Enchanter (Book 7) (72 page)

She took three quick steps and launched herself at me.  I didn’t have the benefit of warmagic, but I still had experience and desperation on my side.  As she leapt over the body of knight I’d stepped on, I took the opportunity to tap her left knee – not hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to scuttle her landing.  That didn’t stop me from catching a nasty slice on my left forearm as she came down, but I saw my next shot and I took it.  I slammed her back by thrusting the tip of my staff into her left shoulder as she tripped . . . and activated the utterly
non
-magical eight-inch spring-loaded steel blade concealed within.

I wish it had been her heart, but I was in a hurry.  Her eyes opened wide in pain from behind her veil and she emitted a brief scream at the unexpected puncture.  I had just a moment to stare down at her covered face.

“Surprise!” I smiled, and yanked the blade free, producing another painful moan from the woman.  I think I may have stabbed the knight under her in the kidney, too – she had small shoulders.  But there were more knights coming.  It was time to retreat.  I snatched up my fractured Witchsphere and threw myself into the stairwell.  I slammed the thick narrow door, dropping the sash down resolutely behind me.  They started pounding on the door immediately, and I heard Lady Mask calling for a battering ram.

I hurried up the stairs and almost got my head taken off by Lorcus’ blade.

“Oh, it’s you, Min,” he said, lowering the sword he’d held at my throat and helping me through the trap door.  “Thought you were dead.”

I showed him the bloodied head of my emergency spear.  “I was delayed.  I stuck Mask, but not permanently.  Got three more.  What’s the plan?”

“We were waiting for our fearless baron to come upstairs and reveal it to us,” Lanse said, frowning.  “None of us can raise as much as a spark.”

“Mask cast an Annulment spell,” I reported.  “And something else that affected mind-to-mind communication.  That’s pretty advanced work for a back-country warmage,” I pointed out.

“It’s not gurvani magic, or Imperial magic,” Taren reported. 

“How can you tell?” Lorcus asked, curiously.

“I went to school to become a Thaumaturge,” Taren reminded him.  “I picked up a few things.”

“Whatever it is, she can’t keep it going long on her own – I hope.  Most likely it’s a spellfield, so if we can get beyond it, we’ll have our powers back again.”

“What about Dara and your young one?” Lanse asked, concerned.

“I think she got away – I hope she did.  With Ruderal.  But I don’t know,” I confessed.  I hoped Dara was taking care of him.  She was very capable, I reminded myself.  But I couldn’t worry about them, right now, because there was nothing I could do about it.  “Is there another way out?  A secret passage?”

“Only out to the fighting deck and watchtower, Excellency,” supplied Lawbrother Irthine, his voice wavering.  “How many persist in the attack?”

“Seven from twenty leaves a lot,” Lanse said, flatly.  “And there are seventy more knights outside of the gate, below.”

“Mask undoubtedly has confederates, too,” I suggested.  There was a loud thump on the door, downstairs, that could be heard even from the heavy iron trapdoor that protected us.  “Did I fail to mention they were going for a battering ram?”

“I have gathered all of your deeds and papers of authenticity, Lord Lorcus,” Brother Irthine said, tugging at a thick leather satchel around his shoulders.  “And I took the liberty of concealing your treasury in the guarderobe – it’s unlikely that they will make a thorough search of it, there,” he said.  “Should we survive, we can retrieve it later.  They have no legal claim on it.  Sir Cullien violated the laws of Luin and Duin by attacking you under flag of truce,” he said, indignantly.  “I would be happy to testify to that myself!”

“Let’s hope you get the opportunity,” Lanse grunted.  “Min, who can we send to for help?  And how?”

The door below gave way far more quickly than I had hoped.  In moments there was banging on the trap door.

“Let’s prepare to move out to the fighting deck,” I proposed.  “We can choke them here and slow them down a good while, as they’re trying to get through that door.  Without magic, it’s not going to be easy.”

“So do we just find some dice and wait for them to go off to supper?” Lorcus asked.

“It’s only a matter of time before they get through the door,” Taren observed.  “But their Annulment spell can’t last forever, either.  Hopefully it will fail before that door does.”

The banging intensified, as more men joined the assault on the door.

“Let’s pray it is a weak spell,” the monk said, simply.  “And a stout door.”

We paced back and forth, trying to think of a way out of our predicament.  We couldn’t even climb down the outside of the keep to the bailey.  There were more knights down there waiting for us.  A couple of crossbow bolts told us their disposition.

Then the banging on the door stopped.  Lorcus looked up.  “Supper time already?”

A moment later there was an explosion, and black and gray smoke filled the room.  The trap door had been blown clear, along with a goodly portion of the floor.  The smoke was acrid and potent, and we made a quick retreat.

“I thought that magic wasn’t working for them, either!” Brother Irthine demanded, angrily.

“Alchemical charge,” Taren coughed. “The spell goes into their making.  Not their activation.”

“I
hate
those things when I’m not using them!” Lorcus said, coughing harshly and spitting.  “Ready, lads, it won’t be long now.”

“Behind us, brother,” Taren cautioned the monk as we moved out onto the fighting deck in the sunshine.  “I don’t think your tonsure is going to protect you from attack.”

“Then they will be damned for violators!” the monk said, with a mixture of moral outrage and fear. 

“I hope that brings you spiritual comfort,” Lanse said, as he raised his spear.  “If they slay you, then there will be no one to file charges, and no witness, either.  Here they come!”

It was fairly robust exercise.  The fighting deck outside of the chamber was a rectangular platform built over the entry hall, with a sufficiently strong foundation to support a catapult or other engine in a time of siege.  It was pleasantly flat, cobbled, and sprinkled with sand.  The crenellations nicely bound the fighting area and there were four of us covering that limited space.  As defensive positions went, we could have done worse.  Especially with three of us armed with pole weapons.

We settled into a defensive stance automatically.  Taren and I took the flanks, and Lanse took the center.  Anyone who got past the forward three magi would have to contend with Lorcus’ mageblade.

The first few Roloni up the stairs charged forward, filled with vainglory, as their birthright as cavalry taught them was proper.  They fell quickly to precise jabs from Lanse or Taren.  The next wave saw me in a challenge with a man of twenty with brown hair and freckles under his coif.  I swept his legs out from under him and then cut his throat with my spear.  If he was stupid enough to charge like that, he was going to pay the price.  I didn’t have the resources for mercy, today.

Before any more knights could throw themselves on our deadly fence, someone got them organized, gathering their forces in the chamber before they advanced together to challenge us. 

Lady Mask, nursing an ugly puncture high in her left shoulder, still bore a sword in her right hand.  Behind her were two large men, thuggish-looking but possessed of that particular stare that told me they were cutthroats under her command, and skilled at their business.

But it was Sir Cullien who spoke first.  He stepped forward in front of his men, helmet off and coif thrown back

“My lords!  Surrender now, and return to me what is mine, and I will spare your lives,” he promised.  “You have my word!”

“We’re less trusting of the man who broke sacred truce,” Lanse pointed out. 

“And besides, we’re just warming up,” added Lorcus, from behind him.  “How many good knights have you stepped over to get here?  How many warmagi?”

“We need only one!” Mask called, angrily. 

“Then get in line and try your luck,” Lanse bellowed, planting the butt of his spear defiantly on the cobbles.  “But until one of us lies fallen, we choose to fight!”

“You have no magic!  You cannot hope to prevail!” called Sir Cullien. 

“We need none, to slay your clumsy churls!” Lorcus taunted.  “Really, if I’d know knights were this easy to kill, I would have taken up the sport years ago!”

That enraged Sir Cullien.  “This is your last chance, before I summon arbalests!”

“Are you so unmanned by defeat that you would betray your honor?” asked Taren, hoisting his glaive.  “I thought the chivalry preferred to settle their disputes by steel!”  I caught the glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye.  It was gone when I glanced again. 

I picked out which knight I would attack first, when the inevitable bloodbath began.  We were stalling, but that Annulment spell didn’t seem to be weakening one bit.  I was willing to wager that Mask had it on her person.

“You dare to challenge me to single combat?  An interloper in my own hall?”

“My hall, you mean?” Lorcus asked, angrily.  “The one you betrayed under truce?”

“It is my castle, you ignorant usurper!” Sir Cullien screamed.  He seemed less possessed of his reason than before – that had to be the psychomancy.  Mask stepped forward, her thugs at the ready.

“You can call the arbalests or not – I don’t care.  But first the Spellmonger is going to deliver his staff to me, after which I shall take his head.”

“Are you sure?” Lorcus quipped.  “That’s hardly his best feature.”

“Silence!” Mask spat at the Remeran.  “For days I’ve listened to your jokes and buffoonery – I swear it will be almost as satisfying to take your head, Lorcus! But only after I have cut out your tongue!”

“Now that is my best feature,” Lorcus admitted.  “Good taste, my lady. “  He saluted with his mageblade.  “Shall we dance first?”

Mask’s eyes narrowed with rage and calculation, and with a shrug of her shoulder she raised her sword and advanced toward the Magelord.  Lorcus laughed with satisfaction and began to approach her . . . until he dove out of the way at the last moment.  Confused, I tried to see if she’d flung something at him, but then Sir Cullien’s hip sprung three feet of savagely barbed steel from out of nowhere.  Then a moment later, with only the briefest flutter of wings and shadow, Lady Mask was gone.  Swept off the top of the keep by Faithful’s gargantuan talons.  We all watched breathlessly as the massive hawk beat its wings over the town, and then over the countryside, and we watched the tiny body of Mask plummet from the sky.

It only took a moment for the effects of the Annulment spell to wear off.  Taren’s glaive began sparking and Lanse’s spear glowed with an eldritch light visible even in the afternoon sun.  I cautiously waved my hand and summoned Twilight.  Green fire erupted across the blade at my command.

Lorcus’ own mageblade was singing.  I don’t know how or why he did that, but it demonstrated its magical nature nicely.  He stood in front of the knights who were watching their lord struggle with his mortality, and he demonstrated that he was, indeed, the Magelord of Rolone.

“Put down your weapons this instant and swear an oath of parole before Lawbrother Irthine, or there will be
no
ransom, there will be
no
imprisonment, there will be
no
appeals for judgement.  You gentlemen broke sacred law.  Fall to your knees and swear now, or every single one of you will
die
.”

I had no doubt of his commitment.  Either did most of the knights.  In the light of their dead lord and their resurgent foe, they laid down their arms. 

I tried to reach out to Dara, mind-to-mind, through the Witchsphere, and got a blinding headache for my trouble.  I examined my globe of irionite carefully.  There was a large, jagged crack that ran through most of the sphere.  It was still magical, I could tell, but the delicate Alka Alon enchantments were damaged with the matrix of the ironite.  My heart fell. 

“Could one of you contact Dara and have her return here?” I asked Lanse, as Taren oversaw the oaths of the prisoners. 

“Sure.  Why?”

I wordlessly held out the sphere. 

“Oh, Min,” he said, shaking his head, sadly.  “This is a problem.”

“I know.  I can’t even use mind-to-mind anymore.  I can’t even think about trying to use the Waypoints.”

“This is a problem,” he repeated.  “You’re still powerless—”

“Not powerless,” I sighed, pointing to the head of Blizzard, where a small witchstone glowed.  “But not at my best.  I need to get back to Sevendor, fast,” I decided.  “How far is it by horse?”

“Four, five days,” Taren supplied.

“Damn!  That’s too long!”

“Minalan, one thing at a time,” Lorcus reminded me.  “I was just attacked, remember?  We need to discuss this proposal of yours to take your colors.”

“And we need to figure out what to do about this betrayal, politically,” agreed Taren.  “I’m no baron, but this kind of select attack under truce has to be answered.”