The Silver Portal (Weapons of Power Book 1)

by David J Normoyle

  “You’ve used one before?” Delaron asked.

  Lukin nodded. “Sparred plenty. Never any good.” He could never satisfy his guardian.

  “Well then, it would be better if you went back and helped Simeon get those horses ready. However, I recognize that bullheaded stupid look on your face.”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “Realizing how stupid one’s younger self was is usually a happy revelation,” Delaron said. “Assuming a person lives that long.” He drew his sword and handed it over, hilt first.

  Lukin hesitantly took it. “What about you?”

  “One can always arm oneself on a battlefield, I find, if one survives long enough. Now, look lively. They are coming.”

  The redbirds marched down the slope in formation. Many of the thoughts Lukin picked up from the soldiers to either side were just incoherent babbling.

  Huell raised his axe high over his head and gave a mindless roar. He towered over the troops on either side of him, a true giant in that moment. The fearful thoughts around Lukin faded away. Instead, all those on the mound joined Huell in shouting their defiance.

  Only when Lukin’s throat felt hoarse did he realize he was screaming along with everyone else. The redbirds broke into a charge. Breastplates gleamed dully in the afternoon light, and scarlet cloaks streamed out behind them. The helms covering the tops of their faces gave them an inhuman look.

  The roars died down, and the waiting soldiers braced themselves, holding swords in front of themselves and axes over their heads.

  “Seems that Huell’s reputation and size comes in useful with morale,” Delaron said. “Though his farts produce the same response in terms of the volume of men screaming.”

  Light flared overhead, and Lukin looked up to see a red fireball arc toward them. He would have run except he had no idea where it was going to land. Around him, the rest of the soldiers also stared upward, transfixed.

  “That two percent where we don’t get overrun doesn’t include the times where we are all burnt to a crisp before the battle starts,” Delaron told Lukin helpfully.

  A green fireball whooshed over their heads and crashed into the red one. Lukin shielded his eyes at the explosion of intense light. Red and green sparks fizzed about before quickly dying out.

  Lukin glanced backward. In the heart of the camp, Sierre stood alone, one palm upraised, her other hand clenched in a fist.

  “Energy magic tends to cancel out other energy magic. Good job we have a mage with us.” Delaron nodded down to where the redbirds were almost upon them. “Nervous?”

  “No.” Lukin would have denied it if he was, but he wasn’t. An elation had risen within him as they roared at their enemies, and it filled his chest like a giant wave waiting to explode.

  “Pity. Still no signs of intelligence.” With that, Delaron walked down the mound, straight toward the charging redbirds.

  Lukin stood frozen, unsure if he was supposed to follow.

  None of the other soldiers did, and Huell was roaring, “Hold!"

  One of the redbirds had broken into a sprint, separating himself from his ranks. Delaron stepped calmly toward the sprinting redbird. The redbird’s helm covered his nose and upper cheeks but didn’t hide his grin as he raised his sword over his right shoulder and slashed it down at the suicidal old man in front of him.

  Lukin wasn’t sure how Delaron did it, but he shifted at the last moment. The sword cut through the air where he’d been a moment earlier. Delaron moved in close and yanked a knife from the redbird’s belt. The redbird’s expression had only just changed from triumph to surprise when he found his own knife thrust up through his chin. His mouth, opened wide in shock, showed the blade going up through the soft palette and into his brain. His head rolled backward, the hilt of the knife protruding from the bottom of his chin.

  The sword fell from his lifeless hands, and Delaron grabbed it before it hit the ground. He flowed from one position to the next. One moment he was leaning forward, grabbing the hilt of the sword, the next he was leaning back, the sword above his head blocking a high strike, then he swiveled to one side to avoid an attack from another redbird. He swiftly retreated back up the mound, blocking strikes from enemies on either side.

  Lukin wasn’t given any more time to admire Delaron’s skill. The charging redbirds crashed into the defenders.

  Everything happened quickly and slowly at the same time. Men hacked frantically at each other from both sides, but Lukin was able to smell the oil on an enemy’s blade, see the stubble on his chin, and smell his fear. Chaotic roaring and the clamor of hundreds of clashing blades exploded around him, yet a bubble of calmness surrounded Lukin.

  His enemy stepped forward, and Lukin was ready. The strike would be a stab, aimed at the lower left area of his chest. He knew that before it happened, and he was able to deflect the blow. The sword felt heavy and clumsy in his hand, since a year had passed since he’d last sparred.

  The helm of the enemy in front of him didn’t hide his snarl. Lukin thrust at the man’s neck but missed low, and the point hit the breastplate. Armor is useful. Who knew? For his next battle, he was going to make sure to have both armor and a weapon—providing he survived his first one.

  The redbird’s blade slashed downward, and Lukin stepped sideways and back, then countered, thrusting up at his face again. That time, Lukin’s sword cut at an angle through the man’s neck. Blood spurted, spraying Lukin’s face, and the redbird fell backward off the mound.

  Lukin barely had a chance to wipe the blood from his eyes before two more redbirds stepped toward him, both lashing out with their swords. Lukin jumped back. One fell, and Lukin stepped forward to block a second attack. The two swords got tangled, and the redbird used the leverage to shove Lukin. Lukin shifted to the left. His feet got tangled, and he fell, rolling down the mound into a sea of redbird legs.

  Renka. Someone stepped on him. He sensed a blade stabbing down, and he rolled. Then he rolled back. He ignored a kick to his back, turning around so he could look up. All he could see were legs and scarlet cloaks. Not all those around him were aware that he was still alive, but one of them certainly was, two hands on his hilt as he stabbed downward once again.

  Lukin rolled, and the blade cut through his cloak, missing flesh. Too close. Lukin kicked out toward where the blow had come from. His toes hit metal. Renka, that was dumb. A foot landed beside his face, and he lashed out with his sword, but the foot dodged.

  “Not me, idiot.” Delaron’s voice.

  A space opened around Lukin as two bodies fell nearby and several sets of feet backed away. When Delaron lowered his hand, Lukin took it and was dragged to his feet. That man was strong for an old beggar.

  Lukin raised his sword, ready, but the battle had moved on. The line of the defenders still held, though fallen scarlet cloaks atop the mound showed places where they’d broken through. The bodies were piled thick around Huell, and he continued to sweep his massive battle-axe in wide arcs before him, driving the last of the redbirds back.

  Bodies lay strewn along the line of battle, almost as many without scarlet cloaks as with. Many weren’t dead. Torsos squirmed. Arms and legs flailed. The roars and shouts and groans melded into a keening howl that rose above the clashing metal and the grunting of those still fighting.

  “You’re still alive.” Delaron said. “That’s a surprise.”

  Lukin supposed it was. “After songs are sung about my exploits throughout Mageles, then I might die. Not before.”

  “Life doesn’t work the way you want it to.” Delaron’s jerkin and cloak were splashed with blood, none of it his.

  “We beat them,” Lukin said, as if that countered Delaron’s point. The battle was over as the last of the redbirds retreated back up to the rise.

  Delaron shook his head. “We held off their first charge. Gives us some breathing room to flee. Unusual battle tactics by you, rolling around by their feet.”

  “I had them just where I wanted them.”


  “Let me guess, if I hadn’t interfered...”

  “They would have all been begging for mercy.”

  “At your feet?” Delaron asked.

  “Precisely.”

  “How can you joke? This is your first battle. Likely the first person you killed.”

  It was. Lukin glanced at the bodies but couldn’t see the man he had killed. The man’s death didn’t feel like a momentous event.

  Lukin didn’t know whether that was good or bad. “How come you can joke?”

  Delaron shrugged. “I’ve learned to live with myself.”

  Lukin didn’t like the way Delaron looked at him, as though judging him, so he changed the subject. “What happens now?”

  “We get out of here before they regroup.” He nodded to where Simeon held the lead rope on a group of horses. Beside Simeon, Sierre argued with Huell. “Though the giant won’t be coming with us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He recruited these soldiers. It was under Krillo’s instructions, but Huell won’t desert them. He’s too much of a soldier for that.”

  “Better than protecting a bunch of renka-cursed dumb kids.” Lukin’s attempt at mimicking the giant’s gravelly voice was decent.

  “Once you figure out who you are, remain true to that. Huell couldn’t abandon soldiers he recruited, so no point in him feeling bad about it.”

  “I’m always true to myself.” Whatever the cost. The last thought wasn’t his, and he took a moment to figure out where it came from. Then he realized it was what Flechir would have said.

  Delaron didn’t say what Lukin’s guardian would have. Instead he said, “You don’t know who you are yet. Come.” He led the way to the horses and mounted one. “You are wasting time, Sierre. Let’s go. The giant staying with his men will give us more time to get away.”

  Lukin mounted. “What about Mortlebee?”

  “He was with Fellanni when this all happened,” Delaron said. “If she didn’t return to the camp, we’ll have to assume she’s already started on the south trail.”

  “And if she’s not?” Simeon asked.

  “As long as Mortlebee is with the Delcessian, he’s in good hands.”

  Chapter 34

  The noise of the distant battle was crowded out by the terror in Mortlebee’s mind. Fellanni padded softly forward and crouched down behind a tree. With her bow and arrow in her hand and her quiver at her back, she looked every bit the hunter. The truth was that they had become the hunted.

  Mortlebee’s head jerked around. Was that a noise? Every tree was a threat, as the speed-mage clerics could be hiding behind any of them. Mortlebee’s fingers trembled. He held a bow in one hand and a single arrow in the other, though he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just dropped them. He couldn’t hit a tree, never mind a renka-cursed speed-mage.

  Fellanni had killed one of the three. That happened before the clerics had become aware of her presence. The three had paused on the edge of the forest, looking back toward the camp, and a single arrow from Fellanni had arced through the sky and struck one of them in the back. The other two had dashed away at impossible speeds, disappearing into the trees.

  Mortlebee had wanted to flee, though he didn’t know in which direction. Fellanni believed the bearers would want to take the south trail out of Wellan’s Hollow to escape and that the speed-mages were there to prevent that. So they moved south through the trees, straight toward where the speed-mages waited for him.

  Fellanni nodded to Mortlebee then moved in a crouched jog toward a tree farther away. In a less graceful and noisier fashion, Mortlebee followed.

  Twigs snapped somewhere behind him and then again, off to the left. Mortlebee tried to turn his head in all directions at once. They were out there, watching them. Hunting them.

  Fellanni swiveled, raised her bow, and fired. The arrow whizzed through the air, thumping into a distant tree. If one of the clerics had been there, he was gone.

  “We need to get out of the woods,” Fellanni said.

  In response, Mortlebee’s head nodded up and down rapidly. Anywhere but here. Phrases from the scrolls jumped into Mortlebee’s mind, but none held any wisdom for dealing with his present situation. He didn’t think that “In the end, most people prefer peace over violence” was going to help the situation.

  Mortlebee’s head jerked around. A shadow blurred—out to the right that time. Fellanni crept forward, her torso rotating back and forth, her bow at the ready. Mortlebee tried to mute the jabbering of fear in his head. His arrow fell to the ground, and his fingers fumbled through the dirt and dead leaves until he retrieved it. The dimness of the forest faded as they approached the tree line. Fellanni picked up her pace, waiting at a tree for Mortlebee to catch up.

  A thousand twigs snapped at once as both clerics charged. Mortlebee scrambled backward, his foot hit a root, and he fell into a bole of wood at the base of a tree. Fellanni fired her bow, her arrow piercing the throat of one of the clerics. The second one was instantly upon her, striking down at her with his sword. Mortlebee nocked his arrow to his bowstring, knowing he was too late, far too late.

  Fellanni threw herself to the ground. The cleric’s sword made contact, but it was a glancing blow. As he stood over her, Mortlebee recognized him from his long blond hair and youthful face. It was Ull Axilium, the speed- and strength-mage who had confronted Lukin and Mortlebee in Fordhaven.

  Fellanni raised her bow and diverted Ull Axilium’s blade from her. Ull Axilium didn’t bother pulling back his sword for another strike, instead driving his elbow straight into Fellanni’s face. Her limbs went limp.

  Mortlebee’s arrow was nocked. Ull Axilium was barely ten paces in front of him. Awkwardly, because he was sitting against the base of a tree, he drew back.

  His father’s voice was inside his head. “Violence is never the answer,” it said.

  Ull Axilium reached down, grabbed Fellanni’s shirt, and threw her against a tree. She hit with a sickening crunch.

  “No,” Mortlebee roared, releasing his arrow. Ull Axilium dashed away, and the arrow disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

  Mortlebee dropped the bow, pushed himself to his feet, and ran to where Fellanni lay crumpled against the tree. He knew the cleric would be back, but he didn’t care. Fellanni’s head lolled to one side, and he reached down to lift it up. To Mortlebee’s surprise, she was still conscious. However, her face was misshapen, the left side caved in.

  Mortlebee leaned closer and cradled her head against himself. He heard Ull Axilium behind him but didn’t turn, just waiting for his death to come.

  Green light flashed above him, and Mortlebee looked up in shock to see the branches of the tree above him on fire. Ull Axilium dashed away as galloping horses arrived. Mortlebee released Fellanni and stood. Delaron, Sierre, Lukin, and Simeon rode the horses.

  “Bring her here,” Delaron shouted.

  Mortlebee bent down and lifted Fellanni up. Her arms fell limply to her sides, but her eyes moved. She was aware. Mortlebee lifted her up, and Delaron took her in his arms. Green fire continued to burn one of the trees—Sierre’s doing, Mortlebee realized.

  “Mount quickly,” Delaron said. “We have to get out of here.”

  Two horses were tied to the back of Simeon’s horse, and Mortlebee untied the rear one and vaulted up. The horse, skittish, pranced backward. Mortlebee squeezed with his knees to hold his seat and yanked on the reins. By the time he gained control, the rest of the party were nearing the south trail. He dug his heels in and raced after them.

  By the time he caught up, however, Delaron had called a stop. Delaron slid off his horse and lowered Fellanni to the ground. Mortlebee didn’t wait for his horse to stop before jumping off. He stumbled, fell, got back to his feet, then raced over to where Delaron was cradling Fellanni’s head in his lap.

  “We can continue at a slower pace,” Delaron told her.

  Mortlebee fell to his knees by her side and took Fellanni’s hand in his.

  “No.
” Fellanni’s voice cracked. “No further.” Her face was gray, and a sickly cough spluttered from her lips. “Something’s broken inside me. I’ve seen enough death to know it when it’s this close.”

  “It’s my fault.” Mortlebee’s vision blurred, and hot tears streamed down his cheeks. I could have shot Ull Axilium before the cleric threw her against the tree. I had a chance to save her and didn’t.

  Fellanni’s head didn’t move, but her eyes did, turning toward Mortlebee. Those dark blue eyes were as beautiful as ever, but her face never would be again, the left side flattened and distorted.

  “Find the light inside yourself, bowbearer,” she said. “I can’t say for sure that you are strong as you need to be, but you are stronger than you know. You’ll be a better bowbearer than I ever would.”

  That last was such an obvious lie that Mortlebee almost choked out a laugh, but all that came out was a sob. While Fellanni had battled their enemies, Mortlebee had been paralyzed by fear. He had simply watched as Ull Axilium threw Fellanni to her death.

  “Lean me against a tree,” Fellanni said. “I’ll defend the south trail for you.”

  “You can’t move,” Delaron said.

  “They don’t know that. I killed two speed-mages, perhaps enough to make them cautious of a trap. Giving you some extra time to escape.”

  Delaron smiled. “I like it.” He stood and dragged Fellanni the few paces to the nearest tree and faced her northward, resting her head in an indentation of the bark so it stayed in one place.

  “Defending a breech to the death so my comrades escape. What better way to go?” Fellanni smiled lopsidedly.

  A crushing weight of grief and guilt pushed against Mortlebee’s heart, too much to bear.

  “I plan for my eighty-year-old self to laugh at death when he comes for me,” Delaron said.

  “Then, despite all your fancy moves, you are no true warrior,” Fellanni said.

  “Never a truer word.” Delaron put his right fist to his left breast. “Though we be apart...”