Battle Mage

by Peter Flannery

  The Possessed were coming.

  His arrival caused a wave of panic and many of the refugees immediately ran for cover on either side of the canyon.

  ‘No!’ hissed Malaki. ‘This way! Quickly!’

  In the ensuing chaos the remaining Exiles darted out into the canyon. Sensitivity and gentleness were put aside as they herded, bullied and dragged the terrified refugees towards the entrance to the gully.

  Cursing the frightened cries Malaki caught the scout’s reins as his horse skidded to a halt.

  ‘How far?’

  ‘They are upon us, my Lord!’ said the scout and sure enough Malaki could now feel the familiar sensation of an approaching demon.

  Immediately he felt his mind begin to cloud over with fear, but this was not the first time Malaki had encountered a demon, and the experience offered a small measure of protection. The same was true for many of the Exiles and it was only their stoicism that allowed them to keep control of the situation.

  Finally the last of the refugees were escorted into the gully and Malaki could hear the Exiles calling for quiet. Some of the men were sweeping the ground with twiggy branches, trying to obliterate the signs of their passing.

  As the commotion passed the gentle gurgle of the shallow river could once again be heard. Malaki and Quirren were the last to seek cover. They stood in the open as the unmistakable sound of clanking armour and marching feet echoed up the canyon towards them.

  ‘Time to go,’ said Quirren and Malaki heartily agreed.

  Slinging their shields across their backs they moved back towards the gully. Any moment now the Possessed would appear around the bend just two hundred yards down river. They had just reached the trees when a fearful cry broke the stillness.

  ‘Mina!’

  A woman emerged from the gully with one of the Exiles trying to restrain her.

  ‘Mina!’ she cried again.

  ‘Hush, sister!’ hissed the man from Alex’s unit. ‘They are all through. We will find her in the gully.’

  But the woman would not be calmed. She shook off his arm and ran towards the canyon until Malaki stopped her.

  ‘My daughter!’ she cried. ‘She was with the little ones. I thought they were ahead of us but they are not!’

  Malaki’s blood ran cold as he realised there might still be children in the canyon. The noise of the approaching Possessed was now louder than ever and there was no time to search. Together he and Quirren whipped round, scanning the trees on the far side of the canyon for any sign of someone hiding. For a moment there was nothing and then...

  ‘There!’ said Quirren and sure enough they could make out the partially obscured faces of several children peering out from the trees.

  ‘Mina!’ cried the woman, trying to break free of Malaki’s grasp.

  The Possessed sounded impossibly close and they could all feel the gathering fear of the demon advancing towards them. There was no time to do anything but run.

  ‘Quirren! No!’

  As Malaki dragged the woman back towards the gully Quirren ran in the opposite direction. Even dressed in armour he crossed the canyon quickly and charged into the trees just as the first of the Possessed appeared round the bend in the river.

  Hiding in the bushes at the mouth of the gully Malaki clung to the struggling woman. Across the way he saw Quirren moving the children back into the deeper cover at the base of the cliffs. As the canyon filled with the sound of the approaching force Malaki moved back into the gully. Around him the faces of Exiles and refugees were white with horror. Huthgarl had put on his helmet and was preparing to fight.

  ‘We must save them!’

  ‘We can’t,’ hissed Malaki.

  For a moment the big Beltonian just stood there looking at Malaki as if he were the enemy. People glanced from one to the other, their eyes wide with shock. They desperately wanted to help the children but they could all feel the fear tightening around their hearts. Suddenly Alex reappeared from the gully, pushing his way through the closely packed refugees. His face was set like stone and he made to draw his sword but Huthgarl grabbed him round the chest and held him fast.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Huthgarl, his voice breaking with emotion. ‘Malaki is right. There is nothing we can do.’

  ‘But it’s Quirren!’ snarled Alex. For a moment he struggled violently but there was no way he could break the larger man’s hold. Presently he became still and pressed his face against the cold steel of Huthgarl’s armour.

  ‘Go!’ said Malaki and slowly they began to move.

  The truth of the situation had finally dawned and with a feeling of despair they began to make their way back along the narrow gully, Alex stumbling ahead of Huthgarl, his face white and slack with disbelief. The woman in Malaki’s arms was now limp and weeping inconsolably and Malaki felt like the cruellest person alive as he dragged her along.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated over and over again. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Behind him he could hear the sound of the Possessed approaching the mouth of the gully. The noise grew fainter with every twist and turn and it appeared that they had been overlooked, but then a figure appeared in the gully behind Malaki. For a brief moment he thought it might be Quirren. But it was not. It was the rotting half corpse of an armoured Sciritae.

  ‘Huthgarl!’ cried Malaki as the Sciritae suddenly charged towards him.

  Malaki thrust the woman ahead of him and tried to draw his sword, shrugging his shield from its shoulder strap as he did so, but he stumbled over a clump of loose rocks and lost his footing. The Possessed warrior was on him instantly, its vicious kopis sword slashing down. Malaki raised his arm to ward off the blow but then Huthgarl leapt over him, shoulder charging the Sciritae against the rocks before killing it with a single stroke that clove its breastplate half in two.

  More Possessed poured into the gully and several steel tipped javelins deflected off rocks as a number of Peltae appeared. These skirmishers were fast and lightly armoured, but behind them came a thick press of Sciritae.

  Malaki got to his feet as a number of Exiles moved past him. At various points the gully widened and narrowed. Sometimes it was wide enough for five men to fight abreast, at others Huthgarl himself was enough to bar the way. This was a place that called for close quarter fighting and so the Exiles came into their own, their overlapping shields provided an impenetrable barrier and their stabbing swords exacted a heavy price for the Possessed who came after them. They gave ground slowly, allowing the refugees and other troops to move on behind them.

  The gully was now thick with Possessed but they could not bring their numbers to bear and for a while it seemed like there was no way they could break through, but then the deep defile seemed to grow more oppressive and Malaki realised that the demon had moved into the gully. The Exiles began to glance backwards as the fear swept over them, looking for an opportunity to flee, and as their concentration was broken so they began to fall. Stabbing swords and javelins found gaps in the shield wall and Malaki saw one man fall with a javelin through the base of his neck. The man was not killed and he screamed as he fell to the ground and was trampled underfoot by the mass of Sciritae that pressed them slowly backwards.

  ‘They are starting to fail!’ cried Huthgarl above the echoing din of combat and Malaki knew he spoke the truth.

  As the demon came closer so the defence would crumble and the gully would turn into a channel of death. Glancing up at the cliffs Malaki saw arrows stabbing down into the Possessed. The Dalwhinnies were doing their job but soon even they too would be overcome by the fear of the demon. Even as he watched, Malaki saw a gout of dark fire and molten rock blasting upwards from some point further down the gully. The stream of glowing shrapnel tore into the crags and two bodies came tumbling down in a hail of falling stone and shredded vegetation.

  ‘Malaki!’ cried Huthgarl.

  ‘Just a little further,’ Malaki called back.

  They were almost at the point where the avalanche had been set u
p. If they triggered it too soon then they too would be crushed or cut off on the wrong side of the fall.

  They had chosen a point where the walls were close together and almost sheer. The location had been marked with thick lines of chalk and soot but as they fought their way backwards Malaki became confused and disorientated. The fear was slowly mounting and he was finding it increasingly difficult to think.

  ‘Malaki!’ shouted Huthgarl once more and Malaki could hear the strain in his voice.

  Behind him the refugees were now in full flight and even a number of the Exiles were turning their backs to run. If they did not stop the Possessed soon then they would be overrun but Malaki could see no sign of the marks they had made on the rocks. With the wings of panic beating at his mind he searched the rocks, trying to remember the distinctive features that marked the two extremes of the collapse. The Possessed could feel their growing panic and were pressing harder when Malaki suddenly spotted an anvil shaped formation in the cliffs to his right.

  They had already passed the point of the avalanche and in a sudden flash of dread he wondered if the quarrymen were still in place. They too would be feeling the effects of the fear and might well have abandoned their position on the cliffs.

  ‘NOW!’ cried Malaki. ‘DO IT NOW!’

  For several heart-stopping seconds nothing happened and Malaki was certain they were lost but then a series of ominous cracks reverberated through the gully. There was a moment’s pause and then the world disappeared in a storm of choking dust and deafening noise. The ground shook and rocks tumbled down around them, clanging off shoulder, back and helm. Had they not been armoured then many of the Exiles would surely have been killed, but as it was they merely stumbled and flinched, coughing and blinking as the dust filled their eyes and throats.

  From out the roiling clouds the Possessed emerged, battered and bleeding but still hungry for their blood. Stunned and half blinded by the avalanche the Exiles did their best to defend themselves but they were in no condition to fight. Somehow they managed to kill the first rush of Sciritae and then, to their great relief, the assault was over. No more Ferocian warriors emerged from the choking fog and as the dust began to settle they could see that the gully had been completely blocked. They could still feel the oppressive fear of the demon but now the effect was dulled by twenty thousand tons of rock.

  In the numbing stillness, with rocks and stones still tumbling down around him, Malaki stood like a limestone statue. His hair was matted and his face was pale, the tracks of his tears leaving streaks in the death mask of his face.

  More than two hundred refugees had been saved from the torment of the Possessed and they had lost only a handful of soldiers in the attempt. The balance of life was firmly in their favour but Malaki’s heart was broken. He could not think of all the lives they had saved. All he could think of was the souls they had left behind.

  *

  Quirren moved the children further back as the Possessed poured into the canyon. His heart was hammering in his chest and his hand was shaking as he motioned for them to be still.

  ‘Are they going to find us?’

  He turned to see a young girl who could not have been more than thirteen. In the thick shadows of the undergrowth he could barely see the other four children that he had hoped to save. Only their eyes, bright and fearful, showed clearly in the dark.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘They’re not going to find us.’

  The girl just stared and he knew she did not believe him. In addition to the terrifying sound of the Possessed they could all feel the overwhelming fear of the approaching demon. One of the younger boys was clearly paralysed by fear. He stood, stiff and trembling as the fear mounted, but then it lessened slightly as if the demon’s attention had been drawn away.

  Quirren moved a step forward so that he could see through a gap in the bushes. He saw a massive figure, fully nine feet tall, with long limbs, corded muscles and leathery ash-white skin. It was clearly humanoid in form, but far bigger and more horrible than any human that walked the earth. The nails on its hands were like chisels and its head was like the heavy browed wood trolls that Quirren remembered from the myths and fairytales of his childhood. Its black eyes were like hollow pits of darkness, and about its waist it wore a steel belt from which trailed a series of long chains.

  Quirren could not see what lay at the end of the chains but he could hear heavy objects bumping and dragging along the ground, accompanied by muffled cries like the choking sobs of people in pain.

  He was immensely grateful that the demon did not look in their direction. Instead it turned away and headed towards the gully down which Malaki and the others had fled. Likewise the Possessed seemed to be focussed on that side of the canyon and for the first time he thought they might actually be overlooked.

  For several minutes the entire Possessed force was focussed on the gully and Quirren could hear the sound of fighting. The sounds of battle slowly drew away and he wondered if the rescue force might be overcome, but then the canyon shook with a rumbling boom and a great cloud of dust burst out from the gully.

  Quirren felt a rush of satisfaction as he realised that the avalanche had been triggered and the gully blocked. However, the feeling of victory was quickly followed by the realisation that they were now completely cut off. For a moment he wondered if the demon might have been caught in the landslide, buried under many tons of rock, but then he felt the unholy presence moving back towards them.

  As the fear started to mount once more some of the children began to cry. There was still a chance that they might remain undiscovered, but as Quirren continued to watch he saw a black robed Toxitae turn in their direction. The blindfolded archer seemed to be staring directly at their hiding place. Its head tilted to one side as if it was not certain of what it sensed, but then it let out a hissing snarl and put a black feathered arrow to its bow.

  Slowly the entire Possessed force turned towards them and Quirren knew that they were lost. Beside him stood the young girl who had spoken out. Quirren turned to look at her, trying desperately to quash the images of what was about to happen. He felt a surge of panic at the hopelessness of their situation, but then the girl looked down at the dagger hanging from his belt.

  ‘Are you going to save us?’ she asked and Quirren could only weep in the face of her courage.

  The tightness in his throat would not allow him to speak but he gave her a nod and the girl turned away. Quietly she gathered the children into a line and turned them to face the cliffs.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she told the youngest boy. ‘The Knight of the Black Eagle is going to save us.’

  As he drew his dagger the girl turned towards him and Quirren almost collapsed at the childlike trust in her eyes.

  ‘What is your name, little sister?’

  ‘Mina,’ said the girl and with that she turned away.

  Moving to stand behind her he kissed the top of her head and felt her body shudder with a terrified sob. Behind him he could hear the Possessed approaching and for pity’s sake he could not fail them now.

  Heart screaming and vision blurred with tears Quirren Klingemann sent the children of Illicia to a place where the Possessed would never find them. Then he drew his sword, armed his shield and turned to fight.

  90

  Hoffen

  As it turned out there had been no time to fetch Lysander’s armour. Indeed he barely had time to don a pair of leather trousers and force his feet into his armoured boots. Sweeping up his sword from a table at the side of the room he had limped from his chambers and made his way as quickly as possible to the battlements overlooking the approach to Hoffen. There he was met by Major Dahler of the city guard who narrowed his eyes at the sight of the great Lysander Müller still dressed in his nightshirt.

  Lysander gave no thought to the state of his clothes but he accepted a heater shield from one of the major’s men. Working his arm into the shield straps, he glanced down to the open courtyard behind the gates where Feuri
g had taken up his own position. Behind him dozens of civilians were milling about, unsure of what to do and glancing warily at the tiger striped dragon that stood like a sentinel facing the fortified entrance.

  ‘We need to get these people out of here,’ said Lysander as more soldiers appeared on the walls.

  Major Dahler gave a stiff nod as his men moved into position. Two hundred archers lined the walls and crowned the guard towers that flanked the main entrance to the city. Meanwhile, a similar number of spearmen and foot knights now arrived in the courtyard behind the gates. Like the civilians, they too stared at the great dragon standing before them, but at a command from Major Dahler they began to herd the people out of harm’s way. Then suddenly a horn sounded the call of an enemy approaching.

  Feeling lightheaded and weak Lysander turned to look down from the battlements.

  Beyond the gates a cobbled road curved down from the walls of the city. The road levelled out as it reached the moors and there, just on the edge of the rolling heathland, was the demon that Nathalie had called the Slayer.

  At around eight feet tall it was smaller than Lysander had expected and was approaching at a steady and menacing walk. Its back-bent legs appeared to be wreathed in smoke and its muscular body was covered in armour. In each hand it carried a huge curving blade and the burning light in its red eyes held not the slightest trace of uncertainty. It knew there was nothing in the city of Hoffen to challenge it.

  Despite his injuries and the deep weariness in his bones Lysander’s mind flared at the Slayer’s conceit. Even in peak condition he and Feurig might not have been able to defeat it, but still they would strive to teach this demon some humility. Wearing a frown of determination Lysander drew his sword and flexed his mind to shield the soldiers with a cloak of faith. Beside him Major Dahler’s archers drew their bows and the battle mage tried to imbue each sharp point with something of the power he possessed.