Trial and Glory (23 page)

As expected, the Kifzo said nothing. The focused silence sent a chill up his spine.

Kifzo braced themselves as the enemy swarmed up the ramp to the battlements of the middle wall.

From the first clash, they did not retreat an inch, denying even the smallest of footholds. Thousands of the enemy flowed at them, yet the Kifzo remained as solid as the stone they stood on, methodical in how they issued death.

Crusher grunted. “Alright, I’m impressed.”

* * *

“Wow, I’m glad those guys are on our side now,” said Janik.

Drake heard the wonder in his friend’s voice. “Yeah, me too.” He shivered at the disciplined way the Kifzo slaughtered the attackers. “Alright, if you’re done gawking, I could use your help finding the other mages. We’re not going to earn our keep just standing around.”

“Aren’t we waiting for Krytien to target them?”

“He’s got more important things to worry about now.”

A thunderclap boomed, shaking Drake’s insides. Lightning spiraled down from the sky, striking the rim of the outer wall’s gatehouse. A man in dark red robes appeared where moments before there had been no one.

“He teleported in,” said Janik, voice a whisper.

“So, that’s him?”

“Who else would it be?”

Drake clicked his tongue. “He sure knows how to make an entrance.”

“I’ll say.”

Drake looked to the rest of his crew, realizing that like everyone else along the battlements not engaged in actual fighting, they stared dumbly at the High Mage.

He’s smart. Trying to distract us.

“Snap out of it,” he barked, trying to find some grit to his voice. “Remember your stations. You and you,” he pointed, “work the ballista, take out any enemy mages not Nareash. The rest of you keep working the mangonels.” Drake grabbed Janik. Both watched Nareash extend an arm toward Krytien, singling the Hell Patrol’s mage out. “Let’s go. We need to get ready for when we get the signal.”

* * *

Nareash breathed slowly through clenched teeth as he calmed the nausea in his stomach. Normally, he would never have tried to teleport before a battle, but the distance was short, and along with the other theatrics he wove into his appearance he felt the touch had been necessary. He wanted Krytien to know fear.

He extended a hand toward his opponent, gauging how Krytien would react to the gesture. The mage had isolated himself from the rest of the army by standing on a stack of barrels. Nareash could tell by the mage’s posture that his theatrics had the affect he intended.

The more Nareash thought about his delay in entering the battle of the High Pass, the more he fumed.

Time and countless resources wasted because I thought he had the scepter.

He began to pull in power.

One Above, I’m going to enjoy this.

* * *

Despite the defensive shield Krytien had erected around himself, the heat from Nareash’s assault took his breath away. He dropped to his knees, bending under the force of the sorcery.

Flames licked at his robes. Puffs of smoke drifted up to his face. The faint smell of burning hair reached his nostrils.

He’s cooking me alive.

Under such an assault, he could not chance a counter attack and still maintain his shields. He remembered Wiqua’s lessons from the early morning hours and slowly canted a spell. The blisters on his skin began to heal.

The fire and heat intensified, blasting the world from view and consuming Krytien in raging flames.

* * *

The trail of flames exiting Nareash’s hands dissipated as did the ball of fire around Krytien. He blinked when he saw the mage rise from his knees. Though his gray robes smoldered, full of gaping holes, he had survived.

Impressive.

Nareash raised his left hand. He called down lightning while he used his right hand to work sorcery in such a way it allowed him to lift small chunks of debris on the outer wall. He flung light and stone at Krytien. Both struck the mage, but still the man did not fall.

So, his defense is better than I thought. But he hasn’t shown me anything substantial on offense yet.

Krytien’s hands shot out. Four massive boulders, each the size of ten men, rose from behind the middle wall. They wobbled in the air.

Nareash grinned at the obvious feint.

If he had that little control over them, he wouldn’t have been able to lift four of that size to begin with.

Krytien hurled the rocks toward Nareash. The High Mage opened his hands, then squeezed them closed. The stones erupted into tiny pebbles, falling like rain over the killing ground.

Four. More than what most are capable of. But boulders are for amateurs.
He smiled.
Throwing a body through the air. That takes real skill. Well, at least while they’re still alive.

* * *

Brown juice dribbled from Raker’s open mouth. A dozen bodies, consisting of Kifzo and Cadonian regulars hung in the air. Krytien had managed to catch them before they slammed into the side of the fortress’ great keep.

His friend strained visibly.

Raker spat. “Senald, signal Drake. It’s time.”

“But Krytien hasn’t given us the signal yet.”

“I’d reckon he’s a bit busy, don’t you? It’s obvious he’s getting his rear handed to him, and I’m not going to wait until it’s too late before we do something.”

“Alright.”

Senald raised a flag to signal Drake while Raker checked the equipment. He and Drake had designed a ballista that released six consecutive missiles, one after the other with only one pull of the switch. Lufflin and Janik had worked sorcery into the missiles as Krytien had instructed to ensure they’d have a better chance of penetrating whatever defense Nareash managed.

Senald wheeled. “Drake’s ready.”

“Good. Count it off.”

Raker stood by the release mechanism, listening to the cadence of Senald’s voice.

“. . . three . . . two . . . one . . . Loose!”

* * *

Twelve ballista missiles raced toward him.

Nareash had known the engineers would attack him eventually, just as they had the lesser mages. He just didn’t know when.

At least they respect me enough to use more than one.

Though Krytien pushed against his efforts to crush the soldiers against the keep’s wall, Nareash had enough skill to maintain pressure on his opponent while also pulling one hand away to deflect the speeding missiles.

They aren’t responding
.

Someone had infused the projectiles with sorcery. Nareash panicked, dropping the men near the keep, and performed the first spell that came to mind.

* * *

Krytien fought against the sudden release of tension once Nareash had forsaken control of the twelve soldiers. He had never tried to manipulate so many objects before, let alone living objects, yet somehow he managed to lower each soldier safely to the fortress’s stone walls.

Thank the One Above.

He looked back at the gatehouse, wondering what had caused Nareash to relinquish his control over the soldiers.

The High Mage had disappeared.

A second round of ballista took to the air toward a mark some hundred feet away from where the High Mage had stood.

From his new position, Nareash waved a hand. The projectiles erupted into splinters. A moment later, a bright, orange ball of flame raced toward the engineers.

Krytien reacted, but a moment too late.

Thankfully, the sorcery missed its intended target, striking the side of the stone tower instead of the engineers cowering behind the battlements.

There is no way he should have missed.

The High Mage wavered on his feet as a drunkard might.

Of course! He teleported from the tower and he’s still feeling the effects.

Krytien suppressed a grin, chest puffing out as an idea struck him.

* * *

Nareash angrily waved his hands before him, sensing the next set of missiles. After surviving the engineer’s first round, Nareash used the time between it and the second volley to figure out how to best them. However, the effort took great focus, a matter made more difficult by his swimming vision and rolling stomach.

I hate teleportation.

With eyes closed to avoid the small bits of wood, the shafts exploded again at his command. He opened his eyes when the fragments of wood turned into clumps of thick flesh striking him in the face and torso, then piling at his feet.

Nareash swore.

Krytien had begun to launch dead bodies at him. The sight of mangled corpses, dripping viscera with limbs dangling in the air when thrown, sparked an anger in Nareash he could not control. He disregarded the lingering nausea, steeled himself, and eliminated each of the lifeless forms flying at him.

He turned a furious eye toward the engineers.

Enough of their distractions.

He lifted both sets of equipment high off the towers, and grinned.

* * *

Krytien cursed.

He’s recovered already.

Siege equipment rose in the air fifty feet above the battlements.

The masses of wood, rope, and metal dropped. Engineers dove out of the way, some jumping over the towers’ sides. The deafening crunch from the equipment hitting stone sounded over the din of battle.

Nareash lowered his arms, turning his focus back to Krytien. Air around the High Mage shimmered.

Krytien quickly canted Wiqua’s spell for nausea. Instinctively knowing that he would not be able to stand against whatever the High Mage might unleash, he teleported.

* * *

Nareash blinked as the light from his attack faded. The sorcery had carved a path through everything in its way, killing soldiers from both sides as it reached Krytien’s position. Where the annoying old mage with tattered gray robes had stood, nothing remained.

He smiled.

And to think I had been afraid to face him. Even with the tricks he employed with the engineers, he could not defeat me.

Nareash eyed the chaos of the battle below. It seemed that Hezen had done well in keeping pressure on the Kifzo. However, it was his last attack against Krytien that had finally caused their lines to buckle.

Yet already they recover. They are eliminating the small foothold gained from the hole I left.

He started to prepare a similar spell. Though both sides still traded sorcery, none of it was worth his attention. In fact, he chuckled that no other mage had the guts to even attack him after witnessing what he had just done to Krytien.

At least he did not cower as they do.

A concussive blast slammed into his side. He fell to the stone, doing all he could not to lose control over the power he had drawn in for his next attack. His body ached, but it could have been worse.

He stood, scanning the direction from where the attack had originated.

His mouth fell open. Krytien stood at the top of the keep. The tattered remains of his worn robes blew behind him, exposing patches of pale skin visible even from Nareash’s distance.

How is that possible? He managed teleportation?

His jaw ached from clenching it.
Your luck will not last forever.

Nareash pulsed with power.

He still had a mage to kill.

* * *

Krytien reappeared on a nearby cliff, the first spot he thought of when Nareash hurled racing balls of white, hot sorcery toward him.

Flames danced along the roof of the keep. Shingles descended on the army below.

That was almost me.

An explosion of light raced toward him. He teleported again, reappearing moments later on the opposite side of the fortress. The cliff he had been on a moment before smoldered.

One Above, I can’t do this forever. I gave him all I was willing to chance around so many people and he not only survived, but twice came back at me with something stronger.

Krytien teleported and reappeared again, dodging yet another attack.

He wiped sweat from his brow on the ragged sleeve of his robes.
Well, at least there’s no denying I have teleportation down. And Wiqua’s nausea spell worked as he said it would.
The old Byzernian’s words came to him.
“What made Sacrynon great was his ability to improvise, to find the best solution to a problem, to not be afraid to try something different.”

He recalled Nareash’s earlier troubles with the aftereffects of teleportation.

One Above. Why not?

* * *

Nareash tried a different strategy, but Krytien disappeared a breath before the assault.

How can he keep doing that? Not even Amcaro mastered teleportation so well.

Cold fear washed over him.

He turned his head frantically, beginning another spell in preparation for the mage’s reappearance. He had to be faster.

Nareash blinked. One moment, he stared into a teaming mass of soldiers still frantically looking to take over the middle wall. The next, a round man of medium height with burn marks along his scalp appeared. Gray flaps of clothing swayed in the breeze.

“What the—” Nareash started. However, a fist of chubby fingers struck him in the face. His head rocked back. Instinctively, one hand went to the painful throbbing of his jaw while the other began a spell. He had time to finish neither movement for thick hands wrapped themselves around his arms.

“Hang on tight.”

Nareash found the playful tone sickening.

* * *

The lack of sorcery racing across the battlefield gave Kaz pause. He looked up, catching glimpses of two forms, winking in and out of sight. They darted from cliff to cliff on either side of the fortress.

He had no idea who was winning their battle. However, the fact that Krytien had hung on this long gave Kaz confidence the Hell Patrol mage would find a way to win.

Crusher nudged him. “They’re losing momentum,” he said pointing.

Kaz agreed. The invaders had come on strong against the Kifzo, but their nerve began to falter. Piles of their dead sloped up from the killing ground to the middle wall. Soldiers from Thurum stumbled up the hill of death, forsaking the use of ladders. The Kifzo repelled them, adding height to the mound of corpses.