Prophecy mtg-3

by Vance Moore

  "I don't know," Jolreal stammered as she took in the blood and corpses, her eyes lingering longest on Boyle's body. "I tried to command the creatures, but when I tried to enfold it in the spirit of the forest, I was pushed away. Not only did the thresher beast resist, but also the land itself was distant. I could not draw power, and the thresher beast would not stop fighting. My body and mind stumbled under attack." She took a deep breath. "Perhaps there is a buried city or ancient Keldon battlefield nearby-something that poisons the land and drained my strength.

  "After I lost the first monster, I tried to call up something to fight the first. The other thresher beast was nearby, and I could command it with some difficulty." Jolreal sighed. "I knew my command of this one was weak, but it was close by and already a danger to us. I just hoped to use it against the first beast." Shalanda returned from her examination of the prisoners and the other scouts.

  "Only four of us remain, and the big Keldon webbed to the dead one survived. I collected Boyle and our other scout. There is a deep depression off to the side where we can bury them. What do we do now?" Shalanda asked.

  Jolreal still seemed dazed, and Rayne answered after a few seconds' pause, "We'll bury our people, keep our prisoner tied and doped up, and ride for home."

  *****

  The scouts rode for a week back toward camp. The prisoner said nothing, being drugged and tied upright to a pole

  Rayne rigged on a runner. The smooth stride of the runner and the last of their medical supplies kept him reasonably compliant. Perhaps it was the deaths of their comrades, but even the successful capture of the Keldon officer couldn't raise the scouts' spirits. Jolreal and Shalanda felt particularly listless, and guard duty at night was an ordeal since a watch had to be kept on the prisoner at all times. Even the land seemed to reflect the mood, as Rayne noticed patches of blight in the grass and trees.

  "Is that normal?" Rayne asked, pointing to withered vegetation along a ridgeline.

  "I'm not sure what normal is anymore," Jolreal said tiredly. "I failed to control a beast of the forest. Perhaps it was the effects of some ancient magic or the thresher beast's lure, but I couldn't grasp it. Now everything feels off, as if a piece of that monster was caught in my head."

  "I feel different too," Shalanda joined in. "I cast my power out to kill instead of heal. Now the world seems… sour somehow."

  That two magic users should feel a change was worrisome, Rayne thought. Perhaps this wrongness was something that needed to be investigated. If only they weren't burdened by their prisoner.

  At last the party reached the base camp, and Rayne felt relief as the Keldon was put in a proper stockade and she could get a full night's sleep. The next morning saw her and Shalanda inside the camp headquarters. They would discover what they had brought back to the League.

  The building was dark and cramped. Rayne and the others seated themselves to the side. The room reminded the scholar of a courtroom, and Rayne wondered if she should oversee the interrogation.

  Camp Commander Priget inspired no confidence in the scholar. Small and fat, he squinted from behind a heavy desk. He was pale, and Rayne wondered if Priget ever went outside. The night before he had listened to Jolreal giving her account of the scouting expedition in obvious disbelief. Only the sight of the drugged warrior outside his office had silenced his snorts of incredulity. The commander had taken the prisoner, and Jolreal had been too exhausted to argue.

  Priget sat on a dais on one side of the room, flags and apparent battle trophies ranked behind him. A low table rested on the floor. On it were instruments of torture. Thumbscrews, skewers, and knives lay arrayed. Next to it sat an unlit camp stove with branding irons leaning against its side.

  The Keldon warrior was herded into the room like an animal. Four men with poles controlled rope nooses over the prisoner's neck. The chair they chained him in was short, and his knees rose nearly to his chest. The guards dropped their poles and withdrew.

  "You are called to explain your crimes," Priget announced. "Any attempt to deceive this court will be punished." The commander gestured to the tools of pain. Rayne hoped that the prisoner was fluent in the languages of the League, because Priget hadn't thought to use an interpreter.

  "I am Couric, war leader and blood letter." The warrior paused to spit on the floor. "You mean nothing to me."

  "Such behavior will result in punishment," Priget warned, waving a sergeant to stand by the table.

  "You haven't even heated the irons," Couric said with contempt. "The League knows nothing of terror." He ignored Priget and turned his head to glare at the rest of the room. "You are weak, and we will sweep over your armies. Even now our forces march into position to start the final attack.

  "We will pour from the north, and your men shall fall under our swords. Our barges will bull their way through your flimsy cities. The screams of your fallen comrades will announce our coming. We will own you all." The Keldon's voice filled the room, overriding Priget's weak tenor.

  "The lands of our ancestors will be ours again. We shall walk in the footsteps of the Heroes and kick aside the trash that has settled the land." Couric spit again, the saliva carrying to the shoes of a guard.

  "You all will be whipped and beaten into service. Your women," Couric jutted his chin to Rayne and her aide, "will go into the cradle houses and bear warriors for the greater glory of Keld!" His body heaved with each shout, and the chains scraped against the wood of the chair.

  "Our ships will carry a river of captives to the north, and the League will cease to be anything but a story whispered by slaves!" Couric bellowed. The big Keldon stared at Priget with eyes full of hatred and disgust. "The winds of Twilight are upon us. The witch kings will ascend from the grave, and all of you will be judged by Keldon steel."

  "Silence him," Priget shouted, and the sergeant moved toward Couric, a bludgeon held high to shut off the torrent of words.

  Couric strained, the chains pulling against the structure of the chair, and he began shouting words from memory.

  "The first wind of ascension is Forger, burning away impurity," he growled. A burst of flame exploded below the prisoner, and the arms and legs separated from the chair. Couric stood free, glowering at the sergeant, his arms still manacled to scraps of charred wood that used to be the arms of the chair. The angry Keldon warrior looked around the room, challenging the guards and magic users with his eyes. The guards hesitated at first, taking the Keldon's measure, then charged him en masse.

  "The second wind of ascension is Reaver, slaying the unworthy." Couric was heavily muscled, and the Keldon scythed down the charging men with the broken wood still attached to his arms.

  More guards poured into the room, trying to subdue the prisoner, but Couric surged back, ripping the handles from several poles at once.

  "The third wind of ascension is Eliminator, clearing Keld's path to victory." One pole was in the Keldon's hand, and he stabbed it at the faces of the circling guards. Teeth and bones broke, and the victims fell to the floor, constricting the room even more as the captured warrior moved toward the door.

  "Somebody get a webcaster!" Rayne called, and she moved closer to Priget, hoping to use his huge desk as cover.

  Shalanda, who was nearer that door than Rayne, forced her way through the stream of oncoming guards to find something she could use to subdue the Keldon.

  Couric was hemmed in, but he was holding his own and making ground. The dead bodies of the first round of guards littered the floor, and while the new soldiers carried stabbing spears, they were wary of the massive Keldon, not wanting to be another of his victims.

  "Kill him!" Priget ordered. The commander was trapped but was ready to hide beneath the heavy desk if fighting moved any closer.

  Couric gasped as a blade punctured his side. He struck at the attacker, but the League soldier retreated into the ring of spears. Priget rose from behind the desk to watch his troops dispatch the Keldon officer. Rayne stood beside him, feeling powerless in the inte
rrogation room with no weapons.

  "The fourth wind of ascension is Anointer, defying the worthy," the Keldon bellowed, and spinning to face the camp commander and the Tolarian scholar, the mammoth warrior threw himself at the dais. Priget retreated toward the wall. Couric shouted at his retreating face, ignoring everything in the room now except the man who had given his death order and the woman who had captured him.

  Shalanda rushed through the door, a blue-robed figure in tow.

  "The fifth wind of ascension is Exalter, fulfilling Keld's destiny." The warrior raised his hands for a mighty blow.

  Spears sank into Couric's back, and the blood coated his clothes. He slammed into the heavy desk, and the bolts securing it to the dais sheared under his weight. Blinding blue-white energy arced from the doorframe toward the desk and the charging warrior. The Keldon seemed to slow in mid-attack, his cries of rage sounding deeper as his words stretched out. Another blast of arcane light burst from the blue-robed figure-this one targeted at Rayne.

  Shalanda had returned with Barrin, and the ancient wizard now acted to save his wife from being crushed by the rampaging Keldon. The spell wrapped itself around her frame like a giant gloved hand, and it pulled her away from the sliding desk. Barrin's first casting had given him the time to save Rayne's life, but the camp commander wasn't so lucky. Hundreds of pounds of hardwood and Keldon forced Priget against the paneled wall. The commander was pinned at the chest, and Rayne could hear bones breaking, tearing into Priget's internal organs. Couric sprawled over the desk, bled out and nearly dead as he looked into the eyes of the crushed commander.

  "Even a chained Keldon can kill one such as you,"

  Couric whispered as angry soldiers stabbed him again and again with spears. The Keldon warrior died smiling under the dead gaze of his final victim.

  Chapter 11

  The afternoon sun beat down as Barrin and Yarbo flew over the League army camp. The sun glinted from the arrays of war machines. Technicians labored over their charges, looking more insectlike from the height than the weapons they serviced. Cavalry and corrals of horses lay at the ends of the camps with formations of infantry conducting maneuvers in open fields. The combined forces of Kinymu and Arsenal City had gathered to drive the invaders back, and Barrin hoped it would be enough. Yarbo flared his craft's wings, and the ornithopter began a slow circling descent to the landing circle and a waiting committee. Soldiers came to attention as the craft settled, and Barrin stepped outside. For the first time since coming to Jamuraa, Barrin could not smell the sea.

  An officer stepped forward. He was a very large Jamuraan man, as big as many of the Keldons Barrin had seen, but this man's features were more majestic and dignified-not as harsh or severe as those of the invaders. He wore an animal hide around his waist that covered him from mid-belly to toes, and his exposed upper body and face were swathed in a white chalky substance-presumably war paint. His hair was hidden beneath a great helm, but it was his green eyes that caught Barrin's attention. They seemed to measure everything, and the slight tension in the officer's figure signaled a readiness for action. This was the sort of officer who led his troops from the front lines.

  "I am General Mageta, Lord Barrin. My enemies call me the Lion for my fierceness in battle. I will be your guide if you wish to view the army before your consultations with the war council."

  "Let's start with the combat troops, General," Barrin said and started walking toward the groups of war machines that he had seen from the air. Mageta hurried to catch up as Barrin departed for the tour. The general gamely began describing the war machines as Barrin walked closer to their ranks.

  "All League war machines have been constructed for decades at Arsenal City. The machines here are found throughout the League and have been standardized for many years. Reinforcements will therefore fold right into the formations we see." Mageta spoke with pride, but Barrin wondered if the system he described hadn't stifled advancement.

  "These are called steel ants." The general gestured to groups of small war machines being serviced by technicians.

  Each machine was waist high with six legs. The head was oversized, and Barrin thought it crowded with sensors and a set of bladed mandibles and saws. "They are the smallest war machines that the League fields. They are quite fast, and when directed they close and dismember the enemy."

  "Do they carry anything with a longer bite?" Barrin asked.

  "That is something we are particularly proud of," Mageta said, pointing to the oversized head. "A modular weapon bay sits inside that can take three bolts or a light war rocket. The modular weapons bay design is included in all our machines, though you can't trade modules between classes."

  "They are limited, but they are fast, cheap, and rugged for their size. The Keldons fighting them hand to hand will be very impressed when these machines charge their lines," the general maintained stoutly. "If it's heavier machines you want, then perhaps the crabs will do."

  Mageta quickly led Barrin past the tents of the mechanics to another group of war machines. These were large, nearly topping six feet. They were slightly wider than they were long and stood crablike on six legs. Two huge jointed arms were held high, but instead of claws, each arm ended in a massive metal bludgeon.

  "These are the center of the battle," the general said. "The arms can swing down amazingly fast, and a blow can topple small trees. Lest you think these also lack a long-range bite, the wide body enables us to have three double-sized weapons bays. A module can take six bolts, two rockets, or an oversized web round. A force charging them would dissolve in quick order."

  "Very impressive," said Barrin. "But I notice that there are far more steel ants than these crabs. They also appear to be less mobile than their smaller cousins. How fast do they travel?" He was certainly more impressed by these than the steel ants, but he was wondering how the different types of machines would work together,

  "I confess they are somewhat slow and therefore usually anchor the center of an attack. But we are discussing barbarians after all. Perhaps they have overpowered eastern outposts, but I doubt they'll offer much of a challenge to two city armies." Mageta was speaking with pride, but Barrin suspected it was ignorance.

  "We only have a few examples of the last type of war machine," Mageta confessed. "It was originally developed to fight in closer quarters and smaller groups than the ants or crabs." He pointed to a set of twenty machines. They stood nearly seven feet tall and were painted in an array of bright, angry colors. "The mantis is somewhat of a compromise beast. Its head shares several common systems with the ant and will take the same weapons modules. The body is narrower and faster than the crab but can carry only one double-size module to the crab's three." Mageta finally pointed to the massive jointed arms that gave the mantis its name. "Each of the interior sides are razor sharp, and if a blow does not dismember the target, it's hauled up to the cutting jaws of the head." Barrin liked the statement the mantises made in their bright color schemes and detailing. The artwork showed pride and perhaps bravado that had a place on the battlefield.

  "How are the machines usually employed?" Barrin asked. "Can they act on their own without constant supervision? I have never seen them unaccompanied in battle."

  "They are directed against the enemy and then attack until the enemy forces are disabled," Mageta explained.

  "What do you mean by disabled?" Barrin responded.

  "You must understand that for years in Northern Jamuraa wars were waged by machines fighting machines. A machine is disabled if it's smashed, dismembered, or gutted by an attack. The Keldons will not take more damage than that, I trust."

  Barrin only grunted. "And what about the human troops? May I see them next?" Barrin was satisfied with his preliminary look at the war machines, but how the human troops looked would be more important. The production of war machines was limited due to the shortage of powerstones. The longer the war lasted, the more human troops would be serving in the field, if for no other reason than to allow dispe
rsed war machines to be amassed on active fronts.

  "You saw the human troops-the mechanics and technicians behind the crabs," Mageta said with a straight face.

  "I mean the combat troops, the ones who will actually be fighting on the line of battle."

  Mageta's long silence told Barrin that he wouldn't like the answer.

  *****

  "You mean there are no combat troops here whatsoever?" Yarbo asked incredulously that night. "Surely there must be in two cities of this size."

  "Yes, they have soldiers, but they serve as watchmen, ceremonial guards, and maintenance workers on the city defenses," Barrin explained. "Infantry, cavalry, and people trained to fight as an army are far out on the frontier. Close to the cities, the war machines have taken over the combat role as fighting was ritualized and limited. Why maintain a large army when you buy war machines that will last for decades, require only a small force of technicians, and don't draw wages?"

  "But they've had Keldons raiding the League for years now," Yarbo replied. "And if they have no soldiers, who are all those people out in the fields outside the city walls? We saw infantry and cavalry!"

  "Those are new recruits," Barrin said shortly. "Most of them without any armor except what they could scrounge from an attic, and perhaps they carry an old spear or sword. If I had a couple of blimps or dirigibles for cargo, I'd haul a load of League launchers here." Barrin waved his hand toward the camp. "Maybe one out of ten of the men have a launcher."

  "The coastal cities have fought off raids," Yarbo argued. "It must be possible for city militias to fight effectively."

  "They were marines, not militias that fought on the coast, and usually the Jamuraans had greater numbers," Barrin said tiredly as he thought about what tomorrow might bring. "We better pray that my guide was right and their machines kill the Keldons, because I don't see any way they can use the rest of the army."