Gemworld (49 page)

The ruby said nothing, just nodded grimly.

“Alright, now here’s what we’re gonna do...”

***

Sal quickly laid out his ad hoc plans for the ruby, then sent him on his way. The details were sketchy at best—he was too pressed for time to come up with anything more refined—but his lieutenants knew well how to improvise. They’d taken to the
shol
’
tuk
mindset almost as easily as he had.

With things finally in motion, he wasted no more time. Turning his attentions inward, he wielded, wrapping himself in kinetic energy. There was a moment of disorientation—and exhilaration—when his feet left the ground, but he forced himself to remain calm. He sharpened his focus, and willed himself into the air, riding the Laws of Physics.

It was a slow process—it
definitely
wasn’t Superman—and quite taxing mentally, but it took him high above the bustling streets, high above the expansive manor houses of the northern quarter of the city. He willed himself toward the Northgate, the general direction he’d seen Keth moving only a few minutes before.

He set down on the stone arch of the Northgate, much to the distraction of the pair of recruits stationed there. He eyed them for a long moment, uncertain of their loyalties. It would be a decidedly inconvenient time to kill someone, but a worse time for surprises. Fortunately, it never came to that. The recruits nervously glanced at one another, then gave Sal that infuriating wink. He toyed briefly with the idea of killing with them anyway, but thought better of it.

He cast his violet gaze out over the lands before him, searching for any sign of Keth. Off to the north, he did find a violet-wrapped brown aura, speeding further and further away. But what it was speeding
towards
...

A fog of violet haze stretched across the plains to the north, blanketing the ground from the western coast of the island to the base of Mount Ysre. The fog was speckled with green, red, blue, and deeper violet auras, but most of those outlined in violet had no auras at all.

Sal looked out upon the full force of the Resistance. Not only was Caravan represented here, but likely Wayfarer’s Rest, and numerous other villages formed in defiance of the Highest’s rule. Mages and mundanes, men and women of every race, all united toward a common goal, against a common enemy. This was no mere rag-tag group of refugees. This was an army. He swelled with pride at the sight. They still needed his help, to be sure—if they fell here, the Cause would surely die with them—but the situation wasn’t nearly as dire as he thought.

His elation was cut short by the sound of angry murmuring, the clack of angry feet in the street below. Dozens of Rank officers and members of the local constabulary, still dressed in their Festival attire, erupted from the Northgate. Dozens. Scores. Hundreds. Sal lost count as the drunken, violent mass of humanity continued to pour out, gathering together with all the decorum of a lynch mob.

In the center of the press stood what seemed to be the senior officers, conferring with one another as their troops assembled. There were five Granite Guards with them, dressed in robes rather than the cowled leather armor that the Guards normally wear. The senior officers seemed to address the granites as subordinates, though still with a bit of caution. They
were
granites, after all. One sapphire officer in particular, however, showed no special regard for the granites. For all that they
were
granites, he seemed completely at ease bossing them around. Unlike his comrades, he was stone sober and confident, as if he knew his every word would be obeyed to the letter.
That
one’s the leader, Sal deduced. Without him, this drunken rabble will completely fall apart. He felt the finer details of his Plan B falling into place.

Glancing behind him for a moment to assure himself that his orders were being implemented, Sal lowered himself to the ground, reclaimed the emerald magic, and went to ingratiate himself upon his new best friend.

“...uncouth, untrained barbarians who wouldn’t recognize a modern battle plan if it bloodied their sodding nose!” one Mandiblean mage was saying as Sal approached. “Kredik, a simple outflanking maneuver would throw their forces into utter chaos. We should jus-”

“Perhaps it’s that way on the battlefields outside Deitrich,” the sapphire replied. “But the Highest dispatched a battle fist—five hundred soldiers of quality Earthen Rank stock—to the rebel village of Caravan. These ‘uncouth barbarians’ annihilated them.” The Mandiblean looked like he might continue to protest, but wisely decided to hold his tongue.

Even amidst the heated discussion, Sal’s approach hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Subsergeant,” the sapphire—Kredik—addressed, turning his full attention to Sal. “Something you’d like to add to this meeting of the minds?”..

“Subsergeant Sal, Fourth Garrison Regiment, commander of the Harvest security detail under Master Aten’rih,
sir
,” he replied, snapping off a smart salute. “Wanted to see if I could help, sir.”

“At ease, Subsergeant. Would you mind telling me what the commander of Harvest security is doing outside the city walls?”

“Well, I’ve got more than enough people covering the city, sir. We’ve got more recruits than we know what to do with. I figured I’d post smaller groups at various points, and still cover enough of the city that the bulk of my forces wouldn’t be missed much. Then I’d move them to where they could do the most damage. Maybe even get them a little hands-on training, sir.” He nodded generally to the north, and the rebel army.

“And what makes you think that we need an army of Unmarked?”

Sal resisted the urge to rub his naked forehead, though not easily. “Because my men are good, sir. They’re the best class Bastion camp has ever turned out. And because they’re sober.”

This drew more than a few curses from the gathering, but drew only laughter from Kredik. He silenced the crowd instantly with a minute gesture, so small that Sal almost missed it. A strong leader, indeed.

“Straight forward, practical, unfearing... I like that. Alright, Subsergeant. Your group remains in the rear for support. You’re up front with me. Watch, and learn.”

Wind whipped through Nestor’s hair, what hair wasn’t pinned down by the invisible restraints that the winged serpent had applied. The bindings were made of pure air, solidified by the sapphire-colored serpent’s magic—an exceptionally rare use of Sapphire, and exceptionally powerful besides, considering the shackle that should have defeated the magics. In all his years as Chief General, in all his dealings with the other Tiles, he still found himself amazed at how little the lower ranks of each Tile knew of what their soulgems could really do. Granted, there were some things that even he held back from his Granite Guard, but it was for the benefit of the Tile as a whole, allowing their apparent losses to mold them, solidify them into a fighting force as unbreakable as their soulgem suggested. But to realize that the other Tiles held just as much back...

His bindings ran from his mouth to just below the knee, securing him so completely that he could not even turn his neck one way or the other. Crafter be praised that they were moderately loose around his chest, else he would be unable to take a full breath.

Bound as he was, it was difficult for him to see what was going on around him. Thankfully, he was in the front talon of the serpent—
Dragon
, he told himself; there could be no other explanation, though the possibility of seeing that myth fleshed out before him sent his mind reeling—with Jaeda’s limp form, cradled gently in the beast’s other talon, on the very edge of his field of vision. She appeared well, her musculature completely relaxed, showing no signs of death-stiffening. Whatever the dragon had done to her, she was still alive and unharmed, at least as far as he could tell.

The dragon itself was quite a sight, what little of it he could actually take in. It was covered in blue-black plates that could only be scale, though they were quite unlike any scale he’d ever seen. They were technically organic, but hard almost to the point of being metallic, with flashes of sapphire patterns mixed in with the patterns of natural scale. Thick, corded muscle could be seen where the scale was thin, tightening and relaxing as the beast maneuvered. It was a monstrous creature of great physical strength—completely worthy of the ancient mythologies—matched only by the strength of its magic. It was easily a hundred paces long from snout to tail, with its wingspan twice that. Wings...

His eyes shot to his left of their own accord, taking in the view before he could stop himself. He forced his eyes shut, but in the eye of his mind he could still see the ground speeding past at a rate that made pegasi look slow. The vast bowl of the crater, at least ten leagues from lip to lip, was proving little more than a leisurely stroll for the dragon. Already, the near lip of the bowl had fallen away, at least a league distant in less than a blink. By Nestor’s estimation, they could be no more than two leagues from the base of the mountain that stood in the center—

Nestor felt a lurch as his insides lost all weight. Against his better judgment, he opened his eyes again, and immediately regretted it. The crater floor that had once seemed so distant was rushing up to meet them at a frightening pace. The dragon was angled downward and seemingly picking up speed, if that were possible. Had Nestor not been so tightly bound, the inertia would likely have bend him double, as much the rag doll as Jaeda was in the dragon’s other palm.

“I apologize,” came the dragon’s slurring rumble. “You won’t like this part much.” Before Nestor had the chance to wonder what he wouldn’t like—as if he could like any of this!—his weightlessness ended with nauseating abruptness. He crushed against his invisible bonds as the dragon leveled out, inertia still pulling him toward the earth. It took a moment, but the pulling feeling finally left him, returning him to the lurch of the dragon’s glide that suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

The crater floor rose at a slight angle as they neared the mountain. Below them, a number of man-made structures streaked by. They were laid out in a precise configuration, but what they were made of, or what their purpose had been, Nestor could not say. But it was of little consequence to him. Finally, blessedly, they were slowing.

The dragon’s mighty wings beat the air as its glide became a hover, kicking up dust devils that swirled vividly in Nestor’s magical sight. Gravel crunched underfoot as the dragon came to rest on the mountainside. But not gravel, he realized. Rubble, as from some fallen building. It was made up of strange, flowing patterns, as if—

“Did they give you any trouble?” came a voice whose source was just outside of Nestor’s periphery. Strain as he might, the granite could not get a glimpse of him.

“Not a bit,” the dragon rumbled, the hint of a snicker in its voice. “Where do you want them?”

“Here’s fine. He’s shackled, and she won’t leave without him.”

The dragon unceremoniously dumped Nestor on the ground, those unforgiving bonds of air vanishing without warning, leaving Nestor’s backside exposed to the myriad rocks and pebbles that made up the crater floor.

Nestor scrambled stiffly to his feet, anger and nausea vying for command of his features. The source of the voice was a granite, though not one that he’d ever met. He stood with confidence, relaxed, and yet ready to meet any challenge that Nestor or Jaeda might present.

Jaeda...

“What did you do to her?” he barked, whirling on the dragon.

“She’ll be fine,” the beast slurred with surprising gentleness. “I’ve already removed the sleep spell from her, and she should be awake any moment now.”

“By what right did you take us?” Nestor demanded, dividing the question evenly between the dragon and the granite that seemed to command it. “Who are you? What do you mean to do with us?”

“All in good time, Chief General Veis,” the granite said. “For the moment, just know that you are safe, and guests of mine for as long as you choose to stay. I actually would have sent you on with the others, but they’ve been gone for quite some time.”

“Others? What in the Abyss are you talking about?”

The granite looked abashed for a moment, shifting uncertainly. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you don’t—never mind. I’ll explain in due course. For now, however, you might tend to Jaeda.”

Nestor eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then turned to Jaeda. She groaned as he approached, as one awaking from a restless night. “No, I can do it...” she muttered as he helped her to her feet. “What happened? I’ve got a splitting headache—”

Her complaints cut off sharply as she opened her eyes and took in the strange granite. “
You!
What have you done?” she demanded, fully alert, her yellow-orange parody of a face twisting in outrage in Nestor’s sight. Her aura flared in earthen brilliance as she gathered mana for an attack.

“You’re both safe,” the other said, raising his hands as a show of harmlessness. “I mean no harm to either of you. I only want to help.”

Jaeda stood motionless, not attacking the granite, but not releasing her magics either. “Why should I trust you?”

“We have... mutual acquaintances, in case you’ve forgotten,” the other said with a knowing smirk.

“I take it you know each other?” Nestor said dryly.

“You could say that,” Jaeda answered, slowly letting the mana bleed from her, as if in a sigh. Her eyes never wavered from their strange host.

***

Dawn was still hours away, but the rebel army was wide awake and on alert. For the sake of stealth, Reit had ordered the transport ships to drop anchor on the eastern shore of Ysre, allowing the rebels to approach Bastion from around the mountain’s wide northern base, hiding them effectively from the city’s inhabitants.

The advancing Rank army was proof positive that they were hidden no longer, and his ships seemed a world away. Only the
Seacutter
could be reached before the Bastionite horde attacked, but the ship was barely capable of holding fifty passengers and crew, let alone the many hundreds who were gathered on the mountain’s western plain. Reit had dismissed the
Seacutter
as an option. Delana had not, though for other reasons.

“No! I will
not
run screaming like a little girl!” Reit spat vehemently. Delana’s mood went from pleading to frosty at the comment—she always did take offense to the notion that females were in any way a weaker sex—but he rolled on as if he hadn’t noticed. “I’ve already abandoned my people once at the Council’s insistence. I will
not
do it twice.”

“No one’s asking you to,” Delana hissed through her teeth. “But you have a responsibility to your people, and that leaves no room for pride. You are
el
’
Yatza
, the only man in years to openly defy the Highest. Whether you like it or not, people live and die at your command, and do it gladly! We cannot afford for you to fall into his hands again. Think of it! The whole
world
looks to you—whether in love or hate, the world looks to you. Will you show them foolishness now, on the eve of triumph?”

“It may not be foolishness,” Keth said as he entered the command tent, dispelling what meager privacy the tent afforded. “There’s granites in that army.”

“All the more reason for him to get to safety!”

“But for Reit to make the
Seacutter
ahead of that army, I’d have to take him,” he pointed out. “And where I go, those granites will follow. I’m the only other granite around for miles. I wouldn’t be too hard to track. It would only be a matter of time before they found me—and him. And even if we did manage to get him on a boat, he’d have the entire Rank navy to contend with, which is why we decided on this plain as a contingency in the first place. At least here, we can offer him the protection of the entire Resistance. I’m sorry, Delana. He’s as stuck as the rest of us.”

“Face it, love,” Reit said, almost pleading for a break in the argument, though it was clear that she was having none of it. “I
have
to stay. What? Are you going to send an escort with me? How many mages would you sacrifice? Ten? Twenty? Fifty? Contrary to popular opinion,
I
am not the Cause. I’m not even its founder. I’m just a man who didn’t want his children growing up in the same world I did.”

He turned quickly to Keth, cutting off a new round of protests from his stubborn wife. “Gather the rest of the Heads of Order and Guild. We can’t retreat with that army dogging our heels, but we can’t stay out here in the open either. We need to fortify our position.”

“Such as it is,” Keth muttered sullenly as he backed out of the tent.

Fortifying their position actually was not as difficult as it had originally sounded. Having a granite mage in camp made all sorts of things easier, once you got past the defeatist attitude.

Being at the base of the mountain, the plain was strewn with deposits of granite and metal, just below the surface. This served Keth well, since it was less taxing to find and move materials than it was to alter them or create them out of thin air.

He erected a high barricade in short order, raising it straight from the ground. Then he added to the ends, wrapping the wall completely around the rebel camp. Basic structure in place, he paused long enough to draw certain base metals from the earth for his comrades to put to use, then returned to the fortifications.

He raised long stone spikes from the base of the wall, their points jutting outward at an angle. The were large enough to keep attackers from mounting the wall en masse, yet spaced far enough apart so as to not hinder the rebels in their defense. Then he set to work on opening arrow slits and shaping bulwarks, transforming the hastily raised barrier into a fortress.

Meanwhile, other defenders were busy employing their own various talents. Rubies smelted the raw ores that Keth brought up from the earth, making steel and other alloys. Then, with the help of the sapphires, they made castings, and forged whatever was needed, from wire to tent stakes to arrowheads. A number of amethysts set to work wrapping bulk materials in kinetic energy, and lifting them from one end of the fort to the other, wherever they might be needed. The rest took up sentry positions along the battlements, keeping watch against the unwelcome auras advancing in the night.

Artisans busied themselves affixing gemstones to silver, and etching activation runes. Some of these were added to weapons, some to armor. But many were added to artifacts, hastily crafted and more practical than beautiful, to give mundane defenders more full use of the arcane.

All of this Reit supervised from the front flaps of the command tent, where he had access to any and all notions that the Heads of Order might come up with. These notions were debated—quickly, of course—and implemented as necessary. All in all, Reit had to admit he was most impressed with what his people had been able to accomplish. In just a few hours, they’d turned a rocky, flat strip of grassland into a veritable stronghold. By the time the army from Bastion reached them, it was perhaps an hour before dawn, and the rebels were ready to withstand anything that Bastion might throw at them.

Looking back over his shoulder, he peered into the tent, as he had been doing all night. But nothing was different. The packs were still there, lying on his makeshift command table amidst a scattering of hastily-drawn battle plans. In all the bustle, the scrolls had worked the pack flaps loose. A few scrolls jutted from the packs here and there, and even from across the tent, Reit could see some of the diagrams. What marvels those ancient papers might hold! He wondered, not for the first time tonight, what he might find in there to help break the death grip that the Highest had on this world.