thought of killing the rest in cold blood weighed heavily on him. Killing men in the heat of battle was one thing, but to execute near a thousand men was more than even he could handle. For now, he could wait to make that decision.
Leaning back in the chair, he took in the surrounding room. Shelves with ledgers lined one wall, while on the others hung paintings of scenic landscapes. On the desk in front of him sat an open book with a thin layer of dust coating its pages. It had probably lain there since the Kelrans had invaded.
Sighing, he steeled himself and brought the stone ring up to his lips. Talking to the King often proved annoying. Cribble had no use for his sovereign’s humor. “Your Majesty, I have taken Mendon and captured the warlord Tamn,” he said into the whispering stone.
A few seconds later, the King replied. “Good work, Cribble. What were our losses?”
“Near three hundred dead and over four hundred wounded, and many of those will not be able to move for some time,” Cribble said. It was bad news. Of the wounded, only two hundred would be ready to fight again in a week. He would still have lost a fifth of his fighting force when he started north to finish the job.
“What about the enemy?” the King said.
“Last count put the enemy dead over four thousand with another thousand taken prisoner. Most fled the city without even fighting,” Cribble replied. He did not blame the riders for getting the number of militia wrong, but after interrogating some of the prisoners, Cribble now knew the city had held over nine thousand when they had attacked. Cribble heard a low whistle from the stone. “How about the city and people? Is there anyone there who can take the throne?” he asked.
“No, Your Majesty. When the Kelrans attacked, they killed every noble they could find,” Cribble said. “I intend to do the same here as in the smaller towns. I will set up a council of respected commoners and leave the men who are more seriously hurt with a small number of Guard to protect them. They will help to maintain order in the city until the people are ready to manage themselves.”
“What about the prisoners?” the king asked.
“I don’t know yet. Tamn will be executed tomorrow. The people will get some peace from that,” Cribble said.
“You will figure it out,” the king said. “We did not know these warlords had so many men. I will send more soldiers to you today, but it will take time for them to get there,”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will use that time to track down this other warlord,” Cribble replied.
“Good luck, Commander.”
Cribble lowered his hand and closed his eyes. He could deal with the problems of prisoners, wounded, and the city, after he got some rest.
Chapter 15
Sarinsha looked at the faces of her siblings. The six present were the strongest of the immortal being’s men called gods, and it was rare that they should all gather in one place to discuss matters of the mortal world. The last such meeting had occurred at the end of the great struggle, what men called
the War of the Gods--a conflict that saw immortal against immortal in a fight for the worship of men. Those men had grown tired of killing each other and united against them. At the end of that war, the oath-breakers had learned to control a form of energy that the immortals did not understand, and with that new power, these death mages had come into their plane. For the first time since the immortals had come into being, they learned what it meant to no longer exist. The gods had treated men as game pieces on a board. Their thirst for greater power had cost them many of the lesser immortals and two of Sarinsha’s brothers.
When they finally understood that the oath-breakers would not stop, they had come to this empty place. Here they agreed to offer the mages a pact to end the fighting both in the mortal world and between the gods. With that agreement, the immortals were barred from entering the world, only allowed to deliver their will through men who still worshipped them. The oath-breakers were similarly restrained from ever entering the immortal plane, and the power granted to them bound them to only one school. Without this, they could never again open the portal.
“What does it matter to us if Estrom went into the mortal world? The fool was easily beaten by an oath-breaker. He is no threat to us,” her brother Trell said in his glowing armor. The immortals could take any form they wished, and she never understood why he chose to look like a soldier. The magical armor was a glamor and provided no more protection than his own skin.
“We must not allow our lesser siblings to start again what we here ended. The pact is broken, thanks to our sister. That pact was not only created by our power, but the power of the oath-breakers.” Elshara locked her eyes on Sarinsha, her firm voice filled with determination. “With it broken, that power now returns. Not just to us, but them as well. Soon, mortals will be capable of controlling all forms of magic.”
