by Ron Root
“Better that than expose yourself to these monstrosities. Besides, up here an old man is more liability than asset.”
Kagen shook his finger. “Don’t dismiss me yet, I still have worth.” He scoured the walls. “I’m at least as useful as these striplings you have with you now. How many people have we inside our walls?”
“Thirty-one students and another score of hired hands.”
Kagen eyed a nervous-looking youngster manning the position beyond Vardon’s. “How many are old enough to fight?” He sighed, “As if any of them are.”
“We chose age fifteen as the cutoff for defenders. The younger ones are sequestered inside the building—where you should be.”
Kagen did the math. “So, it’s thirty-odd defenders against their masses.” He looked out at the beasts again. They kept their distance, rarely coming within a hundred paces of the walls. “What are they waiting for? Why don’t they attack?”
Vardon shook his head. “Who knows? They’re unarmed; maybe they await weapons.” He sighed. “As if they need them. I’ve seen one up close; their claws could shred a man, say nothing of their bite. More likely they await orders from their leader.”
“And who would that be?”
Vardon pointed across the field. “See how the rain fails to penetrate that one spot?”
Kagen shielded his eyes. “Yes, most unnatural; likely a protective shield. I’d lay odds we have a sorcerer in our midst.”
“Precisely what Genevieve and I surmised. From this distance it looks very man-like, and the beasts defer to it.”
Hundreds of monsters led by a wizard; not good. “So, what’s your thinking; what will you do if they attack?”
Vardon leered. “My plan is to give them all they can handle. Twelve of my battle protégés man the walls. I’ve coached them on every spell I know, including some from Gresham’s book.”
Vardon’s head jerked up. “Look! Our mage just came out from under his shield.”
They watched a robed creature segregate his horde into small groups. Vardon shook his head. “This doesn’t bode well. I recognize an attack when I see it. I fear we’re about to find out what they’re up to.” His shouted warning was relayed around the wall.
A runner arrived. “Master Kagen, Mistress Genevieve demands your presence.”
His eyebrows rose. “Demands? In that case, I’d best see what she wants. Defend us well Vardon, while I devise a mitigation strategy. If these things clear our walls, I plan to do all I can to protect these children.”
The Sally
Inquisitor Kolton had been wrong, Gresham mused. They did have need for horses inside the garrison. In fact, they had far too few of them. Bedecked in light armor, he sat astride a warhorse. Quinn was beside him. They were part of a makeshift cavalry comprised of church troopers, garrison soldiers and townsmen. Limited by available mounts, they numbered fewer than forty. Positive the horde was preparing an attack, Marshal Booker had decided to strike first.
The horses were gathered just behind the gatehouse. Gresham looked atop the nearest wall, to where his friends stood watching. With no Clerics near them, they planned to form a circle and aid the riders by whatever means possible.
Chains jangled as the gate began to lift. His gut twisted. Although Gresham had faced wharf pirates and Crone minions, this was his first formal combat. The man beside him looked pale, his eyes haunted. Others were praying. Wild-eyed horses pranced about, spooked by the scent of Hunter’s prey, their riders struggling to control them. The stench of horse stool and human vomit permeated the air. Going into battle held none of the glamour of Gresham’s boyhood fantasies. He’d trained all his adult life for this moment, but that didn’t make it any less horrifying. The gate clanked against its stopper. Out he rode, heart thudding.
Corporal Fisk rode point. Zakarah had organized the prey into small squadrons. Fisk’s wedge charged the nearest one. The large warhorses bowled over the first prey, and trailing swordsmen cut them down. Those who ran were slain from behind. None escaped. The same was true of the next group they attacked; and the next. Despite being outnumbered, the cavalry was winning the day.
Gresham made a point to keep one eye on Zakarah. A prudent move, for the demon was casting. A lethargy overcame him, akin to what he’d felt when the Crone assailed them in her Haunt. His horse slowed, going from a gallop to a trot, and finally to a complete halt.
Apparently fearing the war horses more than soldiers’ blades, the prey stopped running. At first, they kept their distance, but spurred by the cries of more distant beasts, they turned and charged the immobilized horsemen.
A stationary cavalryman was too easy a target for the tooth and claw of the prey. Knowing he was the only one equipped to disrupt Zakarah’s spell, Gresham began his own incantation. A phantasmal hand appeared just above the demon’s head, but without the aid of a circle, Gresham wasn’t skilled enough to control it. Try as he may, all he managed was to force Zakarah to keep his eye on it—until he felt the familiar surge of ceangailte. Somehow the circle had reached him—giving him total control of his phantasm. His hand lunged at Zakarah. Although he missed, it disrupted Zakarah’s concentration, forcing him to drop his spell. The horses were moving again.
He was so focused on his spell, he failed to see a fast-closing prey. “Gods man! Defend yourself!” Quinn screamed from the mount beside him.
His warhorse spun about, trying to avoid the attack. It shrieked as the beast’s claws raked the poor animal’s flank, as did Gresham when the prey’s jaws clamped down on his exposed leg. Searing pain wracked his thigh as the creatures teeth found flesh. His mount bucked, tossing the beast over the horse’s rump. It landed behind him. He spun around, weapon extended, only to find blooded steel protruding from its mouth.
“It’s about time Smithy,” Quinn yelled, plucking his weapon from the back of the monster’s head before galloping away.
Although the horses could now move, so could Zakarah. Another spell was imminent. The corporal must have concluded as much. “Fall back!”
He led them in a wide swath, racing through the ranks of the prey, taking out two more squads before making a mad dash for the gatehouse. Heads down, the cavalrymen ducked under the lowering portcullis, into the safety of the city’s walls. Archers made quick work of their pursuers as the gate clanked shut behind them.
“Form up and count off!” the corporal ordered.
All men were accounted for, but he and two others would need healers, as did five horses.
Gresham checked his thigh. Although it hurt like all hells, his wound didn’t appear too serious. Quinn reined up beside him. “How bad is it?”
“It’s only a puncture,” he said, “thanks to you.”
Quinn shook his head. “I’d never have guessed you’d be the type to freeze up in a battle, Smithy. You disappoint me. Do that next time and I might not be there to save your sorry hide. Now get that wound attended to.” Hissing, he spun his horse about and trotted off.
“Nice chatting with you, Quinn,” Gresham mumbled, turning toward the hospital area. “Did I mention I was busy saving your hide?”
Although their skirmish had done little to turn the tide of events, any victory would lift the defenders’ spirits. After getting his leg tended to, Gresham searched the bulwarks for his friends—their circle had saved him, and he needed to thank them. Handing his mount to a stable boy, he sought them out.
Jarek stood in the Marshal’s office. Kolton and Corporal Fisk were beside him, as was a blue-clad Cleric. The Marshal looked ill at ease. “Our sally into their ranks apparently took some heart out of them, for they’ve offered no threat since.”
He paused, composing himself. “Inquisitor Kolton asked that I convene this meeting to discuss events.” He gave Jarek an odd look before turning to Fisk. “Corporal, we’ll start with you. What happened out there? All was going well when you suddenly stopped your charge.”
“I didn’t stop it, Si
r; our animals simply quit on us, all at the same time. I could barely move my arms.”
The corporal’s account drew a wry smile from the Inquisitor. “That’s because that heathen wizard unleashed a trick from up his ugly sleeve, but one of our men foiled it.”
The Marshal nodded. “An interesting assertion, Your Grace; would you care to embellish?”
“Did you not see the giant hand?” the Inquisitor asked, matter-of-factly. The remark had Jarek’s attention. What was Rance up to?
The Marshal stared at the churchman. “Hand?”
“It appeared out of nowhere, disrupting the heathen’s spell. Someone used the Gift to foil the wizard’s treachery.” He glanced over at Jarek. “And, although this action originated on the battlefield, it was abetted by others.” He turned to the Chevalier beside him. “Tell them what you saw.”
The man tipped his head. “Sir, during the battle, one of the riders failed to draw his sword during the entire period the horses were stilled. His demeanor was similar to that of our Clerics when they cast spells. There’s no doubt in my mind it was this man who initiated that hand.”
Damn! They knew about Gresham, and perhaps even the circle.
The Marshal spread his arms. “So… who is this heroic Cleric?”
Kolton shook his head. “Not a Cleric—a soldier. His name is Gresham, the very one who led our troops back inside your fortress. He clearly engaged in sorcery.” He looked at Jarek. “Upon his return, he immediately sought out Magus Verity and his party. Trust that we’ll keep our eyes on this Gresham fellow.”
The Marshal’s glance flitted briefly Jarek’s way before returning to the Inquisitor. “Your Grace, wouldn’t it be more appropriate to thank the man rather than chastise him? After all, he likely saved both your troops and mine.”
Kolton shrugged. “Perhaps; but it’s my duty to assure His Gift is not abused, no matter how high-minded one might think the cause. As far as I’m concerned, Magus Verity’s entire group is suspect.” He glared at Jarek. “Grave circumstance will not deter us from doing our ordained duty.”
Haven
Kagen found Mistress Genevieve waiting for him by the door. “What is it?” he asked.
She frowned. “We have visitors.”
“Visitors? That’s impossible, the gate is down and bolted.”
“So I would have believed. Come see for yourself,” she said, starting down a corridor. She led him to the refectory where Lady Rayna and a young lad sat waiting, soaking wet and covered in mud.
The boy jumped to his feet as they entered the room. “Hey mister, you be surrounded by monsters. They be everywhere outside.”
As he placed a hand on the lad’s shoulder, he acknowledged Rayna with a nod. “Thank you for that warning, young man. And who are you?”
“Sully, Sir. I be Hagley’s good luck friend. I make his magic work.”
An odd boast. It did explain why the boy looked familiar, however. He’d seen him riding Hagley’s wagon. Kagen shifted his attention to Rayna, who looked understandably distraught. “Lady, as pleased as I am to see you again, I must confess, your appearance here dismays me. How in the gods’ names did you get inside our university?”
Their story was long and fascinating. The good news was, through it, he learned Hagley and Gresham were with Magus Verity, alleviating his fears they’d met some ill fate in Portsmouth. Conversely, the Magus had failed to rescue Lavan, and had undertaken what sounded like a foolish venture to still try to recover him, aided only by Goodricke and two untrained acolytes.
Most alarming, however, was that these two had breached the university’s defenses. If they could, so might those beasts. “Show me how you got inside.”
Mind Speak
Sully led them down the corridor that led to Hagley’s secret door. “It’s here,” he said, kneeling by the wall. He pushed aside the doorway’s cinder block. “There be a stairway behind this hole what leads to lots of tunnels. One goes to Hagley’s practice place. That’s where we got in.”
Genevieve stood watching, arms across her chest. “Show us.”
Sully was about to climb through the opening when he sat upright. “Hagley?” Everyone stared at him. “Yes. I be hearing you. Where be you?”
Kagen knelt beside him. “What’s happening?”
The boy seemed not to have heard him. “Yes, I hear you. Can you be hearing me?”
Kagen frowned. “Do you hear anything, Genevieve?”
“No,” she said, her eyes glued to the boy.
Sully looked up at Kagen. “Don’t you be hearing him?”
Genevieve frowned. “No. Tell us.”
“Hagley be asking if I be hearing him. He keeps asking it over and over.” Covering his ears, he gave them an odd look. “He ain’t using real words though—he be speaking inside my head.”
Jarek stared at him. “Any response Hagley?”
“No Sir. Well, maybe.” How could he explain it? “I received no answer, but I felt… as if I were… connected, kind of like what I felt with Hunter.”
Jarek scratched his chin. “Perhaps Kagen heard you but doesn’t know how to respond.” He fell silent, deep in thought. “Let’s assume they hear us but can’t answer. Try it again, only this time, let Kagen know what Zakarah’s after.”
Kagen gazed into Sully’s eyes, half expecting to find them somehow altered, but he saw nothing but a perplexed youngster staring back at him. “You say you’re Hagley’s good luck person?” When Sully nodded, he turned to Genevieve. “Could it be that he and Hagley share some bond?” He looked back at the boy. “Do you still hear him?”
“No Sir, he ain’t doing it no more.”
Genevieve rubbed her chin. “We need to understand what’s happening. I think we should test him,” she urged.
Kagen agreed. “Sully, are you willing to let us see if you have magic inside you?”
Sully’s eyes went wide. “Sure!”
With their intruders in tow, Kagen led them to the testing room. He took the boy’s hand. “I want you to touch this jewel. If you have magic in you, you’ll see lots of colored lights.”
He placed Sully’s hand on the prism. Instead of the anticipated myriad of colors, the room shone totally blue. “Does it being only blue mean I don’t be having magic?”
Kagen placed a hand on Sully’s shoulder. “No, it means yours is so special that we don’t even understand it.” His comment evoked a grin.
He looked over at Genevieve. “I’ve never seen this happen, have you?” he asked, giving Genevieve a curious stare.
“No, it’s most unusual,” she answered, looking equally perplexed. “Perhaps the single color suggests a limited gift?”
“An interesting speculation,” Kagen agreed, scratching his chin. “I wonder…” he looked at Rayna, “could the boy’s gift rely on another, perhaps a conduit? Lady Rayna,” he said, waving her over, “would you mind if we test you, too?”
She stepped up, looking wary. “What is it you want me to do?”
“Exactly what Sully did.”
She placed her hand on the prism but jerked it back as a full spectrum of light filled the room. “As I suspected. You, my dear, are gifted.”
He was toying with his beard, trying to fathom their situation, when Sully gasped. “Hagley be talking in my head again.”
“Is he saying the same thing?”
Sully shook his head. “No, he be naming the one who brought the beasties, saying he’s here to steal your wrecks.”
“Wrecks? Do you mean relics?”
Sully nodded. “Maybe that’s what he be saying.”
“Did he say who brought the beasties?”
“Zakra, or something like that.”
“Zakarah?”
Sully’s head bobbed. “Yeah, that be it.”
Kagen turned to Genevieve. “Gods! That’s that sorcerer who spirited away the headmaster.” He squeezed Sully’s shoulder. “Can you answer him?”
Sully shook his head. “I only be having my special kind of magic that hears.”
“Try it anyway.”
Sully held his hands over his ears. “Hagley? This be Sully; here at your magic school. Do you hear me?” He paused a bit, before looking up. “Hagley just keeps saying that same thing, over and over like before.”
“Try talking to him again, but don’t say your words aloud, speak them inside your head like Hagley’s doing.”
Sully looked stricken. “I don’t know how.”
“I guess we’ll have to help you then,” Kagen said, his gaze drifting to Rayna. “My dear, would you be kind enough to place your hands atop Sully’s? If you’re truly his conduit, he’ll need your help.” She laid her hand on Sully’s. “Now try again, Sully, in whatever manner you feel is best.”
“Hagley, I be hearing you. I be here at your magic school with Rayna. I told Master Kagen what you said about the bad man bein’ after the wrecked stuff.”
Hagley was jubilant, shouting. “Sully just answered me! He’s at the university with Rayna.”
Kagen left Rayna and Sully in Genevieve’s care. When Sully had shown them Hagley’s secret entrance, he’d spotted several other offshoot tunnels. He wasn’t sure whether to be elated or distraught. On one hand, each tunnel represented a potential means to gain access to the school, but each was also a potential means of escaping the school.
There seemed no end to the tunnels. He spent the morning searching for other outlets but found none. The day was getting on and he was feeling weary. While sitting, resting, a rat poked its head from some debris stacked beside him. Its escape hole looked too large to be rodent made. Kneeling, he peeled away the rocks, enlarging the hole. Behind it was another passage.
Strengthening his light globe, he widened the opening and crawled inside. Judging from the amount of dust and cobwebs, it hadn’t been used in decades. Realizing it had sufficient space to stand in, he walked—and walked and walked. The tunnel seemed endless. Despite his weariness he explored on, determined to discover where it led. He gave up only after he’d gone far enough to realize that, regardless of where it led, it was a means to escape the school unseen. He had his mitigation plan.
