Thaumaturge

by Terry Mancour

  Most of our foe were great goblins and hobgoblins, with only a sprinkling of smaller gurvani. They were larger, as large as men in some cases, and they were desperate to stop the punishing volleys. Spears and vicious-looking pole arms lashed up at me, while scimitars and axes flailed toward me for a few hot moments. Strategy and tactics ceased to mean anything as my focus was drawn to personal survival. My universe condensed to the foe in front of me, and which weapon or spell I should use to destroy him.

  One might use the term “fury of battle”, but in my case it was far more the “frustration of battle”. I’d been patiently waiting and watching my subordinates masterfully execute their well-conceived plans with only modest advice and direction from me. I’d allowed caution and preparation to override my impulsive nature for months. Once I had a sword and staff in my hand and a foe to strike, the emotion I’d suppressed during the last year rose to fuel both the arcane energies I commanded and the fury that guided my blade.

  During that moment, I realized all of that frustration at once.

  I was surprised to learn during that fight that I wasn’t entirely alone, either – my Magolith began to do more than respond to my commands and provide power for my spellwork. The normally-sedate Handmaiden had taken an interest in something other than enneagrams, for a change, and had taken charge of my artifact’s spellwork.

  The green and gold sphere began weaving around me, sending blasts of arcane destruction against those who threatened me of its own accord. It acted as a protective hound, viciously intercepting any goblin with the temerity to evade my defenses. Twice I turned to confront the next gurvan only to discover the Magolith blasting it before I could.

  Min, hold for another few minutes, Terleman directed me, mind-to-mind. Then charge them, at my command.

  Charge them? There are still thousands of them! I protested.

  There won’t be that many in a moment, he promised. He didn’t explain further. He was gone.

  I looked around, and saw the unit commander nearby, fighting from horseback with the legendary fierceness of a true Wilderlord. “SIRE AVEDAN! PREPARE TO CHARGE ON MY COMMAND!”

  “My lord?” the Wilderlord asked, as he pulled his battle axe from a perfectly-bisected gurvani skull.

  “Sling bows, draw blades, ready shields for advance! On my command!” I repeated, and surveyed the field while he hurried away.

  While Aveden relayed my instructions to the rear, where the archers slung their bows and drew their swords and axes, I saw just how poorly the attackers had fared. There were fewer and fewer by the moment. Perhaps if Gaja Katar had committed to attacking one side or another with the full force of his army, perhaps he would have had a fighting chance. But splitting his army and challenging both a strongly-held fortified position and a fresh, mobile force of massed infantry had ensured that neither of his assaults would be successful.

  Indeed, the charge had been a disaster. Sandoval’s hulking constructs were pounding gurvani into the ground like nails. Goblin corpses littered the ground around us. The shield wall hadn’t broken, and the spearmen behind the interlocked shields were stabbing at the gurvani viciously. Archers in the rear took a few last shots of opportunity before drawing their infantry swords or axes, and in places individual warriors stepped forward from the line with two-handed swords or great axes and dueled the gurvani hand-to-hand. Those were usually unequal contests.

  I jerked my head back to the ford a moment later as I perceived a great arcane wrenching from that direction. Someone was using a tremendous amount of arcane power, and I could not tell at first if it was friend or foe. It took me a moment to evaluate what was happening.

  Over the center of Gaja Katar’s dwindling center just on the eastern edge of the river, about a hundred feet above his head thousands of arrows appeared out of nothingness – a vast hoxter pocket, I realized – and plummeted down on the goblins. Apparently Terleman had gleaned thousands of spent shafts from the field in front of Spellgate, after the battle there, and arranged to place them in the special pocket within Eclipse. At his command, they appeared in a vast flock over the battle, hovered there for the barest second, and then succumbed to gravity and thundered down on the army below.

  A moment after the unexpected volley decimated the goblin center, another hoxter activated in similar fashion . . . and a shower of boulders the size of pumpkins hammered down on Gaja Katar’s beleaguered troops. Even the poor siege worms were pummeled by the rain of rocks and bellowed their complaints. For the gurvani, the arcane avalanche was deadly.

  Now for my big finish, Terleman informed me, smugly. This is an idea I got from Sheruel, himself. Watch this, he warned, and broke contact.

  I couldn’t tell what he was getting at, for a moment, and invoking Sheruel for inspiration made me anxious. Then the Magolith perked up and called for my attention. The Handmaiden within detected a vast wave of magical energy coming from upriver, the same direction as the magical flood had originated. This was activated arcane force flowing, however, not mere water. At the speed of a hare, a wave of magic instantly froze the Wildwater solid . . . entrapping the feet and legs of most of the goblins in the flooded ford in solid ice.

  The wails of fear and dismay filled the air. Gurvani tried to tug their frozen feet free of the ice, to little avail. Anywhere their feet had been submerged, they were caught and immobile. Panic ensued.

  Now you may charge, Terleman informed me, a smug tone to his mental voice. I shall do the same. A bottle of spirits for the first of us to take Gaja Katar’s head?

  I’ll take that wager, I agreed.

  “Sire Aveden! Call the charge!” I commanded the Wilderlord, and a moment later, horns rang out to order the advance.

  The line had held steadfastly against the gurvani . . . now it surged forward at the horns’ command. Our men were eager to end this contest, and they sensed the desperation of their enemy. Taking advantage of the goblins’ sudden weakness seemed a gift from Duin. With a guttural shout they began to push forward. Sandy and I, and the rest of the mounted officers, rode to lead them into the entrapped army, shouting our war cry as we surged ahead.

  “For the Magelaw! For Vanador! Vanador! Vanador!” they chanted as the pushed forward in an orderly line. Those gurvani unfortunate enough to be in the way were quickly hacked apart. Our men had been defending for days, now, and the chance to take the fight back to their foe invested them with enthusiasm for the task. Our line pushed forward aggressively, crossing the snowy, corpse-strewn ground toward the frozen river and our helpless enemies in only a few minutes.

  Just before we made contact with the ragged, immobile line, Terleman gave Gaja Katar another nasty gift: the Sky Riders strafed the helpless gurvani from the air. The Tera Alon had ceased their archery and were fighting hand-to-hand, now, and the warmagi from the Sudden Fortress surged against the goblins from the western bank. I could see Terleman leading our warrior wizards into battle with Eclipse raised overhead, blazing with offensive magic.

  Then we crashed against the irregular line of defenders, the few goblins who had been on the bank and avoided the ice spell. They fell to our axes and swords quickly. In moments, we pushed onto the frozen river where a forest of panicked, immobile gurvani did their best to slash at us, desperately trying to defend themselves from both sides and above, all at once.

  The could not run. So they died. By the great, gory legions, they died. Without mobility, they could scarcely defend themselves against the punishing axes and flashing swords of our men. The dark blood of the gurvani spilled out on the ice as they were cut down like a horrific harvest of vile timber. It was hard, disgusting, brutal work, but far less dangerous than taking them normally in the field.

  The Battle of Asgot Ford was one of the most decisive of any war against Vanador, by any foe. Gaja Katar’s stubborn stupidity and arrogant assumptions had allowed us to take apart his army with precision, dooming thousands of gurvani in the process. Apart from the deserters and the rebels, none of his force
survived intact.

  As for the wager I had with Terleman, neither of us collected. Gaja Katar was slain knee-deep in ice, one arm and shoulder damaged beyond recognition . . . by Ruderal.

  My apprentice had carefully followed me into the charge on his horse and sought out the Nemovort himself in favor of any lesser foe. Ruderal managed to nimbly dodge the Enshadowed warriors and fierce draugen who guarded him, until he found the yellow-eyed fiend struggling to order a battle he’d already lost. Then Ruderal shoved his short blade into Gaja Katar’s undead neck from behind. While his trapped retainers looked on in horror, Ruderal hacked at Gaja Katar’s neck with especial fury until his head fell from his shoulders onto the bloody ice.

  From there, the battle was an absolute rout. A few hundred goblins managed to free themselves from the ice and flee into the forests, and the Fell Hound cavalry that had been all but ignored by Gaja Katar escaped, but they were doomed to be the prey to our rangers. In an hour, the slaughter was all but complete. And that was good, because Terleman’s freezing spell failed soon after that. Dead bodies filled the ford from side to side and clumped together in the shallows like a morbid logjam.

  It was a victory – Terleman’s victory. He had orchestrated the entire thing, from beginning to end. Mavone had provided the intelligence, Sandoval the army, and Carmella the fortifications . . . but Terleman had been the mastermind that had sent proud Gaja Katar the Arrogant back through the shroud of death to re-appear before his master in Olum Seheri, defeated and disgraced.

  ***

  One of the great advantages of being in supreme command of an army is not having to do the shit-work.

  I’d done plenty, in Farise and elsewhere, and I wasn’t fond of it. There was a tremendous amount to do at Asgot Ford, too; weapons needed to be policed, freezing bodies needed to be hauled out of the frigid water and stacked like firewood on the banks, the wounded (of which there were thankfully few) had to be taken from the field and evacuated to the field hospital at Spellgate. And our dead had to be collected for burial. There was a lot of shit-work after a battle.

  But I didn’t have to do any. Once Terleman ensured that the patrols and pickets were posted around the ford, and that the wards were cast anew and strengthened, he turned the Sudden Fortress into a kind of field kitchen and aid station, and ordered everyone left on duty at the ford to get at least four hours of sleep in its relatively warm interior.

  But then we magi left. Terleman and most of his command staff, most of the warmagi, and all of the Tera Alon marched back toward Spellgate along with the wounded, and crossed the drawbridge just before midnight. Some were even more expedient and took the Ways. Then we threw ourselves down in our bunks and slept. I, for one, did not at all mind being excused from the shit-work. I had Count stuff to do.

  The next day, I sent Ruderal home to Spellgarden and, at Tyndal’s invitation, took a trip through the Ways to his location in the field. He thoughtfully had a mount waiting for me.

  Tyndal and about three hundred horsemen were escorting the renegade gurvani to our frontier, to keep them from breaking away and hiding in the countryside, and to keep some of our own outlying forces from attacking them. Not that the gurvani seemed much of a danger. They were exhausted, cold, hungry and defeated . . . but they took the news of Gaja Katar’s defeat with wide eyes and toothy grins. Dark lord or not, nobody liked that asshole.

  Gurkarl rode a small pony next to Tyndal’s knee. The gurvan had donned a thick sheepskin cloak, and kept the hood up against the wind, but he was in good spirits as his fellows trudged through the snow.

  “Are they going to be able to make it?” I asked Tyndal, quietly, as we rode next to the marching goblins.

  “Now that they don’t have a Nemovort chasing them?” he asked. “As long as they eat, they’ll keep going. And I’ve received word from Lotanz that they have captured a baggage caravan. I’m having them haul it to a spot about nine miles ahead. That should give them enough supplies to make it back to the Penumbra. And incentive to leave our lands.”

  “There, we can loot a few of Gaja Katar’s warehouses,” agreed Gurkarl. “He left them lightly guarded. We may even rouse more rebels there, now that the danger of his displeasure is removed. Thence to Mekadarshku. As long as we can avoid Korbal’s other forces, we should be fine.”

  “I am still uneasy with this,” I said, with a sigh, as I watched my former foes march. “If it becomes known I had made a bargain with the Goblin King—”

  “With whom we have a treaty,” Tyndal reminded me. “Indeed, we are not at war with King Ashakarl, at the moment. It was his signature next to Prince Tavard’s on the parchment. I’ve seen it, myself.”

  “I was a witness. But legal technicalities won’t save me from court gossip,” I countered.

  “Which is precisely why we didn’t include you in the plot,” Tyndal agreed, cheerfully. “It was entirely my, Terleman and Mavone’s idea.”

  “Mavone?” I asked, surprised.

  “Where did you think he was getting such excellent intelligence on Gaja Katar’s camp?” Tyndal chuckled.

  “I have been assisting Magelord Mavone by slipping into his camp and spying,” Gurkarl agreed. “Not out of loyalty to you, understand,” he added. “I serve my people. Seeing them slaughtered unnecessarily does no one any good.”

  “We just slaughtered over ten thousand at the ford, yesterday,” I pointed out.

  “They were not entirely my folk,” Gurkarl said, shaking his head with a grimace. “They were largely poor eunuchs – never the brightest star in the sky – and maragorku,” he said, bitterly. “They are no more my people than the Tal, though we came from the same stock. They are single-minded and proud,” Gurkarl said, sadly. “They respect not our traditions nor our customs, favoring the strongest among them to lead, not the wisest. The Nemovorti know of these weaknesses and prey upon them to keep them in line. They are loyal to the hand that holds the whip, not to their clans. They have no clans,” he said, disgusted. “I serve my people, but not the maragorku.”

  “So hacking the lot of them to bits was perfectly fine, as far as King Ashakarl is concerned,” Tyndal agreed. “They would never respect his authority, anyway. But some of the hobs might, according to Gurkarl.”

  “Some have already joined us,” the gurvani nodded. “They grow weary of war. Despite their size and strength, they aren’t vicious souls. More, now that the hand commands them holds a whip, not a mace, they are even more reluctant to follow. We all grow weary of war,” he said with a sigh. “At least the hills around Mekadarshku are safe, for now. The King’s legions protect the fortress, and the roads from the Penumbra. If we can escape Korbal’s notice long enough, we might sire a generation untainted by Korbal or Sheruel.”

  “You realize that, technically, that entire region belongs to me, under Alshar’s rule,” I pointed out to the gurvan.

  “Would you prefer your tribute in rocks or stones, my lord?” Gurkarl quipped. “There is not much else, there. My folk there survive by hunting and herding, mostly. And with some grain grown by the human slaves,” he added, casually.

  “Human slaves?” I asked, surprised.

  “Not many,” he conceded. “Perhaps a thousand, mostly servants. A few hamlets in the area that were conquered and enslaved. Better treated, perhaps, than the great plantations farther south. But yes, His Majesty’s forces hold human slaves.”

  “A topic for further discussion,” Tyndal said, before I could object. “One which will be considered in light of this valuable display of cooperation,” he said, gesturing expansively to the long column of defeated gurvani. “For now, let us rejoice that we didn’t have to kill each other. And consider who we will have to kill next.”

  “That will be Lord Karakush,” Gurkarl said, darkly, without prompting. “He is spending the winter preparing his forces and watching how Gaja Katar fared against you humani. He had spies among his rivals troops, and watchers elsewhere. If any survive, he will learn much to use against you,
” he warned. “Karakush employs magic far more adeptly than Gaja Katar, and by all accounts is known for his dedication, not his impetuousness. He will study the game you played with his rival carefully and improve his own strategies thereby,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  “What do you know of him?” I prompted.

  “I’ve told Mavone most of what I know,” Gurkarl said, thoughtfully. “He is a far wiser commander than Gaja Katar, and is more careful. He gathers a much larger force and will ensure that they are better armed and armored than these poor fellows were. And he plans to launch an assault as early as spring, from what I have heard.”

  “That’s only a few months away!” Tyndal said, sourly. “And the start of the tournament season!”

  I made a face at my former apprentice. “We have gathered as much. How many troops do you think?”

  “Hard to say,” grunted Gurkarl. “At least forty thousand. Perhaps more, by then. He will not make Gaja Katar’s mistakes, I fear, save in underestimating you,” he decided. “And Karakush has Korbal’s favor, it is said. Well, he says it. A lot. Alas, I doubt you’ll be able to convince any of his troops to defect, as these did. Most of the loyalist in his lands fled with King Ashakarl and his court to Mekadarshku already. What are left will be changed into maragorku. Karakush spares no expense transforming my people into those abominations. They will be a formidable army,” he warned.

  “We’ll find a way,” I dismissed. “We always do. But what of you, my friend?” I asked. “What does your future hold, after you deliver these wretches to the King?”

  “I will winter in Mekadarshku, as a guest of His Majesty,” he informed me. “I have been admitted to his court as his special advisor. But, come the thawing, I shall return to Carneduin to make a report to the Council. After that . . . I am unsure.”

  “Keep me apprised of your plans, if you will,” I suggested. “I find I’m grateful I spared you on the field at Boval, that day.”