Refuge: Book 5: Angels & Demons

by Doug Dandridge

  "I wish we had our tracks," said Dieter, shaking his head. His mess kit was cleaned, his body needing all the nourishment he could get into it. "I would kill to have my rifle and ammo again."

  "Well, we don't," growled Bubbuh. "And we ain't about to get them back. Or trucks either. Heard tell that there might be steamboats in the future, but unless we're on a river, those ain't going to be doing us any good either."

  "On your feet," yelled the platoon sergeant. "We have a ways to go before nightfall, and the camp isn't rolling toward us."

  "More's the pity," said Dieter, bringing a laugh to the lips of his friend. Then they were back on the road, now eating the dust of the dwarves ahead of them as well.

  * * *

  Commander Marsalla Linsiri of the Imperial Light Horse looked through his telescope at the column moving along the road below. Most of his regiment was a hundred kilometers away. He was scouting with a half troop, moving through the backroads where they hoped the enemy wasn’t. The bandages some of his men wore attested to that not being true, and the dozen or so Conyastoya archers left dead some kilometers behind showed that the enemy had screening forces out in plenty.

  “They sure seem to march well,” said his senior sergeant, also looking through a telescope.

  Yes, they do, thought the commander. They also fought well. He knew from experience that they could go from a marching column to a line set to repel cavalry in moments. They were like no army he had ever heard of, and fought in a manner foreign to the native Ellala.

  His men would charge en masse and then fall into individual combat, the same as the poor bastards of the infantry. In a battle, it was basically every man for himself. These people didn’t fight like that. Their cavalry struck in an almost straight line, plowing through the opposition, continuing to move as they struck. Then, when they reached the other side, they would form ranks and perform another very effective charge. Their infantry didn’t often charge, they mostly stood in an almost unbreakable shield wall and accepted the attack. When they did charge, they were careful to keep their lines dressed, no man straying ahead and getting cut off. They protected their archers to the rear, and those bowmen slaughtered the enemies in front of the foot soldiers.

  It was a devilishly effective tactic, especially since they had found a way to integrate protected magic into it in a way that the natives had never thought of. Now they had those infernal engines that flung balls of iron further than a bowshot. Not as effective as the monstrous machines they had used when they first arrived, but still better than anything his side had.

  “How many do you think, sergeant?”

  “Each of those blocks looks to be just under two hundred men,” said the lower ranking Ellala. “And they’re spacing them about the same distance as the blocks.”

  “Yes,” said Marsalla. “And about twelve of those blocks form what they call a brigade. That’s what I think is down there on that road, and another one behind it, surely. I think this is their main army, and the way it is moving it should be to the Xaklar River in seven days or so.”

  The commander folded up his telescope and shoved it into its leather carrier. “Send a cast back to the general. He must know where they are.”

  A screeching sounded overhead, and the Ellala looked up to see the form of a dragon through the obscuring foliage, flying high overhead. Before the invasion by these particular humans that dragon would have sure to have been a red of the Empire. This was a gold, one of the mounts of the enemy, and it would gut his half troop if it spotted them.

  “We need to get out of here,” said Marsalla.

  The two men walked their mounts down the hill, hands on muzzles to keep them silent. Marsalla’s skin crawled being this far behind the lines. Now they could get back to safety, if they could avoid the enemy patrols.

  Chapter Three

  The priest finished chanting in the ancient language he used to communicate with his god. A priest of Oceanus, or Ichtialis to the Ellala, had been difficult to find this far from the ocean. Oceanus also held dominion over the bodies of water that led to the seas, including lakes and rivers. Supposedly that God had agreed to the entreaties of the Queen of the Gods, Arathonia. Still, it didn't hurt to make sure that the God had been mollified directly.

  "I think you can go ahead," said the human priest in highly accented Ellala. He was a Nord, one of the paperwhite humans who inhabited the northlands of the world. Tall and broad of shoulder, with yellowish-white hair and pale blue eyes. His people had become allies of the Earth humans after the immortals had freed them from the despotic king that had kept them tethered to the Ellala Empire of the subcontinent.

  They were standing in the cabin of a large river galley, the prototype steam engine on a table. Coal had been shoveled into the small furnace, and a mage stood by ready to set it afire. The pressure chamber had been filled with water, and the motive arms were oiled. Everything was ready.

  Just like it had been ready all those times before, thought Grueber, readying himself for another disappointment.

  The mage standing by ignited the fire, then closed the door. Air was still entering through the vents, and it wasn't long before the kindling and tender had started the coal burning. From there it wasn't long before the water was heating up in the boiler. Grueber wanted to hold his breath until this process had kicked off, but that wasn't possible. The problem with steam engines, as versus the internal combustion type, was the time it took to get them fired up. There were ways to make the process faster, as had been done on Earth. Still not fast enough, and not worth the effort of making such a complicated engine.

  Finally, after what seemed like an hour, but was only ten minutes on the engineer's watch, steam started flying from the spout with a shrill whistle. Grueber turned the stop on the spout, then turned the knob that engaged the motive arms. They immediately started moving slowly, speeding up over the next minute until they were moving in a blur, moving the cylinder at the ends of the arms up and down.

  "It works," cried Grueber, slapping the mage on the back, then reaching over to shake the hand of the Nord priest. That man looked at his hand in confusion for a moment, then got the idea, reaching back with his own hand.

  "We can have steamships," cried the engineer, looking at the steam engine with almost adoration. That would be a start. Steamships, able to move ahead with heavy cargoes no matter the wind or current. And then airships, able to push through the air, provided they could get that god on their side. Then trains? Right now that didn't seem possible, since the god of the earth was against it. But some of the dwarven mages and priests had ideas to get around the prohibitions of the gods, and he was excited to see what they might come up with.

  * * *

  Captain Paul Baurieth knelt at the edge of the woods, waiting for the signal from their Dark Elf allies. The French commander of the humans on the mission, Major Francois Roy, ex of the French Foreign Legion, waited on a knee a couple of meters away, glancing around another tree. The hearing of the Ellala was too acute for the humans, considered stealthy for their kind, to move. However, the Delkifini, as the Dark Elves were known on this world, could move like shadows, nothing seen, nothing heard, until they wanted their targets to know they were there. Which in most cases meant they were pulling a sharp blade across their enemy's throat.

  The Ellala could also move quietly, though not to the same extent as the Dark and Wood elves. The High Elves had spent too much time in the cities of their civilization. Now, with over a hundred captives in tow, they were not moving quietly at all.

  The French major flashed Paul a set of hand signals, relaying what he was receiving from up the line. Forty-one Ellala, a strong patrol, holding a hundred and twenty-three prisoners, all destined for the city and sacrifice to their dark gods. The Ellala would not be hard for the force of a hundred and ten elves and humans to take. But the mission here was to save the prisoners, and everyone knew what the Ellala leaders were likely to do before they let that happen.

&nb
sp; Paul brought the words to the spell he was going to open with to his lips. He was a warpriest of Arathonia, and had certain spells set to go off with a minimal amount of hand gestures. It wouldn't be as powerful as the formal spell, but in combat one didn't often have the time for the exact rituals.

  The signal came, the hoot of an owl so accurate that no one could tell the difference. Sixty Dark Elves materialized from the forest, swords and daggers in hand, and as many Ellala died within the next few moments. Another twenty Dark Elves fired the crossbows they favored, not a fast firing weapon, but accurate and deadly. All were on target, and the poisoned quarrels stopped any Ellala they hadn't killed from penetration in their tracks.

  Paul jumped from his position to the center of the Ellala line, the final words shouted out as he made the single hand gesture. The elves had started to turn his way, some grasping the weapons they would use in trying to close with him, the others turning toward the nearest prisoners.

  They all stopped in their tracks as the holy power of the spell washed over them. It was a spell intended to hold people in place, and Paul had been concerned that some of the Ellala might have a charm against it. But every one of the elves in sight, and the humans they had been leading, stopped as if frozen.

  All had horrified expressions on their faces. He felt some guilt for causing that fear in the humans, and not at all guilty for what he was doing to the Ellala.

  The fighting still went on for some seconds, and Paul was forced to use his warhammer once to smash in the head of an Ellala, breaking skull and neck with one blow. Then it was over, and the last Ellala were dead or disabled.

  "We'll take care of the last of these fuckers," said Major Roy, walking up to an Ellala and cutting the elf's throat. Smiling dark elves came hurrying up and took care of the rest.

  It turned the priest's stomach to see them kill prisoners in cold blood, but the dark elves had been enemies of the Empire for a thousand years, had seen hundreds of thousands of their own people die at the hands of this emperor and his soldiers. They had rage fueling them, and they weren't going to be denied these lives.

  It was over quickly; at least that was a mercy. The Dark Elves were not cruel by nature, and the lives of their enemies were enough for them. They didn't need their torment as well.

  "Go ahead," said Roy, nodding toward the humans who were his fellow Frenchmen.

  Paul made the gestures, taking his time, and shouted out the words. More holy power washed out from him, and the humans who had been frozen in place were now free. They started shouting questions in French, and Roy was quick to assure them that they were safe.

  A dark elf ran up and started speaking quickly to Roy in French, and the major looked around a little, alarmed, before he started chattering in his native tongue with his people again.

  "We must leave," he told the warpriest. "The scouts have seen more Ellala coming this way."

  "Can we stay ahead of them?" asked Baurieth, looking over his shoulder.

  "We only need to get some distance between them and us," said the smiling Frenchman. "Give us a couple of kilometers, and the problem will be taken care of."

  The major patted him on the shoulder, then hurried away to get his people and men moving.

  * * *

  "I need more of those humans for sacrifices," said the Emperor, looking over the captain of his guard.

  "The dark elves are killing my men faster than we can capture prisoners, your Majesty."

  The half litch growled deep in his throat, his red eyes glaring into those of the Ellala who led his elite guard force, which was also responsible for securing him the sacrifices he needed to finish the process of becoming an immortal, in an undead sort of way. He had worked out a process to screen out those humans who had their singular religions. When those were subjected to the spells that stole souls and life force for his magical processes, they caused a magical feedback loop that destroyed the priests casting the spell and all around them.

  However, if a small spell was cast on them, something not too harmful, and they didn't react to it, then they were deemed safe to be used for energy. That was only about one in three of these French. He could also use elves for energy, but though they had a lot of life force, they were lacking in the soul energy of the humans. He wasn't sure why that was the case, but it was.

  Nevertheless, if he was losing so many soldiers, it was turning into a zero sum game. There were very few of the French that were not under the protection of the rebellious Dark Elves, which was making securing them harder than ever.

  "You have my permission to requisition as many of the city guard as you need, as long as you don't deplete the security of the capital beyond reason."

  The guard captain nodded, then bowed and left the room. The Emperor took a seat behind his desk, thinking of food and drink. But he didn't feel hungry, at least not for physical food. As he thought about it, he realized that he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in over a year with the exception of some wine.

  "We're ready for you, your Majesty," said the high priest, stopping at the entrance of the chamber.

  "How many?"

  "Four, your Majesty. All we could gather at the moment."

  The Emperor nodded. It would barely be enough. Until the transformation was complete, he still lost some energy on a daily basis and it needed to be replenished. Four would make up for what he had lost this week, but he needed more if he wanted to transform into an immortal, and not have to worry about it anymore.

  "I will use them now," he said, standing and following the priest from the chamber. They walked down the corridor, the Emperor paying little attention to the Ellala and lesser peoples who fell to one knee and bowed their heads. He wondered for a moment about the Grogatha who had been his seer, who had disappeared one night and had never been seen again. Normally he would think the filthy creature might have been killed by the resistance, but his family had disappeared at the same time, and that was not something the resistance normally did. He had been unable to find one near as good as the Grogatha.

  They continued down the stairs that led to the chambers deep under the palace. All knew about those places, of course, but most tried to avoid them. There was an evil feel about the catacombs, and any sensible being stayed clear.

  The Emperor nodded to one of the guards, one of the few beings who could stand the feel of the underground. That being bowed in return, his glowing red eyes never leaving the face of the Emperor. A vampire, he was only afraid of two things: holy power, which the half litch didn't control and his own queen.

  The room was straight ahead, through the darkness. The Emperor could smell the evil, and it was sweet in his nostrils. People were crying in that room, begging and pleading. That would make it so much the better.

  "Get the first one ready," he said as he walked into the chamber. All the sigals had been drawn with care on the floor, all the candles, made from the fat of virgins, lit and in their proper places. The four sacrifices were hanging in cages along the wall, three or four empties between each of them. The Emperor looked at those empty cages, remembering the times when they had all been full. I will have to start sacrificing my own if this goes on. But he needed all of his people to defend his capital, and it was bad for their morale to think that they might have their souls fed to dark gods, even though most of them had that in their future through their own actions.

  The first of the prisoners was dragged from the cage by the strong arms of the acolytes. It was a woman, screaming in a barbarous language that the Emperor understood to be French. The Earth humans considered it a beautiful language, but he thought it harsh compared to the Elalla tongue. It didn't matter to him what her words meant. She was soon to be meat, most of her vital energy a part of him.

  The acolytes lifted the woman onto the table, making sure not to disturb the candles on each corner. They strapped her wrists and ankles with the leather straps there for that purpose. The high priest tore her shirt, exposing her chest to the air. The Em
peror looked at the woman with disdain, thinking that she might be considered attractive to a human, though not so much to his people. To him it didn't matter anyway. He had lost any sex drive years before, when he had started his journey to undeath. Now the only use he had for females was as breeders for his own men, with the exception of those who had the powers of magic, divine or arcane. Like the second high priestess who was chanting at the front of the chamber.

  Now the high priest joined in, holding up a blade, while the Emperor assumed his position in the circle across from the table. He stood relaxed, letting his mind fall into the rhythm of the chants as they reverberated through the room. One word stood out among all the others, an echo that shook the walls. Bothar. Bothar. Bothar. The king of the gods of the dead and the deity that the Emperor was pledged to.

  The woman screamed one final time as the high priest stood over her, brandishing the knife, then plunging it unerringly into her chest. He sawed for a moment, then reached into the chest cavity and pulled out the still beating heart, tossing it into a brazier of coals. The woman started screaming again, something that should have been impossible without a heart pumping blood through the arteries to her lungs. Her eyes were wide with terror as something worse than death came for her.

  A presence manifested in the room, a dark and menacing force brought by the death magic. The woman continued to scream, echoed by those of the ones still in cages who recognized their doom. Maybe not by name, but death was recognized by all people.

  A mist began to rise from the woman, mingling with the burning smoke of the heart. She screamed once more, and then went limp, her life force gone, drawn into the god. Some of the energy trickled into the Emperor, a feeling of delicious strength. Then it was over, suddenly. He wished the god would give him more. But that was not the way it worked.