by Ron Root
By the time he made it back to his starting point, he was spent. It was all he could do to muster the strength to make it to the refectory where Genevieve and the others were huddled. “Everyone listen!” he extolled after catching his breath. “You’re to follow me. We’re leaving.”
Chaos erupted, but the Mistress quickly restored order. Kagen led them to Sully’s hidden doorway and pushed aside the cinder block. “Anyone capable of casting light please do so now.” Light flooded the corridor. “Excellent. Now, everyone through this hole.”
He led them down the stairway and into the tunnels. Pain wracked his chest, every breath seeming more difficult than the last. It seemed to take forever, but they finally reached his newly discovered tunnel. He paused, gathering enough breath to speak. His pains were worsening. “Who among you is fourteen?” Six students raised their hands. He nodded. “Remain with me a bit, the rest of you crawl through this hole. Quickly now, we haven’t time to waste.”
He pulled Genevieve aside as the children streamed through the opening. “This tunnel can take you out of here, exactly where, I’m not sure, but anywhere is safer that the university right now. Lead them as far as the tunnel allows. I’ll get Vardon and the others and follow.”
Genevieve nodded. “All right students, you heard Master Kagen, let’s go. Let the youngest go first.”
Kagen waited until all were out of sight. “The rest of you with me. We’re going to the relic vault. Grab all you can carry. We’ll take as many of them with us as we can.”
They hurried to the relic room. Kagen lagging behind them, gasping for breath, struggling to keep up. One arm had gone numb. Don’t die now old man, you’re needed.
He dispelled the threshold and stepped inside, directing each student what to take. Hundreds of years of knowledge and they could only rescue a small portion. Worse, neither he nor Lavan knew the capabilities of most of the relics. He’d just have to guess at what best to take or leave. It was horribly frustrating, since anything left behind might be used by Zakarah.
Soon all had their arms full. “Good. Take them to the tunnel join the others. I’m going to find Master Vardon.”
The worried youngsters hustled down the corridor. After stuffing a few smaller items into his robe, Kagen waved his hands over the doorway, mumbling an incantation. Door and wall merged, becoming indistinguishable. He headed for the bailey to find Vardon.
He stopped by the outer door, catching his breath. Listening, he heard what sounded like claps of lightening, the kind one encountered only in the worst of storms. Had a siege begun? Was the school now under attack? If so, it sounded as if Vardon was making the brutes pay dearly. He dared to feel hopeful.
That hope vanished when he opened the door. Beasts were leaping down from the walls, pouring into the bailey. Worse, several were at the main gate, cranking up the portcullis. The school had fallen. He prayed Vardon and his defenders still survived.
He no sooner entered the courtyard than he spotted Vardon. He’d abandoned the walls. Eight or so defenders were with him, forming a defensive circle not twenty paces from Kagen. He hurried to join them.
Vardon spotted him. “Get below you fool! There’s nothing you can do here. Go protect the little ones.”
“They don’t need me!” he gasped. “They’re gone. I’ve found a way out of here.” Vardon’s eyes widened. “Bring your lads. The school may be lost, but we still have our lives. Hurry!”
Vardon gave him a brief, questioning look before yelling. “Follow Master Kagen!” They backed their way to the doorway, casting spells as they moved.
The gate was up. Brutes poured in unabated. “Inside! Quickly!” Vardon ordered. He pushed Kagen through the doorway. “You first, you’re the slowest.”
Vardon’s right! I’m feeblest. Gasping, he prayed to whatever gods might listen that his heart not give out before they reached the tunnel.
After bolting the door, Kagen led them to the sliding cinder block, and crumpled to his knees, pain wracking his chest. He nearly passed out. There was no way he could keep going.
He pointed. “Push aside that block. There’s a tunnel behind and below. Go down the stairs, turn left, and head straight until you reach a pile of rubble. You’ll find a small opening to one side. Get inside and seal it. I’ll stay behind and fend them off.”
Vardon slipped his arm around Kagen’s waist. “Not likely, old man.” Vardon half lifted, half carried Kagen through the opening, and set him on the steps.
“Seal the opening!” Kagen wheezed. “We dare not let them find it.”
Blue flames blasted the cinder, melding doorway and wall. “Good. Now go.”
Vardon shook his head, scooped up Kagen, draped him over his shoulder, and carried him down the steps to where the others waited. “Give me a hand.”
Some grabbed arms, others legs or shoulders. “This way!”
The jouncing ride was painful, but Kagen realized it was his only hope. “That’s it, just ahead!” he said, spotting his rubble heap.
They set him down. Vardon ordered his charges through and carried Kagen inside. Kagen peered back at the hole. “Can you do as good a job with this opening as you did with the last one?”
Vardon was puffing almost as hard as he was. “I can try.”
Kagen closed his eyes, avoiding the glare of Vardon’s cast. A sulfur-like odor permeated the air. When he opened them to look, the entrance was sealed.
Vardon knelt and embraced him. “You bought us time, you wily old bastard. You’re a marvel!”
Kagen smiled. “Then I’m not yet worthless?”
Vardon laughed. “Not as long as you can draw a breath.”
Kagen grimaced. If only Vardon knew. “I fear I’ll soon be worthless then. Death courts me.”
Vardon’s smile vanished. “You four, pick up Master Kagen. Give the man who saved our lives the aid he deserves.”
Stunned, Hagley slumped to the floor of the solar room, trying to cope with news—Marshal Booker had just informed them that the university had been overrun. Sully, Rayna, Kagen, Vardon, Mistress Genevieve, his fellow students—all dead. Bile roiled up his throat.
Gresham had taken it hardest. The moment he heard the news he muttered Rayna’s name and buried his face in hands. He hadn’t twitched a muscle since. Hagley wanted to assuage his friend, but the proper words escaped him.
Master Verity’s blind stare reminded Hagley of Rajko’s before they’d cured him. His stunned gaze drifted to Hagley. “Gone. All of them. We’re all that remains of the island’s sorcerers.”
“I’m sorry milord,” Goodricke consoled.
Caitlyn draped her arms around Gresham’s shoulders. “Should we pray for them?”
Jarek nodded. “Yes.”
They joined hands and bowed their heads.
Hagley? Hagley looked up, shocked. It was Sully. Hagley, do you be hearing me?
Hagley concentrated. Mind-speak back, you idiot! Sully, I hear you. Where are you?
In a tunnel, like the one to your practice area. Master Kagen brought the whole school here. Bunches of beasties tried to be killing us, but we got away.
“They’re safe!” he yelled, “All of them.”
Whoops and cheers greeted his proclamation.
“Where are they?” Jarek demanded. Others were asking questions too. Hagley held up his hands, begging for silence. He closed his eyes, concentrating. Where is this tunnel?
I don’t know, but Mister Vardon thinks we be under the fort.
Jarek knelt in front of him. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“Sully thinks they’re below the fort but isn’t sure where.”
Master Verity ran fingers through his hair. “Tell them to remain where they are, that we’ll find them.”
Hagley relayed the message and the search began. Despite many probes, they searched the better part of the morning without success. Jarek claimed there were simply too many living auras to discern one f
rom another. Jarek looked frustrated. “Have Sully describe his surroundings.”
Hagley closed his eyes. Sully, we’re still searching.
Hurry, folks be hungry and thirsty and scared.
We’re doing our best, but we need your help. Describe where you are.
I told you, in a tunnel. Mister Vardon says it likely be some buried road. A bunch of stones stop us from going farther.
Stay where you are, we’ll find you.
“They’re in an underground roadway, blocked by rocks.”
Gresham’s eyes lit up. “The monument! It stood in front of the fort’s original gatehouse before the keep expanded. What better place for a road to end? It’s been lying under a pile of rubble for years.”
It sounded too right to be wrong. They hurried to the fallen gate, and Jarek’s probe found them. “Very good, Gresham, they’re right below us. Have the Marshal send men with shovels.”
Gresham recognized many of those climbing out the hole, Sully was the first to appear. Others followed. His stomach twisted; so far, Rayna wasn’t among them. Gods, let her be safe.
After the students came the magi, starting with Mistress Genevieve. The last of them was Master Vardon, with a body cradled in his arms. A woman climbed out beside him, helping him lay out the body. It was Rayna!
He limped over to her. Seeing him, she jumped up and leaped into his arms. Far too soon she stepped back, glancing down at his bandaged leg, looking distraught. “Gods! You’re injured!”
“I was bitten, but the Clerics assure me I’ll be all right.” Although true, it was still painful. “What’s important is that you’re safe,” he said, pulling her to him again, hugging her tightly, savoring her touch and the smell of her hair. With Zakarah’s horde surrounding them, he wondered if it might be their last embrace.
Requital
Trumpets blared, the call to man their posts. Gresham limped to his assigned place on the wall, and, peered through the crenels at the horde beyond.
Zakarah was organizing his brutes. It was the first they’d seen of the demon since the university’s fall. Bunched in squadrons, the nearest prey gathered less than a hundred paces away. Twenty groups deep, their ranks ran all the way back to Zakarah’s command post. They began spreading in either direction; an assault was imminent—the battle was about to unfold.
Gresham’s station was to the right of the barbican, the jutting part of the wall designed to protect the gatehouse, the most vulnerable part of the city’s wall. If the prey were to breach it, this was the most likely spot. Soldiers manned the floor’s murder holes, ready to drop boulders or burning oil if the gate itself was surpassed.
To his right, soldiers manned arrow slits, with magus students dispersed in between each. Clerics manned the barbican’s other side, with the Inquisitor in command. Master Vardon commanded the magicians on this side.
As usual, Quinn was with the churchmen. Only the gate’s turret separated he and Gresham. For a king’s man, he sure spent a lot of time in the company of the Inquisitor. Quinn looked his way. The Clerics and magi weren’t the only ones keeping an eye on one another.
Men below were hoisting pots of oil all along the battlement walls. His uncle stood beside him, studying the clerics. “It seems we’re about to finally see one another’s methods. This should prove most interesting.”
“Spread out along the rampart, fifteen paces apart,” Vardon ordered, “and we’ll link.”
Forming a circle without having to touch hands was something Jarek contrived after observing Hunter. It was how the circle had reached him during his encounter with Zakarah. When Gresham asked how he figured out how to do it, his uncle explained, “Once we walked the spell to its logical conclusion, how to project it became obvious.”
Hagley was there at the time. “That’s why he’s a Royal Magus and I’ve yet to earn my robes.”
Vardon made his way along the battlements, offering encouragement. “Don’t be alarmed when you feel the magic rage through you. It may make you dizzy, but it passes quickly.” He pointed to the Clerics. “Since our Exalted Grace insists upon watching us, let’s show him something worth seeing by giving those devils our best.”
The magicians linked and Vardon triggered a spell. Storm clouds instantly formed over the prey, and wind spiraled among them like small cyclones. Lightning claps rippled within a thunderhead, raining a blackened deluge upon the alarmed beasts—smoke erupted from anything it touched. The creatures fell to the ground screaming. The mayhem continued until the spell finally ended. The violent winds eased, and the clouds wafted away, leaving behind lifeless, charred bodies. The magicians had finally dealt Zakarah a blow.
“Well done, Vardon,” Jarek complimented, looking toward the Clerics. “That should impress our pious friends.”
The words were no sooner out of the Jarek’s mouth when the prey began shrieking anew. Flames engulfed those nearest the Clerics’ wall, frying them where they stood. The Inquisitor had performed his own demonstration. Jarek nodded the Inquisitor’s way. The smiling Inquisitor nodded in return. Jarek’s eyes twinkled. “It seems we’ve a game afoot. Let’s hope Zakarah winds up the worse for it.”
The twin assaults had the beasts in disarray, racing pell-mell toward the back of their ranks. It all stopped when a flash erupted from within the demon’s shield. The beasts prostrated themselves before him, foreheads touching the ground. He stomped to the prey who had fled their forward positions and pointed an arm. Pitiful wails erupted from his targets. Their bodies vibrated as their cries transformed into woeful death throes. One by one, they ceased to move. Glaring at the fortress, Zakarah shouted a command. The prey formed into two lines, marching in opposite directions, a hundred paces beyond the walls.
Gresham turned to Vardon. “What do you suppose they’re doing?”
Vardon chewed his lip. “It’s the same maneuver they did just before they overwhelmed the university. Zakarah spread his force so wide that we had more wall to protect than we had defenders, allowing their superior numbers to break through our defenses.”
The horde now fanned to either side for as far as Gresham could see. How had this many fit on Hunter’s island? Once the lines encircled the fortress, they stopped, turned, and faced the walls.
Gresham took stock of his post. Three bowmen and two of Vardon’s acolytes shared his wall; just six men to defend a section of wall that stretched forty paces, facing more attackers than one could count.
The prey charged, closing on the wall with frightening speed. Baying like charging cattle, they thundered toward the wall. Mouths frothing, they started climbing it.
Gresham’s pulse raced, his body readying itself for battle. A shaking hand drifted to his sword. No! I’m a Battle Mage; I can inflict more damage with magic than steel. He waited until the archers fired real arrows before loosing illusionary ones of his own, some of fire, others acid. Shafts of all varieties rained down upon the charging prey. Beast after beast fell to arrow or spear, only to have another take its place.
Soldiers dumped burning oil on those first arrivals. The howls below were hideous; the stench of their burning flesh revolting. Still, on they came, apparently fearing Zakarah more than getting charred. They were reaching the wall below him in ever greater numbers. Using claw and muscle, they scaled the walls with frightening ease. One cleared the battlement.
Gresham stopped casting and drew his blade. He lunged, his blade piercing its neck. The creature’s eyes widened as blood gurgled from its mouth. The prey appeared far less fearsome while dying. Placing a boot against its chest, he withdrew his weapon. A push of his boot tumbled it off the wall.
An agonized scream drew his attention. A prey had its jaws clamped on the back of the bowman beside him’s neck. The beast snapped its head from side to side, then flung the poor man off the parapet. Another beast joined it, flanking the magician beside him. Gresham pointed his hand, aiming with his fingers. Static crackled. Illusionary arrows pierced
both beast’s chests. Focused on those two adversaries, the young magus failed to spot a third one clear the wall beneath him. Gresham evoked an Interposing Hand, blocking the creature’s attack, then transformed it into a Gripping Hand and tossed the attacker off the wall. Three more prey appeared, dooming the poor man, who toppled off the wall, screaming as he fell. At least he’d fallen inside the fort. Mayhap someone could come to his aid.
Moments later, the last of the bowmen met a similar fate, leaving just one acolyte and him to defend their stretch of wall. Then he too, disappeared beneath a swarm of snarling gray bodies as more prey gained the battlement wall. The smell of death was everywhere, and Gresham now stood alone; his wall overwhelmed. Would his death be next? Two prey, the one’s who’d just killed the acolyte, turned, facing him. Jaws open, they crawled toward him, snarling like rabid wolves, saliva dripping from their jaws.
Seeking a means of escape, he backed toward the gatehouse, lashing at an oncoming beast. His sword seemed to gain weight with each and every swing. His arms now ached as badly as his wounded leg. More fiends gained the wall. The situation was hopeless. If he didn’t get off the wall now, he never would.
He backed away from them until the brattice wall stopped his retreat. A probing foot found the stairs. He glanced down. The men manning the murder holes were no longer there and beasts were battering at the gate below him. Several prey had gained the grounds between the inner and outer curtains. The fall of Stalwart was imminent.
“It looks bad!” came a voice from behind him.
Gresham’s head snapped around. There, covered in gore, stood Quinn, rounding the turret from its other side. Blood trailed down one of his arms. Gresham raised his sword. “Not good for them, you mean. After all, they face two champion swordsmen.”
