High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (76 page)

Have them snatch up anyone who looks important and dump them on the island . . . from a couple of hundred feet in the air.  Can they manage that?

Just like hunting rabbits in the Westwood back home,
she agreed
.  Oh, I’m about ready, up here. 

Now would be a good time to deploy,
I agreed.  I could see the line of worms distinctly enough to count one of their.  I had minutes
.  Yes, go ahead and do it.  Good luck . . . and I’ll see you after the battle, Dara.

“The skyriders are going after the gurvani headquarters,” I announced.  “That will keep them out of the way, and hopefully interfere with their command structure.”  I glanced around.  Everyone had that tense anxiety on their faces that you get when you’re about to face your own violent death.  “Everyone, it’s been an honor and a pleasure,” I offered.   “When we get there, don’t just be content with killing your own siege worm and moving on.  Help your comrades with their siege worms, too.”

“Plenty to go around,” added Lorcus.

“Duin’s blessing on us all!” bellowed Sire Cei, who got a little more religious, I’d noticed, when he was going into battle.  Which reminded me of something . . .

I summoned a flame cantriip on the tip of my finger, and the tiny curl of fire danced in the cold wind. 

“If you’re listening,” I said softly into the fire, “now would be an excellent time for some divine intervention.”  I waited a moment, added a childhood prayer to the Bright One in my head, and let the flame go out.  Just in time, too.

“Trolls ahead!” Sarakeem called out from the bow.  I took a look.  Sure enough, a ragged line of the massive Hulka Alon warriors, slaves of the Dead God all, had brought their table-sized bronze shields into a crude wall to protect the battle line.  It would not stop us, I figured, but it would make things very interesting.

“Everyone ready!” I shouted, and then summoned Blizzard’s short spear point.  Twilight hung over my right shoulder.  I had wands and a dagger at my belt.  My armor was keeping me warm, for once, instead of making me sweat my ass off.  And I’d barely killed anything at all, yet. 

I smiled.  I found I was looking forward to this battle.  I’d been a commander so long that I felt a tremendous need to indulge in some cleansing violence.  And if there was ever any time for such an indulgence, it was facing such ridiculously overwhelming odds.

I just hoped the dragon didn’t get involved too early.  That might complicate things.

“Ready!” my apprentices, Lorcus, and everyone else within earshot agreed.  The line of trolls grew closer and closer . . . a hundred feet . . . fifty . . . twenty . . . ten, and close enough to smell them . . . and then Sire Cei was standing in the prow, swinging his new warhammer like Duin himself.

The meteoric iron head hit the center of the nearest troll’s shield on one edge so hard its entire body was spun around, its great arm broken and its shield bent with the force of the blow.  The dogs slowed a bit as we passed by the huge defenders, but then sped up as they saw the rest of the foes beyond.

When we got within fifty feet, the Kasari drivers untied their clever knots and let the dogs slip free, not just of the barge but of their harnesses.  With the loosing of two knots the entire team of giant dogs was suddenly free and independent . . . and it didn’t take them long to notice that.  They quickly spread out in a wide line in front of us, actively trying to get at the huge worms ahead.  Before they managed that, the Kasari replaced their reins with weapons and were as ready to fight as I was.  You cannot help but admire the Kasari adeptness at such feats.

We all held our breath as the barge slowed, but still carried enough momentum to put us into their lines.  Ours was one of the first to hit near the front of the line, close to the flank of their active assault.  I had some of the best warriors with me, and I wanted to put them where they would do the most good.

The barge plowed through the first two ranks of gurvani too slow to get out of the way, and several got pinned against the side of the siege worm whose central right leg stopped us, finally . . . much to their detriment. 

As the barge slowed, however, it got lighter.  The warmagi inside were leaping out, weapons ready, and plunging viciously into the line.

The ice was covered in goblins trying to press forward.  Most of them probably never knew we were coming, and we took advantage of that surprise.  As soon as the barge slowed enough for me to pick out a target – a particularly tall hobgoblin infantryman – I leapt from the gaudy gunwales and plunged my spear into the back of his neck from above.

I felt, rather than saw, Tyndal, Rondal, and the rest of my household leap after me.  I did hear the peal of a horn, and then a bellowing cry of “SEVENDOR!” from Sire Cei before he jumped into the fray.  There were others leaping, too, but in his dragonscale armor and wielding that deadly hammer, Sire Cei was decidedly a focal point.

Then it was just blood, magic, steel, and chaos.  All around me gurvani and hobgoblins turned to face me, as we squared off between the legs of the worms around us.  Time froze, as I activated my combat enhancements, and the gruesome work of warmagic began.

A spear through a chest.  A blast from a wand that obliterates a face.  A whirl and a slice through a gurvan’s hamstring, finishing the blow through the neck of his mate.  A kick in the face for one wee goblin who charged me with a knife, then a boot on his face while I blasted another with a suddenly-reversed spear.  A wave of a wand that sent a concussive blast through a crowd of attackers, hurling them into the tail of a worm, who is not pleased at the disruption.   The haft of my spear clubbed one infantryman across the eyes while the return swipe pinned one furry fellow’s hand to his mate’s shoulder.  A fiery blast from the head of my staff ended their suffering.

Around me Tyndal was dueling a shaman, mageblade and staff, while Rondal was guarding my back with a roundshield and wand, ducking, firing, and constantly assessing the situation.  Lorcus danced through the crowd with his blade like a jongleur, stabbing at eyes, slitting throats, and puncturing lungs with effortless ease and a maniacal grin.  Terleman hurled one goblin into others, then seeded the ice with magical blue flame to incinerate them.  Wenek used his mace like a wand and his warwand like a club as he blasted goblin, worm, and troll with equal ferocity.

Sire Cei made it his mission to combat the worm infestation.  Wherever he could, he plied his mighty hammer against the gigantic beasts.  He quickly learned that a single sharp blow to their nosehorn was often sufficient to send the monster insensible, or to kill it entirely.  I saw him peel the horn right off of one nose when he did not throw his blow just right.  The creature bellowed angrily, and responded reflexively . . . by charging into the rear of the next worm in line, causing itself a whole new world of pain. 

But we were taking casualties, too.  Several of the Kasari were down, as were a few unlucky warmagi.  The shock of our attack had been disruptive, but it hadn’t kept them from fighting back.  Sandoval’s right arm was bloody under his armor and he’d switched his sword to his left hand.  Magelord Forondal’s scalp was bloodied, and he seemed to be fighting in a daze.  Rondal had a scratch to his head, and Terleman took a nasty blow to the side of his shoulder that sent him spinning.  We helped him back up and we kept fighting.

It didn’t take long for the gurvani to reinforce their line, of course.  That’s when thing got really chaotic.  I lost track of time for a while as I defended myself and worked out a lot of frustrations with destructive magic.  The goblins just seemed to keep coming, and I didn’t seem to be running out of energy.  Every new ugly face was another opportunity for me to express myself about the King . . . and the Censorate . . . and the Queen . . . and the Isily situation . . . and the Alya situation . . . and the . . . the . . .

I lost some time after that.  At some point in battle your conscious mind steps back and you become a creature of reflex – well-trained, carefully-controlled reflex.  I was consuming power with abandon from my sphere, keeping me moving and keeping me killing, and I felt alive in a way that can be achieved few other ways.

That’s when I felt something whir by me.  At first I thought it was a falcon, but it was far too small.  Then I thought it was a thrown axe or something, when I realized what it was.  Dara’s Thoughtful Knife had finally arrived.

It was an Alka Alon artifact, ancient in origin and considered quaintly antique by the Tree Folk.  It was a relic of a bygone age, when the Alkan lords dueled with armies of devoted allies and followers.  The insanely sharp, nearly indestructible wedge flew by magic and was controlled remotely, by a competent mage.  In this case an excited, vengeful fourteen-year-old girl.

The Knife zoomed by us and began tearing into the gurvani infantry that assailed us.  Sometimes it got dangerously close, but Dara’s missile was adeptly managed.  It slew dozens of goblins in seconds.  She made it fly circles around us, tearing through the soft flesh of the gurvani like a hot cheese knife.  No armor seemed to be able to stand up to its relentless path, not even the thick hides of the worms.  Dara began targeting the beasts who had yet to be engaged, keeping their handlers (and the gurvani unfortunate enough to be in their way) too occupied to mount another wave against us.

Mostly.  There seemed no end to the goblins.  As soon as Dara would mow down one line of them, another would rush up to fill the void.  The ice was becoming clotted with frozen blood and fresh corpses.

One thing I was certain of: we messed up their assault.  The magical cloud of spells and counterspells between the two sides was lopsided, now, and the gurvani had stopped trying to plunge through it to get at the Alkan warriors beyond.  I meant to give them some respite, some opportunity to fall back and regroup and redouble their defense.  We were to be a distraction, a big, ugly, violent distraction.

Only the Alka Alon chose to use the opportunity to cross through the cloud themselves.  Five minutes after our barge had smacked into a worm, I was standing nearby two tall transformed Alkan warriors bearing gracefully curved spears.  And using them with deadly precision.  The Alka Alon may have been rusty at the art of war, but apparently they were starting to remember how to fight for their lives.

“How fares the gates?” I called, slowly, to one of the nearby warriors.  He tossed me a glance and apparently saw the sphere floating over my shoulder, and recognized me.

“Well enough, friend of the Alka,” he called back, hesitantly.  “But the gurvani have reached the residential quarter of the city and fortify themselves.  Already their shamans are gathering inside, as they gain the walls.”

“One crisis at a time,” I grunted back, impaling yet-another brave-but-stupid goblin through his abdomen.   “Where stands the Lord Aeratas?  I would have words with him.”

“He commands the field from his tower balcony, now,” the Alkan warrior reported, looking around for more foes.  “Twice they’ve sent the dragon, and twice we’ve beat it back.  Wherefore are our kindred?  Why have they sent no aid?” he demanded, seemingly offended that it was humani who had miraculously arrived.

“Take it up with the council,” I agreed.  “I got my invitation.  I even brought friends.  Ishi’s tits, it looks like they’re preparing another wave,” I pointed out.  We had some cover from two worm corpses that had conveniently died near the barge, making a kind of gruesome redoubt for the moment.  Their infantry were rallying a few yards away, which was difficult since Sarakeem was still aboard the barge, shooting anyone who looked like a leader or officer in the face.  While the Merwyni archer assisted in the promotional opportunities in Shereul’s army, my men prepared for the inevitable charge.

“There are an awful lot of them,” Rondal said, his chest heaving from exertion.  He’d sheathed his sword and leaned on the pike he’d picked up from somewhere.  “How long are we going to keep this up?”

“Until we run out of them,” Tyndal supplied, stripping off his helmet to let his dirty blond hair free.  “They’re just getting started.  This is going to be as bad as a sausage grinder.”  He sounded only partly enthused by the prospect.

“They have ample resources,” the Alkan warrior agreed.  “We have been fighting for days, day and night, without stop.  With no help of help.  Until the humani came.  I am Hasuerth, Warden of the Second House.”

“Minalan, Baron of Sevendor, called the Spellmonger,” I nodded back, respectfully.  “These are my men.  We’re here to help, to fight next to you against our common foe.”

The Alkan nodded to the siege worms Sire Cei had slain.  “You know how to fight,” he acknowledged.

“It is said that it is what we are best at,” I affirmed.  “And we made it this far,” I pointed out.

“So you have.  Prepare yourself, Spellmonger,” he instructed me.  “Soon, they will send the dragon.  Let us die well, together!”

Not exactly the pep-talk I was looking for.

The gurvani chose to attack our position before I could come up with a witty retort.  Several trolls had joined the hobs and goblins who faced us, now, and I prepared myself for another extended journey through a slow-motion world of warmagic.

After the augmentation spell took hold, I was gratified to see the lead elements of the goblins got snatched up by a pair of our giant dogs, who held their screaming bodies triumphantly in their huge jaws and pranced around before tearing them to shreds. The rest made the gap between one dead worm’s head and the other’s tail, where my apprentices, Sire Cei, and Lorcus stood guard.  The melee was severe, made bloodier by the number of foes who fell to archers as they entered the gap.  Until the first troll pushed aside the tail and struck Rondal so hard in the chest with his club that it sent the boy flying.