City of Jade

by McKiernan, Dennis

  Even so, with Magekind distracted by having to deal with the Trolls, lethal blasts and bolts of the dark Wizards fell among the allies and took a grim toll. Swiftly, Alamar and his Elementalists and Sorcerers again took the fight to the battlements above, hurling lightning and fire or exploding the stone of the shielding crenels.

  As the Trolls fled from the ranks of Elves and Mages and ran among the Spawn and away, and as Ghûls afoot fell down, killed by silver-headed arrows, the nerve of the Rûcks and Hlôks broke, and they bolted away screaming, most back through the broken gate in the outer wall and across the killing grounds and around the far side of the bastion, though some scrambled into the fortress itself.

  Even as the Spawn fled back through the allied ranks, Elven swords rived and spears stabbed and Bair’s mace crushed many who sought escape.

  As the last of the foe fled down the slope, arrows felling many as they ran, Gildor wiped Bale’s length clean of Rûpt ichor and sheathed the blade again, and the Elves stood ready, though the foe was now gone. But still the Mage-versus-Black-Mage fight went on, as water battled flame, and dark, whirling winds came roaring out of the mountains to be met by howling air twisting counter; hailstones and sleet hammered down from the skies amid lightning and thunder and upheavals of land and exploding stone. Mages were slain, and Elvenkind fell, and Black Mages died in spite of their glut of , for there simply were too many casters opposing them, Mages of greater skills.

  And as the arcane battle raged, Healers moved among the wounded, and they snatched many back from the brink of death, but others they could not save.

  Yet finally all of the occult resistance from the battlements ceased, as the last of the dark Wizards fell.

  Now the Elven army charged the fortress, the gates yawning open before them.

  But the Foul Folk were fled out the rear postern and away, and the Elves came into an abandoned stronghold, but for a few quailing Rûpt, and these were quickly dispatched.

  When a count of the dead was taken, nearly a thousand Spawn had been slain, fully half by arrows on the battleground, most of the rest by allied steel.

  Yet four hundred ninety-eight of Elvenkind had fallen, some to the Trolls, some to Rûcks and Hlôks, but most to the dark Wizards’ castings. And on Adonar and Mithgar and even among those on Neddra, Elves grieved, for they had received the death redes of those whose lives had been quenched . . . death redes, a unique Elven gift, both a curse and a blessing of Elvenkind, a final good-bye from a slain Elf that somehow winged to a loved one. Though the ways between the Planes were now restored, not even when they were sundered had they prevented such messages from reaching the intended. And for an Elf to die was particularly grievous, for no matter the count of a given Elf’s years, it was but a single step along an endless life.

  Thirty-two of Magekind were also slain: no school had been spared. But Aylis and Alamar yet lived, much to Aravan’s relief.

  Though they had been but twelve Black Mages, they had been devastating, given their glut of . Had there been more of them, the fight could well have gone the other way. Yet in the final tally only eleven slain dark Wizards were accounted for. The Necromancer with the black hair down to his hips was not among the bodies found.

  8

  Flight

  DARK DESIGNS

  WINTERDAY, 5E1010

  [THE FINAL YEAR OF THE FIFTH ERA]

  Through a long and low and narrow tunnel a Black Mage fled, dreadfully shaken by the unexpected attack upon the fortress. Until the moment the aethyric intruder—the disembodied spy—had been discovered, not one of the dark Wizards had known that an appalling force of Elves and Mages was on Neddra to assail the bastion; yet the dead Hlôk the Necromancer had raised had told all. And although the Wizard could have used his occult arts to send slain Drik and Ghok and Oghi back into the fray, when the battle had begun and the Necromancer had seen the skills and force of the opposing Magekind and the prowess of the Elven army, the dark Wizard had known it would be hopeless. His fears had been borne out by the onslaught, and he quickly saw that nought could be done to keep the fortress from falling into the hands of the foe, and so he had fled in the confusion of battle. Yet just before the fight had begun, he had glimpsed the one who had slain his god, had seen the murderer in the fore of the Dolhs: Aravan, killer of Gyphon.

  Aravan and his ilk had upset all of the Necromancer’s plans, not only by killing his god, thus ruining the Black Mage’s certainty of dominion over a significant part of Mithgar, but also on this very night had interrupted the conclave of Black Mages, where the Necromancer had fully expected to be elected the very first leader of the first Siniihi apo Thætheha—Covenant of Twelve—of dark Wizardkind.

  Someday, someday, that Dolh would suffer vengeance; someday Aravan would meet his doom, or so again swore Nunde the Necromancer, even as he fled down the long escape tunnel, running for his very life.

  9

  Trickery

  BOSKYDELLS

  WINTERDAY, 5E1010

  [THE FINAL YEAR OF THE FIFTH ERA]

  As the snow blew and a chill wind rattled the sides of the barn, with cold air drifting in through the cracks, Pipper ran up the long slant of the rope tied between the first stall and the hayloft above the far end. Binkton, not needing to look at the five balls he kept in the air, their graceful arcs crisscrossing and not colliding, watched as his cousin made the ascent.

  “Well and good, Binkton,” said Uncle Arley. “Give them over and we’ll revisit your sleight-of-hand skills.”

  Binkton waited until Pipper reached the top and alighted on the loft and turned and bowed to an imaginary audience below. Then, one after another, Binkton let fly the balls to Arley, the eld buccan gracefully catching each of the colored spheres and dropping them into the box at hand.

  Pipper then slid down the length of the line and backflipped to the floor planks just ere reaching the end.

  As Pipper stepped over to watch, Arley said, “ ’Tis claimed the hand is quicker than the eye, yet I say, not so. Instead, the art of successful legerdemain is twofold: distraction and a stealthy touch, like so.—Oops!” Arley dropped a fetter that fell with a clang, and both Binkton and his uncle bent down to pick it up. As the stripling rose with the irons in hand, Arley said, “Thank you, bucco,” and he took the shackles while at the same time giving over to Binkton the lad’s own belt.

  Pipper laughed and clapped and said, “Nicely done, Uncle.”

  Somewhat embarrassed, Binkton scowled as he rethreaded the belt through the loops on his breeks.

  “Now, since there are two of you,” said the eld buccan, “the filcher can slip the taken object to the other, and, when accosted, the filcher can show he hasn’t got it.”

  Arley then demonstrated how this was done, this time using Pipper as the dupe.

  For the next candlemark or so, uncle and nephews practiced this form of trickery, until Arley seemed satisfied that they had got it right; then they moved on to other sleights of hand.

  Time after time, Arley put the striplings through their paces, as he had been doing ever since they had come to him, or so it seemed. With both sets of parents lost in the raid upon Stonehill some four years back, he had inherited these two rascals, being their only remaining kin, and a granduncle at that. It was when he had shown them a few of his skills that they had insisted on learning all he knew, after which, they maintained, they would see the world.

  Oh, well, perhaps someday they would, yet Arley hoped it would be in different and less perilous circumstances from those in which he had done.

  And so, he set out to teach them all he knew of the picking of locks and pockets, of misdirection and stealth and guile, of walking upon ropes and swinging through the air and other feats of aerial skill, of trickery and sleights of hand, and of making something seem other than it was.

  “All right, buccoes,” he finally said, “that’s enough for the day. Now, let us go have some warm soup.”

  With that, they made their
way through wind and snow to the stone cottage at hand, a cottage a league or two north of the small town of Rood in Centerdell, the Bosky.

  10

  Securing the Watch

  NEXUS

  WINTERDAY, 5E1010, TO YEAR’S START DAY, 6E1

  [THE LAST DAYS OF THE FIFTH ERA,

  TO THE FIRST DAY OF THE SIXTH ERA]

  On Year’s Long Night the brigade of Elves at the Black Fortress held no ceremony to celebrate the passing of the seasons. Instead, throughout the day they had gathered the dead and laid three great pyres outside the killing grounds: one for the fallen Elvenkind; a second for the slain Mages; and a third one for Black Magekind as well as the corpses of the Foul Folk, including those mutilated cadavers found in the vile sanctum below. Too, Healers tended the wounded, bearing some back across the in-betweens for further treatment in a less noxious place than Neddra.

  That night under the black moon, Elves sang their slain into the sky; Mages mourned their fallen by conjuring brief images of each within the flames to rise in the smoke and vanish; none shed any grief whatsoever for Black Magekind or Foul Folk.

  The following day, messengers were sent beyond the in-betweens, and Mages came to replace those who had been slain and those who had expended much of their , the latter to return to Vadaria to and regain their life essence. Aylis was not among those who had spent a deal of her , for the conjoinment of her nine for her aethyrial spy mission had spared her greatly. So she stayed at the fort with Aravan to help with whatever she could. Elves also came to replace those of their Kind who had been slain. Supplies as well flowed to the fortress, for much would be needed to maintain the outpost.

  Bair had crossed into Adonar, where swift Hunter loped toward another in-between, a difficult crossing that connected the circle of stone to its counterpart on Mithgar. Yet Bair planned for Hunter to pause at any Elvenholts along the way to the stone circle; at these the Silver Wolf would briefly become Bair to spread the word of the victory. But at the stone circle in Adonar, Bair would step in-between unto the land of Lianion, now called Rell. From there Hunter would head north, intent upon reaching Arden Vale, where he would tell of the fall of the fort and name the casualties taken. It was in Ardenholt where Riatha and Urus waited, for they had taken on the task of governing the vale while Inarion and others joined the assault on the Black Fortress.

  Even as the word went forth across Adonar and Mithgar and Vadaria, the allies on Neddra spent twelve full days—all the days of Yule—making the Black Fortress habitable: Animists sent the ubiquitous vermin to flight, rats and mice scrabbling away, while insects and serpents and worms and spiders went flying and scuttling and wriggling after, a veritable horde of fleas and lice coming last. Elves carted various items out into the lands beyond and set them ablaze, although they retained serviceable furniture. After chambers were temporarily emptied, Alamar and his kind then scoured them with vortexes of boiling water. And as the fort was cleansed, Alchemists and Seers examined the abandoned tomes and scrolls and other writings, as well as the devices found in laboratories and various chambers, keeping some, destroying others, setting others aside for further study. Seers also used their powers of to sweep the corridors and rooms for hidden doors and panels and such, and in this manner they discovered the escape passage most recently used by a long-haired Black Mage. Where he had gone, none knew, though they managed to his flight out and away and south to the in-between to Mithgar. After that he had used his own power to completely obscure his trail.

  When the fortress was clean enough to be lived within, Elves moved furniture back into chambers, and all settled into their assigned duties.

  The battle had begun and ended on First Yule, the day of Year’s Long Night, and now it was Last Yule—Year’s Start Day—the first day of the first year of the Sixth Era. And after dinner on this new beginning, Arandor and Alamar sat down to review what was yet to be done, Aravan and Aylis joining in.

  Alamar poured each of them a glass of dark Vanchan wine from a bottle he had been saving for the occasion.

  “To victory,” declared Alamar, lifting his goblet.

  “Aye, to victory,” replied Arandor, raising his own, but Aravan looked into his glass and added, “And to absent friends.”

  Arandor took a sip and then said, “We’ll not hold this fortress unless we remain vigilant and well supplied.”

  Alamar nodded but said nought.

  “Logistics,” said Arandor. “Food and drink are now coming in from Adonar along with a supply of arrows and other such armament. Vadaria, too, is sending goods. Yet, Alamar, art thou certain that Magekind can do nought to bring wagons across the in-betweens? Carrying items by backpack and horseback is a tedious chore, and should we be able to use wains, well, then . . .”

  Alamar shook his head. “Captain, I know of no spell that will increase the reach of the essence of one who is crossing, and as you know—”

  Aylis said, “But for tokens of power, if a thing cannot be captured in one’s aura, it cannot cross an in-between.”

  “Ah, well,” said Arandor, “too bad the gods made no wagons of power.” Then he and the others broke into laughter, and Alamar hoisted his glass to the captain.

  Aylis then asked, “Speaking of crossing the in-betweens, have the next steps begun?”

  Alamar nodded. “Even now Magekind is preparing to travel to the High Plane and the Middle. There Seers will seek out crossing points into Neddra, and Illusionists will block them with dreadful spells and phantasms triggered by Foul Folk. Some crossings we will destroy by razing the likenesses between.”

  “Just as we shattered the temple in Dhruousdarda during the Purging of that foul place,” said Aravan.

  “Indeed,” said Alamar.

  “What of those in-betweens we leave open?” asked Aylis.

  Arandor said, “We will set ward upon them, particularly here at the nexus. But the opposite sides need warding as well.” The captain gestured out toward the valley and said, “Even now on Adonar an Elven stronghold is being fashioned in the matching point to the west cardinal here at the nexus; ’tis a vale in the reach of the Durynian Range nigh Lyslyn Mere, and so that side will be guarded. Also, I have dispatched an emissary across to Mithgar to ask High King Ryon to build a garrison on the Middle Plane side of the nexus. Too, I would have him send a proper share of supplies across as well—an annual levy—food and drink and such.”

  “Just make certain that it includes Vanchan wine,” said Alamar, grinning as he refreshed all goblets.

  “That goes without question,” replied Arandor, his smile matching Alamar’s.

  “We’re also doing our part,” said Alamar, turning the bottle up to get out the last drop of the dark liquid. “A Mageholt is under way on Vadaria just north of the crossing. We’ll staff it with some of our finest casters.”

  Even as Alamar set the empty bottle down, “Drimma!” exclaimed Aravan.

  Arandor cocked an eyebrow. “Drimma? What would the Drimma do?”

  “They cannot lose their feet. Once through the crossing rite and it will be with them forever.”

  “Has this been done ere now?” asked the captain.