by Ben Hale
Water scanned The Ranks before jumping to a neighboring tower and then used a burst of water to leap to the next. Three more and he’d reached the edge of the road. Coming to a halt, he surveyed the caravan.
Half the cavalry was dead, the other half struggling to fend off a horde of goblins, humans, and orcs. The soldiers on the mounted crossbows fired as fast as they could reload, their volley keeping the attackers at bay.
Water caught a fleeting look of a rock troll on the opposite side, his giant body muscled and tattooed. His war cry sent the handful of cavalry scurrying backward as he hefted an enormous hammer.
Water yearned to fight Bartoth, but he couldn’t let the caravan soldiers die. He cast a crossbow out of the ambient moisture in the air and armed it with slivers of water. Then he took aim and unleashed the needles.
Streaks of water plunged into the attacking ranks, burying into flesh and bone, filling the canyons with renewed screams. Water cast a gremlin to hold the crossbow and then stepped off the ledge, dropping thirty feet into the midst of battle. His sudden appearance sent the nearby men and orcs scrambling backward, and he took full advantage.
He cast his favorite staff and sent it spinning around him, the blade forming on the end just as he reached out and sliced across an orc’s chest. The blade cut deep and Water spun past the dying orc, already sweeping the staff across the next. Four fell before the group of attackers recovered, and by then Water was moving too fast to stop.
Swords, spears, and axes reached for him but he flowed around the blades, sending the staff into a dizzying spin, the blade becoming a whirling arc that cut deep. The weapon hardened further, becoming sharper than steel, cleaving through metal and wood, bone and armor. Unprepared for the sudden assault, the bandits scrambled to flee the dangerous blade.
Ending the spin, Water raised the staff and plunged it into the earth, sending water exploding outward. The liquid engulfed their feet and hardened, the creeping ice rising to their waist and arms, holding their struggling forms in a ring of ice.
The remnants of Bartoth’s forces on the north side of the caravan fled, retreating into The Ranks. Avoiding the burning wagon, Water leapt between two wagons and turned toward the sounds of combat.
A giant appeared between two pillars, a trail of dead defenders in his wake. He swung his enormous maul, cleaving an entire wagon in two, spilling gold to the earth. His eyes gleamed with excitement and he roared in triumph, just as Elenyr exploded from the rock tower like a ghost. She streaked by, her sword slicing across his throat before her body disappeared into another stone pillar.
The giant’s eyes darkened in surprise and shock, and then in death. The large body collapsed onto the wagon he’d broken, the bulk of his body crushing wood and trapping the gold anew. Satisfied Elenyr had the battle in hand, Water darted into the Ranks, intent on reaching Bartoth first.
—A great hammer swung at his head, nearly taking it from his shoulders. On instinct he ducked and slid forward, whirling to face the towering rock troll. Armored in steel plates, the troll twirled his hammer in a lazy spin.
“Water mage?” he asked.
“Something like that,” Water said, unable to resist the smile as he recast his staff.
“That won’t do much against me,” he said with a snarl, and smashed his hammer against the stone wall, sending fire bursting across the weapon.
Water retreated a step and set his staff into a spin, eyeing the flaming maul. Normal weapons hurt, but fire cut into his very essence. Mistaking his reserve, the rock troll sniffed in disdain.
“And you thought you could stop me.”
Bartoth charged, swinging the hammer into a rock pillar. Fire exploded from the impact, cracking the stone all the way to the summit. Water retreated around another pillar and used the staff to leap, rebounding off a small ledge to come at Bartoth as he appeared around the corner.
The bladed staff came down across the troll’s helmet, slicing through the steel with the sound of glass on metal. Water carried the strike all the way to the ground, cutting into the chest armor for several feet before he landed and darted away.
Bartoth paused and removed his helmet to reveal a cut along his cheek. He bared his teeth in a smile, twisting the tattoos that spiked across his features. Tossing the helmet away, he pointed the hammer at Water.
“First time a whelp like you has made me bleed.”
“Won’t be the last.”
Bartoth snorted and clenched his fist. Brown light glimmered on his form and Water recognized the use of body magic, enhancing the troll’s already mighty strength. Releasing a roar that rattled the stones on the ground, he charged and swung his hammer.
Forced to retreat, Water dived into the maze as the hammer struck a pillar, blasting a hole in the stone and cracking it to its base. Stone ground on stone as it began to teeter, and then fall, the sound lost in another explosion as the hammer blasted into another pillar, smoke billowing from the impact.
In the confines of the Ranks, Water was at a disadvantage. He sprinted deeper into the pillars of stone but Bartoth kept pace, his boots thudding on the ground, the sound rumbling like approaching thunder. Water tried to cast his wheel but there was not enough moisture in the air, forcing him to stay on foot.
“You think to flee, little mage?” Bartoth snarled.
The hammer came down on Water and he spun, using his staff to deflect it aside. It impacted the ground, sending bits of flaming stone sizzling into Water’s body. He growled and veered hard to the side, avoiding Bartoth as he leveled another tower, this one crashing into a neighbor and sending them both to the ground in a grinding of stones. The path grew narrow and Water slipped through, hoping to gain space, but Bartoth cast agility, and like a giant cat he leapt and twisted, rebounding off tiny ledges to circle the tight gap and land in front of Water.
Water brought his staff up and knocked the hammer aside, and then lunged. For several furious seconds hammer and staff crashed into each other, with both taking wounds. Water attacked the troll’s legs and cast a whip, snapping it in his face before feinting high and plunging his staff into the ground. The circle of ice spread outward but the troll leapt into the air and struck the earth, shattering the ice and knocking Water into another gap.
He tumbled between two pillars and into a cave, but before he could escape the troll appeared the opening. Water retreated as the troll charged, sprinting to the end of the tunnel and the circular cave beyond. Above, a small hole allowed light to spill into the cave, illuminating Water as he turned to face his opponent.
“You’re trapped,” he snarled, hefting his flaming hammer so the flames illuminated his bloody features.
“There’s just one problem,” Water said. “The trap wasn’t for me.”
Bartoth entered the cave and straightened. The troll’s eyes widened as he looked beyond Water to see the pond in the back, where the runoff had gotten trapped. Water smiled and called on the wealth of power.
Chapter 5: A Mysterious Message
Bartoth growled and charged, and Water retreated onto the pond, his boots walking across the surface as if it were stone. Then he summoned water from the deep pool and erected walls of water, filling the chamber with a dozen barriers, the light reflecting off them and hiding Water from sight.
The rock troll charged into the edge of the pond, smashing the walls as he sought for Water. The waterfalls continued to flow upward, filling the holes made by the hammer and splashing across the ceiling.
Leading with his hammer, Bartoth swung his weapon through the final waterfall—but Water was not there. Water passed through the pond and rose at his back. He plunged the staff blade through Bartoth’s armor, digging into his flesh.
The rock troll whirled, sending the hammer at Water’s skull, but Water dropped into the pond and willed himself around the rock troll, again rising at his back. This time Bartoth was waiting for him, and his hammer came crashing down on Water, shattering him into drops that fell into the pond. Bartoth
stared at the spot where his foe had stood, and then to the waterfalls that remained flowing upward.
“You think I’m that easy to kill?” Water asked.
Bartoth looked up and found Water standing above him, the waterfall feeding his form—and a quartet of other figures. Each looked like him, right down to the blue tunic and dark trousers. Water smiled, the expression matched across his summoned companions. Then he pounced.
The five figures leapt and attacked, using the waterfalls as cover to strike the trolls’ flank, driving him back. One leapt right through a waterfall, plunging his staff into the troll’s armor. Snarling, the rock troll leapt, attempting to leave the pond, but a new waterfall rose up to hem him against the cave wall. With blood dripping from a dozen wounds, he wiped at his face and retreated to the rear of the pond.
“I’m not going to die at the hands of a whelp,” he spat.
“It’s not like I’m giving you a choice,” Water said, perched on top of the nearest waterfall as his minions advanced. “And it’s only fitting, since you’ve killed so many.”
The troll smirked and kicked off the wall, using the momentum to spin a full circle, the fire hammer exploding through the minions, shattering each until it blasted into the wall. Smoke and fire filled the cave, darkening the chamber.
Water reached for more magic but the hammer burst from the smoke, forcing him to dodge. Bartoth was right behind his hammer, his magically enhanced body allowing him to leap high—with a second hammer in hand.
Too late to evade, Water saw the smaller hammer coming for him and raised his staff, bracing for the impact. The blow struck the staff in the center, breaking the weapon and striking him in the chest. Fire burned through his tunic and into his body. He cried out and fell, and the waterfalls plummeted back into the pond.
Pain seared through him, and Water drew on the pond water to cover the wound, drawing on its power to heal. He stayed underwater, hidden from view. Anger and pain mingled, rising into fury.
He stood and found Bartoth standing at the entrance to the cave. Water thought Bartoth would flee, but the rock troll began to laugh, the sound filled with menace. Water pulled from the pond, shaping a pair of soldiers with matching staff weapons, spreading them out in order to flank the rock troll.
“You are no normal bounty hunter,” Bartoth said. “Who are you?”
Water hesitated, the question impossible to answer. He was neither a man nor a mage. Even as a guardian he was part of a whole, even if he now thought of himself as separate. He scowled and dodged the question.
“Who I am doesn’t matter.”
The rock troll’s eyes lit with understanding. “After what I’ve seen, I believe I already know your identity.”
“What matters is that I’m here to exact justice for your crimes.”
The rock troll chuckled. “Many have said that, but you are the first I believe. Unfortunately, I have no desire to see what lies after death, not when we stand on the cusp of such momentous events.”
Water scowled. “Of what do you speak?”
“You have no idea the foe you face,” the troll said. “Watch your back. I’m certain this will not be the last time we fight.”
Bartoth heaved his hammer into the ceiling of the cave entrance, blasting the stone into pieces that fell into the opening. Smoke and rock tumbled from the ceiling, sealing the opening and leaving Water inside. He drew from the pond and raised himself on a finger of water to the opening above, but by the time he escaped the chamber, Bartoth was gone.
Water’s impulse was to follow but he guessed the troll had used speed. That and his knowledge of the terrain would make him nigh impossible to locate. Grimacing his distaste, Water turned and threaded his way through The Ranks to the caravan.
The path was strewn with rock and fallen stone towers, the vestiges of Water’s battle with the powerful rock troll. He fought a surge of irritation, and he wondered what the troll had meant about momentous events.
Despite his irritation, he was proud to see so many of the soldiers of the caravan had survived. The battle had been challenging, more so than recent conflicts, and he found Elenyr near the caravan. She saw him approach and turned.
“Bartoth?” she asked.
“Gone,” he said.
“He got away?” she asked in surprise.
He rubbed the still painful wound on his chest. “He’s clever, more so than I anticipated.”
The engagement with the troll had been a test of his magic. It was not until they were inside the cave that Water had realized how dangerous Bartoth could be, but by then, the troll had seen his impending death and retreated. Still, the contest could have resulted in Water’s death, a fate few had come close to accomplishing.
“We should go after him,” Water said. “You can track him better than I.”
“He knows the terrain,” she said. “So we’ll have to pick up the trail later.”
Of the seven wagons, only two were intact. The rest were either damaged or destroyed entirely. The fires had been extinguished but three of the wagons were smoking husks, steam rising from the blackened wood.
Half the guards were dead, their bodies laid out next to the wagons, a cloth covering their still forms. Many more of Bartoth’s minions had perished, and their bodies were treated with less respect, heaped in a pile a short distance into The Ranks.
Wounded cried out in pain as healers worked over them, attempting to close their wounds so they would not join the dead. Elenyr grimaced, the expression one of regret. Water had seen that look after many battles, when the woman missed her magic of healing.
“We already did what we could for them,” Water said.
“I know,” she replied. “But I wish we could do more.”
That one statement exemplified Elenyr, and Water felt a surge of pride for his companion. She was as much a mother to him as anyone could be, and she taught compassion with her deeds far more than her words. She would gladly trade her life for even these nameless soldiers, a sacrifice Water didn’t know if he could make.
The caravan leader noticed them and hurried over. “You have our gratitude,” the woman said, wiping dirt and blood from her face before motioning to the wagons. “Without you I fear we would all be on our backs.” Her smile was tinged with fear and awe as she looked to the Hauntress.
“Most of his followers didn’t survive,” Elenyr said.
“Rumor says he has more forces in a secret fortress in the north,” she replied.
The woman was a soldier, that much was evident. She had a lean body and a sword on her hip, her eyes firm despite the losses they’d suffered. Griffin trade caravans were always led by a soldier of Griffin, and she had the bars on her shoulder to mark her as a captain.
“We’ll see what we can do,” Elenyr said. “But Bartoth will retreat and regroup his forces. You should be safe for the rest of your journey.”
A man groaned nearby and the captain darted to him. As she cared for the wounded she looked up to Elenyr. “Bartoth is not dead?”
“He escaped,” Water said. “But we’ll find him.”
The woman spat into the earth and then turned her full attention to the wounded soldier. Recognizing it was time to depart, Water and Elenyr left the soldiers to deal with the aftermath of the battle.
“Now can we go after him?” Water asked when they were out of earshot.
“What irritates you so?”
“Something he said,” Water said, and shared the rock troll’s comments. “It was almost like he recognized me.”
“His words imply he is part of an organization,” she mused. “Perhaps one that stands against us.”
Water had not noticed that, but realized Mind would have caught the implication. Mind had the gift of intelligence, and abruptly Water missed his fragment brother. How long had it been since they’d fought together?
“He’s more dangerous than we thought,” Elenyr said. “The longer we delay, the more innocents will fall to his hammer.”
<
br /> “Then we should act quickly,” Water said, eager to finish the fight. “Do we not know the location of his fortress?”
“For now,” she said. “But after today he will feel vulnerable, and may not return there.”
Elenyr glanced over his shoulder and frowned. Water turned and noticed a bird dropping to them, aiming directly at Elenyr. Colored a dingy brown, it was small and oddly angular, its wings sharper than seemed natural. It dropped to Elenyr and alighted on her outstretched arm.
She loosened the message attached to the bird’s leg and the creature flapped away. Water watched it go, a frown creasing his forehead. Normally he could sense blood in living creatures, the water inherent to their bodies. But the bird had no moisture inside its frame, almost as if it was a machine . . .
“It appears we have a message,” she said.
“And they found us here?” Water asked, still watching the bird. “How?”
“The bird is tied to a specific recipient,” she said. “It can always find me, anywhere on Lumineia.”
“It doesn’t have any blood,” Water said.
“It wouldn’t,” she said absently.
Water turned and found her reading a small piece of pure white parchment. The message was small, and he craned his neck to read it. In short, looping handwriting, the brief message was cryptic.
We have been breached.
Water looked to Elenyr in confusion, but she seemed to understand the message. She stepped to where a few flames licked at a piece of wood. Then she lowered the parchment into the flames and watched it crinkle to ash.
“We must go,” she said, turning away from the caravan.
“For Bartoth?’ he asked.
“No,” she said. “Another matter is more urgent.”
“Who has been breached?” Water asked.
