by R. T. Kaelin
Rano and Nundle moved further onto the battlements, allowing the trailing hillmen to pour from the tower. A great cheer arose from the back lines of soldiers.
Twisting around, Nundle shouted, “You can put me down now!”
Rano complied, lowering him to the stone.
The moment his feet touched the ramparts Nundle spun around, stared up at the hillman, and screamed, “Half of the mages go south—” he pointed down the wall—“and half to the north!” He pointed behind the crowd of hillmen, back to the doorway from which they had emerged. “They are to focus on undoing the Sudashians’ magic. Defend, not attack! And to be ready for Broedi’s signal!”
Rano nodded, turned, and bellowed, “Pulet magian kattaja menna pohiseen, poli etelaan! Polustaa! Al rahd!”
Five Titan Tribe mages immediately rushed past Nundle, lumbering south with surprising swiftness. The remaining five began pushing back through the warriors, making their way north. Nundle watched them for a brief moment, wishing them silent luck, and then motioned to Rano.
“Follow me!”
He turned and hurried south, stealing quick glances west as he ran, looking through the gaps in the battlements. Occasionally, he spotted a boulder or two flying toward the wall. He hoped none would breach their defenses. Or already had.
Nundle’s detachment passed through another tower, prompting more cheers from duchy soldiers. Apparently the sight of four hundred hillmen warriors wielding massive, bladed weapons provided a boost to morale. Peering down the length of the wall, Nundle spotted Commander Aiden halfway to the next bastion, standing still as a statue, his arms crossed over his Shadow Mane’s tunic and his eyes fixed westward.
Sprinting the remaining distance, Nundle scampered to the older longleg, calling out, “Commander! Commander!”
It was not until Nundle was a dozen paces away that Commander Aiden heard the cries and swiveled his head toward them, his steely gaze running over Nundle and the long line of hillmen trailing him. Without batting an eye, the commander turned toward them. If he was surprised to see four-hundred hillmen on Demetus’ walls, he did not show it.
“I’ll take them from here!” Shifting his gaze to Rano, he barked, “Name?”
“Ranoteemu Petrikallio.”
Nodding once, Commander Aiden said, “Right. Rano it is.” His gaze shifted to the massive glaive gripped in Rano’s hand. “You good with that?”
Rano rumbled, “I can take the head off a karju in one stroke.” He nodded to the warriors behind him. “We all can.”
As Commander Aiden’s gaze flicked to the other hillmen, the soldier said, “I have no idea what a karju is.”
“It is like a boar,” said Rano. “But four times the size. And with five tusks.”
“Sounds ugly,” said the commander. “Now, I want your group to stretch out in—” He stopped and glanced down at Nundle. “Why are you still here?” He pointed south. “Nathan is two towers over and a mage short! Go!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Nundle rushed away, leaving the commander and hillmen behind. Staring ahead, he saw two Shadow Mane mages standing atop the next tower, their black uniforms like a pair of silhouettes against the pinkish-gray, dawn sky. One of the Titan Tribe mages was with them already, the trio all facing outward, intent on turning back the flurry of magical attacks.
Too short to see over the western wall, Nundle had yet to glimpse the enemy. Curious, rather than run though the tower, he hurried up its exterior steps. Upon cresting the stairs, he turned around and got his first clear look at the battlefield. His eyes went wide.
“Bless the Gods…”
The marshy slopes below were swarming with thousands of oligurts, all running straight at the walls and bellowing their war chants. To the north and south, other groups like the one below, oligurt and mongrel alike, were charging Demetus. The tactic baffled Nundle.
“What are they going to do?” he muttered to himself. “Climb the walls?”
The only figures not moving were quartets of oligurts staggered up and down the wall. Two of the four were bare-chested, their bald heads covered in brown mud or paint. While they were unfamiliar to him, he recognized the others in an instant. The tattoos, flaming torches, and patched-together skin skirts marked them as Desert Fire mages. During the Battle of Shorn Rise, ten of the sect had battled Nundle, the Progeny, and the Red Sentinels.
As he eyed the oligurt mages, his confusion deepened.
Desert Fire mages were masters of Charge and Fire, yet he did not sense the faintest flicker of yellow. And even though he might be deaf to Fire, there was no evidence of the Strand’s use. As he stood there, wondering why they were not attacking, movement on the horizon pulled his gaze west, over the marshes and forests.
His eyes opened wide again, growing as round as the moons.
A long, dark line filled the western horizon. More Sudashians.
“Gods…”
A sudden, wall-shaking boom jarred him from his gaping. Losing his footing, Nundle nearly tumbled down the stairs, but managed to steady himself against the tower’s side. Recovering quickly, he scurried across the tower’s top, reached the southern stairs, and stared down at the next section of walls. A boulder had made it past the Shadow Mane mages and struck the mud-brick ramparts. The battlements had held against the blow, but large chunks of brick and mortar were tumbling from the face of the wall. A massive boulder lay on the ground below.
Regaining a sense of urgency, Nundle sprinted down the stairs and continued south, leaping over a foot-wide crack in the wall, running as fast as his short legs could carry him while dodging Reed Men and Southern Arms alike. Upon reaching the next tower, he ran through the doorways, emerging on the other side. Immediately, he spotted Nikalys standing a hundred paces away, arms crossed over his chest, much like Commander Aiden had been. Nathan was at his side, pointing to the marshes below and talking with the young long leg. Jak and Zecus were a few paces beyond the pair, bows in hand and firing upon the onrushing horde.
Nundle sprinted down the walls and was only moments away from reaching the four when he heard the sharp screech of a hawk overhead. Staring upward, he saw a massive, golden-brown hawk high in the sky, flying south to north. The hawk screeched again. This time, it was three, quick bursts. A heartbeat later, Nundle felt a tremendous surge of Strands to the south, vibrant green and honey-gold.
Nundle gaped at the hawk, murmuring, “Already?” Broedi had not wasted time. Scrambling the final few paces to Nathan’s side, he stopped and stared into the air.
The sergeant glanced down and called, “Nice of you to join us!”
Nundle did not bother with a reply as all his attention was focused on summoning as many Strands of Air as he could. All along the walls, he felt pockets of white pop into existence as Shadow Mane and Titan Tribe mages alike were doing the same. He hoped all the towers had been warned in time, but doubted that to be the case. Broedi had given them too little time to spread the word.
Nundle was aware that Nathan had said something else to him, but he was so intent on his Weave of Air he did not hear the words. He stretched the pattern north and south, trying to get its edges to those of the Weaves being crafted at the two nearest towers. It was impossible to protect the walls fully, even with the aid of the Titan Tribe mages, but they were going to try.
Holding tight to the Weave, Nundle stepped closer to the wall, wanting to ensure he did not accidently shield the Sudashians. He stood on his toes and tried to peer over the break in the battlements, but found he was too short. Swallowing his pride, he tapped Nikalys on the leg. The young longleg glanced down, surprise flashing over his face.
“When’d you get here?”
“Just now,” called Nundle. Pointing to the wall, he asked, “Would you mind lifting me up? I need to see down there.”
Nikalys nodded and jammed his knee against the edge of the wall, creating a makeshift platform. He reached down, slipped his hands under Nundle’s arms, and placed the tomble on his
leg, perilously close to the edge of the wall. Leaning forward, he called, “Better?”
Staring wide-eyed at the oligurts and mongrels below, Nundle called out, “As long as you don’t let go!” Turning his attention back to the Weave, he made few minor adjustments, pulling the bottom edge of the pattern higher, over the heads of the oligurts.
Nikalys asked, “So they’ve started?”
Nundle ignored the question, too intent on the Weave. He twisted to stare north and was forced to extend his pattern a little further. It seemed the mages on the tower to his right were even less talented with Air than he.
“Nundle!” called Nikalys. “Have—”
“I’m a bit busy right now!”
“Too busy to say yes or no?!”
“Yes!” shouted Nundle, a touch exasperated. “Yes, they started!”
“How long—”
Nearby shouts of surprise cut Nikalys’ question short. Stealing a quick glance south, Nundle spotted five massive, terrifying creatures lumbering from the walls and into the thick of the Sudashian army.
Nikalys shouted, “Everyone! Cover your—”
The thorn’s shrill, ear-piercing shriek filled the air, drowning out the rest of Nikalys’ warning as it rushed over battlefield and city alike. Wincing, Nundle clapped his hands over his ears in an attempt to shut out the screech, grateful that Nikalys did not do the same. Soldiers up and down the wall covered their ears. Some dropped to their knees, their wide-open mouths screaming shouts of pain nobody could hear. The hail of arrows flying from the walls slowed to a trickle.
Nundle held tightly onto his Weave, knowing that without the magical dampening protection, the shriek would be thrice as bad. Through half-shut eyes, he peered below to see how the Sudashians were faring.
Nearly every mongrel was on the ground, pawing at their ears, dragging their heads through the marsh and mud. Oligurts were bumping into one another, knocking each other down, staggered by the auditory assault. The enemy’s vicious charge had slowed to a pitiful crawl.
The five thorn stomped through the incapacitated Sudashians, swinging their woody limbs about, bashing any oligurt within reach. As the thorn marched deeper into the helpless throng, decimating the Sudashians as they went, Nundle’s gaze rested on the lead monster. To his great surprise, he recognized the creature as Talulot, their escort to Buhaylunsod.
With its fearsome maw open wide, screeching its terrible cry, Talulot wrapped its long, branch-like fingers around an oligurt, picked the beast up, and tossed it westward. As Nundle watched the oligurt soar through the air with legs and arms flailing, he felt a brief moment of optimism. Perhaps the thorn alone might be capable of repelling this assault.
He should have known better.
Through the crackling hum of white, green, and gold, Nundle felt a sizzling flash of yellow. A ball of pure Charge burst from a Desert Fire mage, flew toward Talulot, and crashed into the thorn’s left leg, exploding in a shower of sparks. A half-dozen identical Weaves, along with small globes of fire, followed the first, all hurtling toward Talulot. Nundle was capable of stopping the Weaves of Charge, but to do so, he would need to drop the Weave of Air protecting the wall. As he wavered between helping Talulot or not, he watched in horror as one sphere after another smashed into the thorn’s legs and torso. In just a few heartbeats, Talulot burst into flame and began to thrash wildly about.
With Talulot incapacitated, the Desert Fire mages shifted targets, sending their globes of Charge and Fire toward a second thorn. Nundle watched helplessly as that one burst into flame as well. Should this continue, all five thorn would be burning within minutes.
Nundle was about to drop the Weave of Air when streams of water rushed from the marshy ground, climbing the legs of the thorn that were alight and extinguishing the fire. Somewhere along the wall, Shadow Mane Water mages were doing what they could to help the thorn. The Sudashians immediately resumed their assault with fire, and soon, a full out battle between mages was underway.
Nikalys leaned forward and bellowed into Nundle’s ear, “I need you to open a port!”
Nundle twisted his head around in surprise and immediately felt his grip on the Air Weave began to slip. Looking forward again, he quickly reinforced the pattern. Perhaps he had misheard the young longleg.
Holding Nundle tight with his right hand, Nikalys let go with his left and pointed to a group of oligurt mages currently loosing globules of fire.
“There! Open it there!”
Knowing what the young longleg intended to do, Nundle shouted over his shoulder, “Are you sure?!”
“Do it, Nundle! Now!”
While the shriek of the thorn had lost some of its intensity as the monsters succumbed to flames, if Nundle dropped the Weave of Air in order to craft a port, the screeching would be unbearable. Nevertheless, Nundle stared at the ground at a spot immediately behind the oligurt mages, fixed the image in his mind, and then turned his head to scream in Nikalys’ face.
“Put me down and get ready!”
As Nikalys lowered him to the wall, Nundle took a deep, bracing breath and dropped the protective Air Weave, letting the full force of the thorn’s cry wash over them. Throwing his hands over his ears, Nundle reached for the Strands of Void and Air, struggling to arrange them in the correct pattern for a port as the shriek clawed at his ears. Suddenly, the thorn’s audible attack cut off. They had other concerns for the moment.
Able to concentrate fully now, Nundle arranged the final few loops while envisioning the spot of ground behind the four mages. The ringing in his ears blocked out the typical ripping sound that accompanied the creation of a port, but he saw the familiar ripple of reality as the slit appeared.
Shifting his gaze to Nikalys, he called, “Hurry back!”
Jak turned his head at Nundle’s words, glanced at the port, and called, “What are you doing?” Looking to his brother, his eyes widened. Nikalys had the Blade of Horum drawn and at the ready, the white blade glimmering and glinting as though it were held in a pool of midday sun.
Jak repeated his question with a bit more urgency.
“Nik! What are you doing?!”
Nikalys stepped through the black tear without answering him.
Glaring at Nundle, Jak demanded, “Where’d he go?”
Nundle pointed over the battlements.
“Down there.”
Whipping his head around to face west, Jak stepped to the wall. Nathan was a step behind him, as both leaned over to scan the battle scene. Nundle moved beside them to look as well, forgetting he was too short to see over. As he stood there, cursing his stature, a pair of strong hands gripped him beneath his arms and lifted him from the ground. Thinking he was about to be tossed from the wall, he threw out his arms.
“Ah!”
“Hold still, please,” instructed Zecus as he propped Nundle on the foot wide ledge.
Relieved that he was not about to plummet to the ground, Nundle turned his attention below. The four mages near the other end of the port already lay dead on the ground. Two appeared to be missing their heads. Nikalys was heading south, cutting a swath through the oligurts on his way to the next group of mages. He dashed from enemy to enemy, slashing and stabbing with incredible speed, the Blade of Horum a blur of bright white.
On Nundle’s left, Jak asked, “Ports work both ways, don’t they?”
Nodding, Nundle said, “Yes, why do—” He cut off, looked back to the port, and watched in horror as an oligurt demon captain—an awful creature that reminded Nundle of an enraged bull—pointed towards the port and bellowed something unintelligible. Oligurts immediately began to lumber toward the slit.
Nundle felt ill.
He was about to ask if he should close it when Jak spun around to face the back two rows of Reed Men and shouted, “All of you! With me!” Drawing his sword, the young longleg leapt through the tear without waiting to see if anyone was coming with him.
Nathan ripped his sword from his hip scabbard and shouted, “Bo
ws! Steady fire! Keep them away from the port!” Then, the sergeant ran through the port, too. A steady stream of Reed Men followed, pouring through the black slit, only steps behind Nathan and Jak.
Nundle looked below and watched the soldiers emerge on the other side, going wherever Jak and Nathan were pointing. Within moments, a crude ring formed around the port, protecting it from the onrushing oligurts.
“Up or down?” called Zecus.
Glancing back, Nundle asked, “What?”
“I am going down there, too. Do you want me to put you down? Or do you wish to stay on the wall?”
Bracing his arms and feet against the battlements’ stonework, Nundle called, “Go!”
Zecus released him, bent down to grab his staff, and leapt through the port.
Nundle stood alone, balanced on the wall’s precipice, watching more and more Reed Men rush to join the defense below. Those staying on the wall loosed arrow after arrow, their shafts whistling through the air to land amidst the oligurts. The aerial assault slowed the enemy’s advance, but did not stop it. The hulking grayskins reached the ring and began to pummel at the soldiers. The northern edge sagged inwards within moments.
Reaching for Strands of Charge, Nundle began to loose quick, small bursts of lightning at the attackers when he heard a great baying. Looking up, Nundle spotted a large mongrel pack rushing the port from the south. A demon man led them, towering over the pack. He had red, leathery skin, foot-long black horns spiraling from his head, and a massive sword resting on his shoulder.
Pressing his lips together, Nundle muttered, “Wondrous…”
If the soldiers below were overrun, Nundle would have no choice but to close the port, thereby sealing the fate of Jak, Nathan, Zecus, and all the Reed Men below. Glancing south, Nundle spotted Nikalys still cutting his way through the army, the gleaming Blade of Horum flashing bright.
“What in the Nine Hells is he doing?!”
Feeling a sudden rush of Void and Air, Nundle looked down to see a second port pop into existence beside his own. His eyes went wide as Khin stepped from the black flap and began loosing Weaves of Charge and Fire into the enemy, deftly directing the blasts around and over the soldiers. The aicenai’s speed and skill with the Strands was astounding. A second figure leapt through the new port, bow upraised and arrow nocked on the drawn string.
