Peril & Profit

by M. H. Johnson

  Sorn couldn't help but note the wide-eyed looks of horror given by the shieldmen, all fleeing as one back towards the safety of their forces, the grizzly remains of the mages under their care all but forgotten, crumpled scrolls still held in the dead men's grasp. The Empire's soldiers let out a fierce cry at the collapse of the mages. Morale salvaged with their not insignificant victory, the Empire's soldiers poured fourth wholeheartedly from the warehouses once more.

  All that stopped the Empire's forces from swarming forward to engage Caverenoc's defenders once more was the terrible sight of Sorn, still heaving in taut berserker fury barely held in check, literally scores of shattered bodies strewn about the cobblestone courtyard before him. There was little doubt that a great number of the broken corpses littering the courtyard had been dealt the blows that had so grotesquely deformed them by the lone black knight glaring back at the Empire's soldiers at that very moment. No doubt by the very gore-spattered weapon even then held ready in the terrible figure's hands.

  No few of the soldiers took a sudden step back, the sharp scent of their fear spiking to a fever pitch in the nighttime air, as Sorn caught terrified whispers about the demon they faced, eyes glowing like the fiery embers of Hell.

  Though they knew it not, the implicit respect the commanders paid Sorn as they spent handfuls of seconds doing nothing save organize themselves in rank after rank before a still near motionless Sorn only a handful of yards away, was exactly what he needed. For in those seconds he took fierce hold of his rage, forced himself to think, to face his own fears, to understand what he had to do. It was not to give in to the savage mindless glee welling up inside him and demanding that he smash himself once again into the slowly forming ranks of enemy troops.

  No, what he had to do was ultimately of far greater importance. He needed to stem the tide of troops entirely. He needed to bring the warehouses crashing down.

  29

  Breathing deeply, Sorn slowly raised his right hand, aiming directly for the unshuttered second story window above. Though his angle of vision was partially blocked by his upraised left forearm still effortlessly holding aloft his massive weapon, positioned as it to protect his eyes from any stray bolt fired in his direction, his line of sight to his target was clear.

  With grim intensity he forced himself to open up to the fiery energies that were at that very moment roaring through him with a terrible intensity, unlike anything he had ever experienced before as Sorn. Though most of his webs were, of course, utterly beyond him in that state of hot fury, his flame magics shown forth with a terrible crystal clarity, the former matrix instantly filling with the searing burning rage that seemed to throb through every essence-laden fiber of his being.

  Though he needed to choke back a whimper knowing the pain it would cause him, his focus nonetheless remained absolute as he whispered the harsh syllables that served to release the spell he had so effortlessly summoned forth, like capturing wind in a sail in the midst of a tempest, effortless and terribly dangerous both. The sudden frantic yelling of the various troop commanders as they realized to their horror that their foe was berserker and warlock both availed them naught, for they were far too late. Multiple crossbow bolts bounced harmlessly from Sorn's upraised steel encased arms, others rang against his thick chest plate, only one having managed to wedge itself a half inch by a shoulder joint, and all of which Sorn ignored.

  With a final guttural hiss, a pulsating ball of green flame streaked forth from Sorn's upthrust finger with an ear shattering shriek, plunging deep into the second story window of the warehouse before him.

  An instant later the frantic yelling was drowned out by a terrible roar as a massive explosion of fire near obliterated the first warehouse. Blocks of scorched stone, burning embers of wood, and gouts of flame were sent shooting forth in all directions as the building collapsed upon itself, hot shrapnel ripping through what had moments before been the disciplined ranks facing Sorn, slaughtering scores of men in an instant, even as what remained of the building crashed to its foundations moments later in a terrible flaming pyre.

  Those enemy soldiers outside the first warehouse who had survived the fiery maelstrom scattered in all directions, tripping over the burnt, crushed, and mangled remains of their companions, crying out in their panic.

  Their morale shattered, they were now only fleeing for their lives.

  This time the roars of victory were fainter, coming as they were from Caverenoc's own troops, but Sorn could barely hear them, so great was the searing pain washing through him, a fearsome hot ripping torment burning through his essence-laden flesh. The backlash of energies that poured into Sorn with the incineration of near a hundred soldiers overwhelmed the already tightly wound fibers of Sorn's very being, searing through a number of them completely.

  Sorn grimly sought in those moments of hideous agony to contain the damage to what extent he could. Though his armor rang with a crash as he stumbled to the blood slick cobblestones, he nonetheless managed not to faint. His efforts to contain the damage were not entirely in vain as the horrible burning stopped abruptly at his shoulders.

  The degree of pain had been shocking, but not so much as the surprise. The backlash of power that had coursed through him had been something he had been completely unprepared for. The why of it was something he was presently in no state to reason, certain only that he had best be prepared to pay a similar cost with each such spell he cast this night. Sorn's sole consolation was that despite the agony that had ripped through his arms, when he clenched his fists they seemed no weaker than before. He could only hope that whatever damage had been wrought to his body, it had not bit too deeply. For all that the stench of burning flesh was by no means an unaccustomed scent for one of his kind, it was a terrible thing indeed to smell one's own.

  Though his eyes were tearing from the pain, his rage continued to give him strength. He turned with a resolute shudder to the two remaining buildings, knowing full well that he would have to summon forth balls of flame sufficient to collapse both warehouses. For only that would assure that whatever buried tunnels lay underneath would be buried in truth. Preferably, under a ton of superheated rubble. Left arm no longer raised, merely dragging the war mace behind him, he slowly plodded on to the second building. All the while his ears were filled with the cries of battle as Empire troops from the remaining warehouses rushed forth to engage Caverenoc's charging men.

  With a determined grimace, Sorn focused his watery eyes on the silhouette of an open window from an alleyway before the second warehouse. He had elected for the moment to drop from the scene of battle for such time as it took to focus his energies, needing some moments as well to suppress the instinctive reluctance to engage in that which had caused him such terrible, burning pain. His wavering concentration was distracted entirely as with a roar, a wide-eyed Empire soldier all but jumped into Sorn's face, slashing madly with his broadsword at Sorn's hastily raised arm.

  His blows were nothing beyond Sorn's ability to parry, such was the weight and solidity of his steel-encased forearms and gauntlets, but for the first time he felt sharp waves of pain with each deflected blow, as his armor knocked against the seared flesh on his limbs.

  With a roar Sorn whipped up his battle mace, catching the suddenly surprised soldier flat-footed as Sorn's fearsome weapon shattered both sword and skull alike, instantly dropping his opponent with that single terrible blow.

  Pausing only long enough to wipe the gore from his visor and to make sure, once again, that this partial alley between the buildings was now well and truly empty, Sorn brought his focus once more to bear on the slit of the second story window in the warehouse ahead.

  After more than a few moments' terrible concentration, Sorn let loose a second ball of pulsing green flame, streaking forth directly into the open second story window in the warehouse ahead.

  The resulting roar and explosion tore through the building with the same devastating effects as before, the structure collapsing in upon itself as fragme
nts of hot rubble, chunks of burning wood, and gouts of flame shot forth hundreds of feet from the epicenter of the terrible explosion. The obliteration of the second warehouse was absolute, Sorn's careful aim assuring that the second story supports buried the first story in a ton of superheated wood and stone.

  That some of Caverenoc's own troops were paying the price for this cauterization was simply one more bitter cost to this war. Yet at that moment Sorn was only peripherally aware of the surprised screams of Caverenoc's own men being torn apart by flying bits of burning shrapnel along with the Empire's soldiers, so great was his own searing agony.

  Whether it was by dint of focus or aided by the somatic clenching of fists to legs, Sorn was at least able to direct, somewhat, the searing backlash that tore through him once more to terrible effect. Once again his essence-laden flesh, overwhelmed at the last, charred to faint tracks of ash and puckered scars though he saw it not. This time, however, Sorn had forced the burning currents upon the flesh of his legs, fearing that were the burns on his arms any deeper, he might end up significantly weakening or even crippling himself, as would occur if his flesh were seared to the very bone.

  That he could think so dispassionately through his dizzying pain was a marvel in itself, yet the ability to make calculated sacrifices was a necessary trait for any commander, as his grandfather had taught him what seemed like a lifetime ago. Even if the sacrifice was himself, piece by burning piece.

  Grimly, Sorn flexed his legs. Though they did, in fact, feel blistered and burned as evidenced by the pain his movements caused him, his limbs appeared near as strong as ever, even if discomfort had taken a toll on his natural ease of movement. It was indeed fortunate that he had several layers of cloth under the plate encasing his legs, or no doubt the friction of his raw flesh rubbing against his armaments would have been a terrible torment indeed. The pain was barely tolerable as things stood.

  Jaw clenched in a determined scowl though none could see it, war mace gripped tightly in a vise equal parts brutal determination and pain, Sorn force himself to move.

  Slowly, he made his way past the burnt husks of fallen soldiers, rubble, and smoldering wooden planks strewn about the cobbled courtyard in front of the still fiercely burning remnants of the second warehouse.

  Scanning the courtyard for survivors, all he saw were the scorched and fallen remains of the soldiers before him. Most appeared to be the Empire's troops, yet it was evident that a fair number of Caverenoc's own men had been caught in the blast as well. The few survivors that Sorn could see were the tail end of Caverenoc's troops several blocks from the remains of the warehouse. No doubt they were going forth even now to do battle against the Empire's soldiers holed up within their one remaining outpost inside the heart of Caverenoc.

  Though saddened to see Caverenoc’s own troops among the fallen, Sorn was bitterly aware of the lack of options before them. Necessity dictated no other course of action, no less painful method to cauterize the wound the Empire had inflicted upon this city. That same necessity that drove him to perform that terrible act one last time, despite the cost to Caverenoc’s own forces and to Sorn as well. With a last glance at the corpse-filled courtyard before him, Sorn proceeded steadily toward his quickly chosen destination, a nearby alley sure to give him a discreet view of the third warehouse, his final target. The clash and din of battle once more rang sharply in Sorn’s ears as he gazed upon the near empty front courtyard of the third warehouse from the vantage point of the alley, the sounds of melee by and large emanating from the rear of the third building.

  Near dizzy with a terrible exhaustion that was slowly beginning to wrap its seductive tendrils around him as his rage slowly started to fade, a disoriented Sorn strove mightily to focus on the scene around him. Grimacing, Sorn desperately slammed his fists on each of his thighs in an effort to jolt himself back into focus, and roared with the pain this caused him.

  Once again he was alert with a near crystalline sharpness that flowed through him, washing away all fatigue, leaving him once again hyper-alert. He turned the full focus of his gaze upon the third warehouse and noted that, like with the first two, all the windows were open, ostensibly to allow crossbowmen and bowmen the ability to aid their infantry with supporting fire. At that moment Sorn's reflexes dropped him into a crouch as he simultaneously jerked his arm upward to guard his eye slits before he knew it, only recalling in hindsight the stray beam of light his mind had registered as briefly flickering off the bolt that was even now ricocheting harmlessly from his extra thick helmet.

  Sorn smiled bitterly through the pain these abrupt movements caused him as he raised his right arm in turn.

  "A blow for a blow," Sorn muttered darkly, envisioning what he hoped was for the last time for this night the crystalline purity that was the web matrix for his fireball spell, the web filling once again near-instantly by the inner storm of blazing might still roaring through him, despite the first faint traces of exhaustion.

  With a single harsh draconic word, Sorn once again released a pulsating green ball of arcane fury to streak through the air and rip through the very window from which crossbowman had fired his bolt at Sorn but moments before. The crossbowman's last thoughts were no doubt little more than a searing flash of agony followed by utter blackness as the resulting explosion ripped through the last warehouse, the building buckling into a rubble-strewn heap as the fireball tore it apart with a terrible roar. Gouts of flame shot forth in all directions, along with chunks of rubble, burning wood, and other less nameable objects, the terrible debris raining upon friend and foe alike as the last warehouse collapsed upon itself entirely.

  30

  The cheers of Caverenoc's men now echoed through all the city streets, recognizing the destruction of the enemy base within their midst. They gave vent to their yells of triumph by charging into what pockets of resistance still remained to be found, and all too many overconfident soldiers were brought down by enemy fire from window ledges and rooftops. For though the invaders had been cut off from all reinforcements, thanks to Sorn's desperate spells, there were still nonetheless a great number of Empire troops who had barricaded themselves in the adjoining buildings, no doubt grimly determined to take out what city troops they could, before being brought down themselves.

  All this was recognized only in the vaguest parameters by a now hunched over and vomiting Sorn. Knowing at the last moment that he dare not channel a backlash to his torso, he had once again forced his hands to clench his already burned legs, and the resulting blast of pain had been horrific. Had he skin as others did, he would be certain it had all been charred black.

  As it was, his was painfully certain that the flesh of his legs was no doubt exposed raw and bleeding, interspersed with deep bloody furrows where the overstrained fibers of his being had been essence-burnt to ash. Grimly, he tried to get up, only to topple over in hideous pain and once again spew vomit, a substance so caustic that had he not managed to jerk his visor open, it would no doubt have dissolved the very armor he wore.

  As it was, the very cobblestones upon which he had spewed his bile began to bubble and hiss, releasing pale green vapors that would have seared the lungs of any mortal who inhaled it, had they been near.

  Finally, Sorn managed to stumble to his feet, thankful only that the multiple layers of quilted padding upon his legs served as a bandage of sorts, minimizing the friction of his raw flesh rubbing against his armor. Nonetheless, every step was still an exercise in agony, and he grimaced with every pain-filled lurch.

  He found, however, that he could indeed still walk, though without question his legs felt weakened. Indeed, were it not for the now slowly abating fury that still washed through him, he would no doubt have collapsed in a heap in the nearest sheltered alcove, his body instinctively seeking to regenerate and rest in a near comatose state. To truly do so, however, he would need to change forms, something presently quite difficult, encased as he was in so much steel. As it was, he found the pain of movement easing with t
ime as he stumbled on, and soon the nearly intolerable agony abated to a deep aching throb. He did not think he would be able to outpace a charger anytime soon, however, and Sorn's bitter laughter at the thought rung eerily in the smoke-filled streets.

  Sorn was only dimly aware, sometime later, of the now far louder gongs of what sounded to be great bells being rung near the palace proper. He found himself troubled, for it appeared that the city's troops had, for the most part, withdrawn from the pitched skirmishes still being waged near the now smoldering remains of the warehouses that had so recently been the Empire's base in the city. Even in Sorn's present state of pain, rage, and exhaustion, he found it odd that Caverenoc's soldiers had not sought to obliterate the last traces of enemy troops within the city entirely before they generated even more havoc; the guttural curses of foreign soldiers and the occasional cry of denizens of yet another house broken into giving evidence that the skirmishes were far from over.

  It was some moments before a weary Sorn, plodding his way more or less in the direction of the palace, gave the matter of the bells further consideration. Exhaustion had at last made inroads upon him, and he found what thoughts he could formulate through his fugue both sluggish and hazy. Indeed, he near collided with two enemy soldiers before even being aware of their presence. The soldiers themselves looked disorganized and out of sorts, mutually gasping as they stared in wide-eyed horror at Sorn's gruesome countenance. They immediately gave voice to terrified cries and ran away as fast as their feet could take them. Sorn, for his part, had found himself feeling strangely apathetic, and didn't bother to chase them down.