High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  Hell, they were eager. All of us were smarting from the deception and enchantment of the night’s attack. Most had heard how the Second Commando had been butchered, after the warmage, warbrothers, and a few dozen stragglers made it to the castle after a daring cross-country withdrawal. The warmagi involved in the sortie, more than fifty in all, were particularly anxious to fight, and included the 2nd Commando men even though they were nigh exhausted.

  I was waiting in the scant shade of a pine tree with Terleman when the mercenary captain appointed to lead the mundane troops reported that they were ready: three thousand heavily armed and armored men. It was more than a mile to the enemy position, but the captain assured us his men would sprint the entire way there for the chance to kill goblins.

  Captain Arborn joined us, along with Lady Ithalia, who was leading the Alka Alon. I had expected Onranion to lead them, but apparently he wanted to stay with the warmagi in this battle. Arborn took off his close-fitting steel cap and shook out his hair.

  “I’ve pulled my scouts back,” he reported, “most are hiding in places to cover your position in case of a retreat.”

  “That seems less than optimistic,” Onranion snorted. “Surely there’s no thought of retreat.”

  “This is a battle in which we know little about the capabilities of our foes . . . clearly,” I said, gesturing to the frozen Poros in the distance. “Retreat may be tactically advisable, at some point. Honor is lovely, on the tournament field, but this is a war of genocide. I won’t make a futile stand if I can avoid it, no matter how gallant. It’s nice to know we’ll have some cover.”

  “My people will endeavor to protect your magical corps,” Arborn said, sipping from his canteen. I glanced over at where Rondal and Tyndal were dueling to warm up, Sarakeem was strapping a second quiver to his back, Sire Cei was smashing logs to splinters with his new warhammer, and Lorcus was practicing the Sword Dance of the Magi at augmented speed. It was hard to even see his arms and legs move.

  “You really think we’ll need much protection?” I asked, skeptically. Before the pretty Alkan could respond, Terleman bellowed for his captains to consult before the final horn call to attack.

  He gave a rousing speech to rally us all, and we needed it after the long night. He pointed out our splendid new allies, our giant falcons, and the concentration of magic at our command. He exhorted us all to do feats this day that would honor our ancestors and be the envy of our descendants. He finished it with a short but poignant prayer to Duin the Destroyer.

  He was good. Even I was cheering when he finished. Then it was time to don our helms, hang our spells, loosen our swords, and make our peace with the divine.

  The infantry quick-marched in formation over the field and up the hill toward the gathering mass of goblin soldiery at the commands of the horns. The few horsemen went ahead, at first, to clear pickets and cavalry patrols before hugging our flanks. Those hounds were vicious, but even they could not stand a well-couched lance to the innards.

  The magical corps moved alongside the main column until we were just in sight of the foe – a stunning vision of black furry malevolence that began howling the moment they saw us. Drums and horns called them to arms at once, and the cries of dismay told us that they were not expecting resistance so soon.

  As our men marched up the slight slope toward them, they hastily assembled a shield wall in defense. Mostly hobgoblins with heavy wooden roundshields, I noted with magesight. There were a few clusters of goblins working to build siege engines behind them. I had no intention of letting that happen.

  The horsemen cleared out of the way and the archers among our men filed out and launched a volley at the gurvani. It fell like deadly rain, and the second they launched did as well. While the hobs in the front were fairly well protected, the light infantrymen behind them were peppered with three-foot long shafts. They tried to answer our volley with one of their own, but it was chaotic and poorly-timed. It was also too short by thirty yards. But as soon as the arrows touched down, the horncall rang out and the infantry broke into a charge.

  We were running across the field ourselves, but we all slowed down a moment to appreciate the moment when our men rammed into their soldiers. Swords and spears began flailing wildly, like the center of a boiling pot, and the ranks behind the front began to press and spread out.

  As decent soldiers as the hobs were, they were still a head shorter and seventy pounds lighter than the average human infantryman. Nor were they as aggressive. Our men disassembled that shield wall like it was mowing time. Sometimes they would just bowl over a hobgoblin and then stand on its shield, using the additional height to his advantage before hopping down and dispatching him.

  The gurvani light infantry? They could barely stand against them. They tried – they threw themselves at the heavily-armored men who marched up that hill. But their blows were too weak and too few to match the pounding and slashing they received in return. For every man who fell, five or more goblins died in that initial charge.

  It was good to see the violence going in our favor, but our tactical advantage wouldn’t hold long. The goblins were already trying to get their worms into play. They were still outfitted as draught beasts, not war machines, so they were limited in how effective they were in combat . . . but honestly, how effective does a forty-foot long monster have to be in order to get the job done? I pointed toward the beasts as we crossed the field.

  “Rondal! Tyndal! One for each of you!”

  “Master?” Rondal asked, confused, as he jogged behind me.

  “You two deal with the siege worms,” I explained, “since you have had experience with one before.”

  I could hear their nervous swallows over the din of battle. “Yes, Master!” Rondal agreed, reluctantly, before they both jogged off.

  We were approaching the main line from an oblique angle, just at the flank. Few of the hobs were paying close attention to such a small group . . . until the Alka Alon began firing their shiny bows.

  This was the first time I’d seen them in action. In their normal forms they are famed for their archery, and the poisoned arrows they use. In their humanlike forms they were far deadlier. While the Alka Alon prefer sniping, they had been studying human-style warfare in Sevendor. I got to see what an Alka Alon volley looked like: perfectly coordinated, with the same effect I’d witnessed among the Karshak and in Carneduin. And it was breathtaking.

  Their fingers flew so fast they blurred, and their quivers emptied before my eyes as shaft after shaft filled the air with high, tinny twangs. Their human-sized bows were strong, far stronger than the average longbow, and the arrows they used were tipped with decorative steel and made of some bright white wood. The Alka fired fast, faster than any human I’d seen, even Sarakeem. And their aim was exquisite. Rank after rank of gurvani fell to that deadly rain. I do not doubt that every Alkan arrow found a mark.

  As harrowing as that was to our foe, there were still plenty facing us ahead. Terleman turned and raised his sword, and a bright blue flare ignited from the tip. The signal to charge.

  I summoned the halberd blade from Blizzard’s arsenal and activated several powerful spells of protection and augmentation as I ran close enough to discern the furry faces of my foes. In another three steps the last of my spells were active, and I was ready to face the horde.

  After the punishing volley of arrows, the remaining goblins in front of us were in poor order when Terleman’s sword exploded the first hob to step forward against him. He turned and struck a second and kicked a third in the head as he twisted. Bendonal the Outlaw was right behind him with his men, and as soon as they hit the line they spread out and challenged the largest and fiercest opponents at hand.

  I pushed to my left, into the flank of the shieldwall the infantry were attacking, my blade growing slick with blood as I hewed one gurvan after another. Tyndal kept up with me on his way toward the worm – Rondal got separated, and stuck next to Sire Cei and Sir Festaran – so we did our damnedest to di
stract the hobs from their task.

  Combat magic is tricky to use when friend and foe are so well-mixed. But there were still plenty of spells to choose from. Pain, weakness, nausea, blindness, sleep, fear, I used it all. When we were truly in the thick of battle, behind the foe’s shieldwall and causing real damage, I dropped my sense of restraint and started using more wide-area spells. A few dozen fell to their knees, unable to breathe (diaphragm stunning spell). Another knot of them burst into flames when Tyndal cast something nasty from his warstaff. At one point I drew Twilight just to give me more options, and began cutting my way through the center of their ranks before returning the mageblade to its scabbard.

  I don’t know how long I fought or who was around me, beyond a certain point. My existence was confined to the goblin in front of me and the one I would kill after that. I hacked and dismembered with my glaive until things got too close, then switched to a spearhead. Blizzard was like a dream in my hand. Stab, point, blast, parry, turn, stab, repeat. I used physical augmentations lavishly, expending power to keep me moving much faster than my enemies.

  It also helped that I attacked most of them blindsided. The infantry was doing a good job keeping the goblins focused on them, so we warmagi had an unfair advantage, and we used it. It doesn’t take much to stab a goblin under the arm or through the neck when they don’t see you coming. We chewed into that right flank like a troll with a bag full of kittens. And we didn’t slow down until we could see the fronts of the shields of the infantry.

  That’s when things got really interesting. Someone had finally unlimbered the disassembled siege engine components from the backs of the two worms, and now each was being led into battle by a team of three trolls, tugging at the chains that pierced their . . . noses? While they had not been fitted for the portable redoubts that Tyndal and Rondal had spoken of, that massive horn and those gaping jaws made it formidable enough without it.

  The goblins cheered as the beasts were being led into the fray, even as they were being slaughtered by steel and spell. The worms were clearly hard to control – the trolls struggled mightily with the things, who clearly did not want to be led into conflict.

  Tyndal! I called out, mind-to-mind. I believe the one on the left is yours? Stir him up.

  Yes, Master! He promised, mentally. I don’t know where he was in the battle, but soon the beast on the left was bucking its head wildly.

  Meanwhile, I found Rondal in the battle, protecting Sire Cei’s back with Sir Festaran as the Dragonslayer was carving his own way through the foe. He had yet to draw his hammer, depending instead on the cavalry sword every knight carried along with his broad dragonhide greatshield. He looked grimly serene in the action. His mustache was curled with concentration as he felled one goblin after another. A few would attempt his flanks, but Sir Festaran’s stalwart blade or Rondal’s warstaff would intercept, followed by a brutal follow-through.

  “Rondal!” I called through the din “Ace!” I said, remembering his warname. Those who have been through the Mysteries of Huin oftentimes respond better to that in the heat of battle, I’d noted. My apprentice looked up. “Your date for the ball is here,” I said, indicating the worm to the right. “That could be deadly. Make it useless.”

  “Master?” Rondal breathed, studying the problem. The worm reached out and bit an infantryman in half, tugging at its trollish handler like an oversized dog leashed to a small boy. Rondal took a deep breath and let it out. “All right,” he finally said. “This will take a moment.”

  As he lumbered off through the battle, sprinting in zig-zags with augmented speed, Sire Cei raised his visor and watched him go.

  “Are you certain that is not too much responsibility for one boy?” he asked.

  “He’s a man, now,” I responded. “They both are. They aren’t alone, and they’ve faced one before.”

  “You have a lot of faith in your apprentices,” Lorcus said, coming to rest beside us. There was a lull in this part of the battlefield, and I’d learned long ago to take advantage of such respites. I uncorked my water bottle and upended it.

  “They justify my faith,” I said, “usually. I just want them to irritate the worms enough so they aren’t controllable.”

  Sire Cei looked at me skeptically. “You think the key to winning the battle is to drive the foe’s greatest weapon into a killing rage?”

  “There are a lot more of them that stand to be killed than us,” I pointed out. “Remember what happened when the dragon fell at Cambrian?”

  “Vividly,” Sire Cei said, his face stone. I shut up. That was likely a tender memory, I realized.

  “Well, if we can deprive the goblins of their heavy cavalry, and make them more of a worry for them than us, I count that as a win. Besides,” I said, glancing at the sun overhead, “we’re running out of time.”

  Sire Cei nodded. Lorcus looked amused. Sir Festaran looked aghast.

  “And what, pray the gods, do we do once the beasts are rioting?” asked Sire Cei.

  “Why, that’s where our Dragonslayer comes in,” Lorcas said with a wicked chuckle. He sipped on his bottle too, but I could tell by the fumes that it wasn’t water. “That bloody big hammer of yours, I’m guessing. Right, Min?”

  “Right,” I agreed. “At least as our first line of attack. I’m guessing that as strong and powerful as those things are, if you hit it hard enough it’s going to fall.”

  “Your secret plan,” Sire Cei reasoned, “is me?”

  “One of them,” I corrected. “You’re the first line of attack. We have others. Myself included. A lot of us have been working on anti-dragon combat spells. This looks like an excellent opportunity to test some out.”

  “I’m so proud to be able to contribute to your research,” Sire Cei said, sarcastically. “Magelord, it occurs to me that attacking one of those things will likely attract the other.”

  “Which is why I sent both apprentices. If both are busy with those irritants, then they won’t be able to come to each others’ aid. Sir Festaran, how many goblins left fighting?”

  It took the young magical savant a moment to look around and survey the carnage.

  “Six thousand, seven hundred eighty-eight, nine trolls, and two worms,” he reported, a moment later. I had no way of verifying that number, but thus far the knight’s magical talent had been accurate. I still had no idea how it worked, thaumaturgically speaking, and I had yet to see anything similar in the literature. But I was relying on it now.

  “And how many of our forces?”

  “Three thousand two hundred and six infantry,” he reported, instantly, “forty-four cavalry and a hundred and eight warmagi. Hundred and seven,” he said, as someone, somewhere, died.

  “We enrage the worms, let them roll around, get the goblins to back away from them, and we’ll deal with them,” I counseled.

  “Whose going to deal with the bloody goblins?” asked Lorcus with a guffaw.

  “One thing at a time,” I promised. To emphasize my point, the left-hand worm started moaning pitifully and shaking its head wildly back and forth. The three trolls struggling with the beast went flying. As I predicted, the worm’s exertions proved more deadly to its friends than its foes. In moments goblins were fleeing from it in all directions, those who were lucky enough to escape its trampling feet.

  Tyndal, try to drive it toward the east side of the field! I ordered, mind-to-mind. It took him a moment to get back to me.

  I’m trying, Master! He’s stubborn! A few moments later, however, the beast took a few lumbering steps through the goblin infantry in a generally eastwardly direction. Good boy.

  Rondal’s worm, on the other hand, sat down on its hind legs and was refusing to move. Instead it reared up on its back two sets of legs and howled painfully. I wasn’t sure what the boy was doing to it, but it was effective. As I watched, Dranus reached me, mind-to-mind. He was attached to the Alka Alon and providing observation.

  Magelord, there seem to be some activity in the north, he dutifu
lly reported. That seems to be where the goblin priests are. They’re raising power. I’m uncertain what they plan on doing with it, but I’m guessing their intentions are harmful.

  Thanks for the warning, I replied, then turned to the rest of the men. A few more warmagi who had run out of targets for the moment joined us, Bendonal and Alscot the Fair among them. I looked around and counted noses. Eight or nine. More than enough for my purposes.

  The worm bellowed in pain again, nearly silencing everything else in the battle.

  “That’s our cue, gentlemen,” I said, returning my water bottle to my belt and summoning the boar spear head on Blizzard. “We kill the worms and then destroy that stinking nest of evil the priests are putting together on the other side. Last one to the top of the rise buys the rest of us wine tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Icy Road

  The chaos around the two suffering siege worms was bloody. Everywhere they stepped, the beasts seem to crush the gurvani desperately trying either to control them or flee for their lives. The trolls were looking frightened. If you’ve never seen a frightened, twelve-foot tall troll panic like a little girl, it’s an experience best viewed from a distance.

  As for me, I ignored their fragile mental states and stabbed the first one I came to in the back of the knee with eighteen inches of razor-sharp steel. The crossguard kept the blade from getting caught as the brute dropped to one knee and howled in pain. With a word, I banished the boar spear; with another, I summoned the pole axe, and I buried the blade five inches deep in its neck. Trolls have very thick skin and tough bones, but five inches was enough to sever its spinal cord.

  “Well struck!” Lorcus said with a grin as he whizzed by me to confront the next troll. He stabbed a wand from his belt into its left elbow and it screamed in pain. While its mouth was open he jammed his mageblade through its roof, point-first, and twisted. The troll’s eyes widened and then lost all signs of life.