From the Ashes (25 page)

             
He only did what was right.

             
Arbistrath smiled. He would try his hardest to emulate that man, a peasant, someone that he once wouldn’t even have spared a second look should he pass him in the streets. Perhaps the lord lacked the easy charisma and likeability of the quiet, confident man, but he was sure it would come in time. Time changed a lot of things. Healed a lot of things.

             
He turned, eyeing up the swelling horde that raced once more towards him and his men, before hefting his whining cannon in preparation.

             
Time. That was all he wished for.

***

Narlen span, whirling about, the Hruti spinning around him in a blur of motion that sent demons flying, left and right. Not for the first time the thought crossed his mind; how can I be doing this? I don’t have the skill. Don’t have the training. But he didn’t question it too hard.

             
Lest the gift leave him, mid-flow.

             
Elerik, by his side, the farmer wielding a borrowed broadsword with a grace and deftness that belied his less-than-martial bearing. Between them, one half of the Woodsman’s Four carved a path through the horde. But for every infernal creature they cut down, two more sprang up in their place.

             
They were fighting a losing battle.

             
Yet the ever present fear never seemed to gain purchase on the pair. No matter how fierce the foe, no matter how hopeless the odds, they duo stayed strong, kept fighting. Where did this boundless courage, this steely determination stem from? Had they been changed, deep in the bowels of the Pen after the visitation by the angel of light? Or, as Narlen suspected, was it the fact that they were now bound to the Woodsman himself, partaking of some of his courage and might?

             
Whatever the cause for their new strength, Narlen was grateful.

How things had changed; only weeks ago, he was a servant in the halls of Pen-Argyle; carrying burdens of wine to his gluttonous masters. Years of servitude – all he’d known since becoming strong enough to haul a load – but he’d always known he was different, always felt the burning pride in his chest, the pride of the Plains People that he’d seen all but sputter and die in his fellow slaves. So he’d taken it upon himself to leave, in the dead of night, to forge a new life in the wilds.

It had only taken two days for the Hunt to find him. Oh, how he’d lamented his bad luck as they’d carted him south to the Pen. The Games. Inevitable doom. And yet, now, he saw it for what it was; a miracle. If he’d stayed behind, remained resigned to his lot, then he’d be out there, now, with Enree, with his people, fighting a last ditched and hopeless battle against the horde of implacable Clansmen, rather than here, right next to the portal, right at the crux of the matter, where the fate of man lived or died by the courage of the few.

Part of him still yearned to be with his people, out there, on the plain. But he knew that, despite their renewed pride, they would all die, to a man. There was no saving the People of the Plains, not now. No. This is where he belonged. That angel; Stone they’d called him, his new Lord and Master, though by choice this time, had chosen him.

His past was gone, but the future remained to be won.

A brief respite amidst the press of battle. He caught his breath, shaking out his stiffening limbs, grateful for the moment’s rest. A sudden, jarring vibration through the stone beneath him and he watched in horror as huge, metal shapes clambered over the edge of the platform like infernal spiders, the stone cracking and splintering beneath the touch of their pointed legs.

A firm hand on his shoulder as he regarded the approaching Centaurs, the voice of the farmer.

“I think this battle is for those with more than sticks and swords, my friend.”

Narlen nodded.

Damn right.

They withdrew.

***

Part of Gwenna’s mind reached out behind her, feeling the desperate struggle below; the sheer number of demon spawn and gargoyles had been bad enough, but now the colossal figures of the Iron Giants and the Centaurs were atop the tower, lending their weight to the battle. The Tulador Guard could take care of those behemoths, of that she was sure, but to do so would require turning their attention away from the floods of lesser demons that threatened to overwhelm them.

             
Where was the Glaive? Where was Sinister? Why did it not defend its people?

             
She had no time to ponder such questions, for before her the captivating figure of her nemesis strode, a smile on her full lips, enjoyment and cool confidence radiating from those blue eyes. This is it. This is where it would end.

             
Regardless of the battle below, Gwenna had the power to end it all, right here. If only she could defeat this cool, calm maiden of evil that stood before her. The Seeress was all that stood between them and the Portal.

             
Defeat her.

             
Move the army through the Portal.

             
Blow it out behind them.

             
“You seem… older,” came the soft, silken voice of the enemy. “More… mature.”

             
A nod, from the red-head.

             
“Let’s just say my master has taught me a lot in a short space of time.”

             
With no further ado, the younger woman swung a hand up, a bolt of fire blasting out to engulf the Seeress. Ceceline raised her hands, a smile on her face, but her eyes widened; more power there than she was expecting. The ball of fire washed over her, leaving her raven hair steaming, but otherwise unharmed. She raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

             
“Definitely more mature…”

             
Gwenna’s own eyes widened now. She had put a lot of power into that attack; her own, considerable gifts now enhanced by the wisdom and knowledge that Wrynn had imparted within her. Yet still not enough to even faze the Seeress, empowered as she was by the nearness of her dark masters. The two women circled each other atop the pyramid, their slim bodies thrown into stark contrast by the lurid green glow of the Portal.

             
Ceceline smiled, her posture so relaxed within her gossamer dress of black, almost see-through material. Gwenna shuddered as she tried to resist the other woman’s unearthly charm.

             
“Why do we have to fight, my dear?” cooed the Seeress. “Why do you persist in this struggle? It is inevitable; this world and the next are merely the latest in a million worlds claimed by my masters. You really think the efforts of a few pathetic mortals are going to halt them, even for a moment?”

             
“Mortals?” Gwenna smiled. “We have Stone.”

             
The Seeress laughed.

             
“Stone? And where is he, eh? My King? My lover?” She glanced over at the Portal, half formed, the connection to the Earth not yet stable, and the shaman followed her gaze. “That’s right.” A cold smile. “Even now your master screams as he hurtles, lost and alone, through the gap between worlds. Forever alone, in his immortality. No companionship, no solace. Nothing but an eternity of misery in the endless void…”

             
Gwenna’s heart froze in her chest. Could the Seeress be telling the truth? Was he really in there? Lost behind the Veil? If so, then surely all was lost… Without Stone to lead them onto the Earth, without his guidance in readying another branch of mankind to repel this invasion, then what the point? Why continue the struggle?

             
The Seeress could see the shock and conflict in the younger girl’s eyes.

             
“Join me, Gwenna. No need for us to destroy each other. Be with me, be my right hand maiden. Together we shall rule the armies of our masters as we forge an empire across the stars.” She smiled as she drew closer. “Why should those with power such as ours be mere protectors of mankind? We should be rulers… Survival of the fittest…”

             
Gwenna was torn. The words of the other woman were drawing her in. Was this herself, her own treachery staying her hand when she should be fighting? Had she truly given up hope? Was she really attracted so strongly to her nemesis? Did she crave the evil, the release, the new experiences? Visions flitted across her mind’s eye of an eternity of pleasure and pain, through it all accompanied by those cool blue eyes and that slim, soft figure.

             
No. Another inner voice now, but stronger and full of experience and wisdom. No, it’s not you. It’s the connection, forged between the two of you a year ago. Your souls are linked and she knows this, taking advantage of your forced bond to distract you. You would never betray your people like that. That’s not how I raised you.

             
She nodded, smiling, and Ceceline grinned wider, believing the young shaman to have succumbed.

             
“That does sound good. Me, you.” Gwenna smiled. “So join me… abandon your masters, help us to repel them and build mankind towards a future free from their predation…”

             
Ceceline frowned, staggering backwards, eyes closed as the words hit her in her heightened state of suggestibility. Gwenna grinned; it
was
merely the connection at work. She was no traitor to mankind.

             
Ceceline shook her head, breaking free of the bewitchment before half smiling, half snarling.

             
“Clever bitch… enough with the foreplay.”

             
The Seeress raised her arms, a torrent of jagged black lightning arcing out to strike down the shaman girl. Gwenna raised her own arms in reflex, summoning forth her own weapon of silver, natural electricity to blast out and counter it. The two forked tongues met and the world exploded in light and sound as battle was joined.

***

The cannon was growing hot in his hands, but it didn’t burn as much as the fatigue in his arms and back. How much longer could they keep going like this? Another squeeze of the trigger, the weapon howling in protest as it took the raised arm off another Iron Giant. Marlyn stopped for a moment, gasping as he caught his breath.

             
They were losing.

             
“Fall back, to the stairs!”

             
He obeyed the Woodsman’s call, moving backwards along with his fellow Tulador Guards to the foot of the stairs, the more lightly armoured Foresters sprinting past, chased by the howls of the demons that followed.

             
“Quickly, quickly!” came the calls of his commanders.

             
Finally, the army was on the steps themselves, blasts of cannon fire and whistling bowshot doing their best to keep the demons at bay, but the horde still pressed forth. He heard voices to his side. Alann and Pol.

             
“Can you do this?”

             
“I… I think so.”

             
“Then do it. Do it now.”

             
“Shamans!” Pol’s bellowed order had a hint of desperation to it, as though he were about to attempt something new. “Together, as one!”

             
Marlyn turned to watch, allowing his cannon an instant to cool, noting with interest the shamans that lined up, hands joined, on either side of Pol who stood, eyes closed, head bowed, those two to his sides placing their hands on his shoulders. The youth looked forwards now, eyes opening, and Marlyn gasped; within those orbs, the power of the elements raged, an eternity of storms and wave-lashed rocks.

             
Pol raised his hands, palms forward, before smiling and whispering to the Woodsman nearby.

             
“It is done.”

             
Alann turned, nodded.

             
“Cease fire!”

             
They did, the troops confused, yet glad of a moment’s respite. The infernal horde charged forth, baying for blood, but the lead demons ran straight into an invisible wall ahead of the men, the air rippling as it withstood and repelled their charge. The men cheered and the Woodsman nodded in approval at the trembling youth who channelled the power that fuelled the barrier.

             
“Rest men; the wall won’t hold forever. When it falls, be ready; we send these creatures back to hell.”

***

This. This was battle. This was pitching oneself, heart, soul, mind and body against another. Gwenna was empowered, her own innate skills now tempered with the wisdom of centuries. But so was the Seeress, dark power flowing through every fibre of her being.