Iron Elf - A Race Reborn (Book 2) (30 page)

“… zzzip!” the healer said. “… zzzip!”

I was still doubting my hearing when I realized I couldn’t see his lips. He said it again: “… zzzip!”

“Do you have relatives in Drystone?” I asked.

“Indeed. My family is from there. My brother still lives in the merchant quarter.”

“Don’t get him started,” Czeleborn said. “Alfredi is my good friend and physician but he’ll talk your ear off about his ancestors.”

“Is it wrong to be proud of your roots?” Alfredi wondered. “There was bleeding in the brain, milord. She’d sustained at least two concussions and could have died. I have reversed the damage but she ought to have two weeks’ bed rest.”

“I’ll sleep when we’re done.” I stood up and the room spun. “Whoah. Gravity.”

Czeleborn moved to support me. I waved him away. “Have the others brought you up to date?”

He nodded. “But there’s a problem.”

We found Father arguing with the tall elf.

“… and as the highest-ranking representative of His Majesty’s Royal Guard I’m afraid I must refuse your lordship’s requests for further assistance.”

“Damnation! For what have I brought you and your men, if not to fight for Brandish?”

The elf sneered. “We can certainly do that, my lord. However, you’re asking us to invade the Northlands. And we are the soldiers of the crown. I’m sure that would be interpreted as an act of war.”

“It’s only a sortie, Thurim!”

“Nevertheless, I am disinclined to participate further. Furthermore, Lord Elanesse, I must insist you address me by the proper form.”

Czeleborn stepped in. “Excuse me, Lord Governor, but Lissesul is right. He can’t go through the portal without causing an incident.”

Thurim Lissesul smirked. He had sharp features, even for an elf, and he sharpened them further with powder and lipstick. His dark hair was in ringlets. “Thank you, Czeleborn. I am delighted that you agree.”

Czeleborn suppressed a shudder. “What’s more, if anything’s guaranteed to cause an incident, it’s that outfit. I mean, is this what Mithenians are wearing these days?”

Where Czeleborn used lace in moderation, Thurim used it like he was terrified of looking poor. Red lace hung from his wrists and cascaded from his neck. His red velvet coat was trimmed in gold.

His hand dropped to his rapier. “Sir! You dare disparage the colours of the royal house? Were your scabbard not empty I would challenge you for that insult.”

“I have a spare sword in my luggage if you feel that strongly.”

“We don’t have time,” Father said. “Czeleborn, are your troops also royal guard?”

“They’re city guard, as it happens. Loyal men, all of them.”

“So our forces are merely halved.”

I looked at my friends. Conrad nodded.

“Less than half, Father. My people will finish what we started.”

“Some of my sisters will also be joining us,” Olympia said. “And you’re forgetting yourself, Findecano. Are you not the equal of any army?”

My father beamed. “Lissesul, you have the honour and the glory of securing the temple. Leave the heroics to us.”

Thurim scowled. He hadn’t thought of that.

The crane was not to be trusted. Fortunately, we didn’t need it. We dropped the entire way.

We’d lined up around the pit and leaped for the centre, linking hands as we fell. Plunging into darkness we became a many-pointed star. Down, down, and down. The rushing wind made it impossible to hear. It was too dark to see until my father conjured a fireball in the middle of us. Down, down, down. Even with the light there was little to see. The sides of the shaft were perfectly smooth, the surface nigh-unbreakable. No mortal climber could ascend them.

Czeleborn was to my right. He smiled, looking devilish and lean in the unsteady glow. Mina, to my left, stared straight down as if determined to get through this. She’d experienced freefall before.

It had been less than a minute. We were almost there. Our light shot ahead, exploding in a knot of Northlanders. We slowed and settled upon a heap of bodies. The fall was over.

We faced into the gloom. Points of light—human eyes—glittered all around. I sent up a flare. Yang threw a handful of glowing seeds. Even Czeleborn managed a wisp of fire. Father made every Northlander light up like deep-sea fish. There were dozens of them.

“Hey!” Borlog said. “I’m blue inside!”

Yang pointed. “Hey Czeleborn, there’s your sword!”

“Huh. Thanks.”

The enemy humans charged. We settled our feet and prepared for a long battle.

“They’re wearing a lot of metal, aren’t they?” Father wondered aloud. He snapped his fingers and shrank their armour several sizes. It was like an invisible hand crushing a steel goblet. There was a clap like thunder. Breastplates and helmets crumpled inward, spraying blood and liquefied flesh.

Sandy stepped to one side and vomited. It made no difference to the smell.

“His… his stomach is inside his helmet!” Zukaldi said. “His guts is broken!”

Sandy vomited some more. Others joined her.

“I just changed this shirt,” Czeleborn said.

Father clapped his hands and the worst vanished from our clothes and faces. “Forgive me.”

“Mother taught you that,” I said.

“I’ve been practicing.”

“My beard!” Zukaldi said. “Someone has stolen my beautiful beard!”

We knew they’d be waiting when we teleported. We arrived with swords up, hammers cocked, death spells ready to fly. We weren’t ready for the spells to fizzle, for the glyphs to fade, for the enchantments to go dead. Mina almost dropped her axe. “My strength! What happened to my strength?”

“I’m out of magic!” Yang said.

“Children, relax.” Father cracked his knuckles. “I’ve got this.”

“Got this?” Mina said. “It’s a null-field! You can’t do anything!”

He limbered his wrists. “I wouldn’t say that.” The barbarian horde advanced, spears at ready.

“It’s game over!” Mina said. “Total party kill! What can you do, wizard? What can you do?”

“I believe I can shoot the mooks.” He levelled his hands and sprayed fire from his fingertips.

There aren’t many red mages. To become a white mage you need to finish an apprenticeship. To become a gray or black mage you need to defeat ten of your peers in serious fights. Difficult but not impossible. To become a red mage, you need the respect of all the other red mages. They need to respect you so much that none of them will fight you without good reason. It’s like trying to join a club, except the consequences of rejection are much more severe. There are still parts of Brandish where nothing grows.

That they were powerful I knew. But I never knew how much fine control they had until I saw Father shoot dozens of fireballs per second. They blasted through breastplates and backplates, shredding the first wave.

“Oh my god!” Yang said.

Sandy laughed. “Rock and roll!” She blew out an officer’s brains and swung the rifle like a club.

We rushed the Northlanders. I leaped high and brought my elbow down on a man’s skull. Czeleborn swatted a spear and gutted its wielder and Olympia head-butted a man so hard his neck broke. Father continued to lay down a storm of missiles, each enough to burn solid steel.

The humans tried to return the favour. “Father!” I leaped in front of him. My arms flashed and the crossbow bolts shattered.

Olympia charged. She’d taught me that trick. She walked toward the crossbowmen, sharp steel meeting gilded steel. She caught a bolt and slammed it into a man’s leg, then killed a man with a kick. She began punching, stopping blows and stopping hearts. Her nuns followed, lashing out with staff and two-handed flail. I brought a shield down on a man’s head. My full strength was not with me but I still broke his skull. Three men charged Conrad. He shot one in the head then caught an axe blow with his messer and shot his foe in the gut. He slashed open the man’s thigh and clubbed the third man in the temple. He followed that with a pommel strike. He drew his pistol and shot the man in the head.

The null-field was a mixed blessing. It kept us from using magic but it kept the humans from healing. They bled and they died.

Borlog, Zukaldi, and Yang fought as a team. The human swung his club in circles, forcing men to raise their guard. The dwarf darted forward and smashed their feet. The two moved on and the half-elf would deal the killing blow. Through it all came that unbelievably loud stream of fireballs. Flesh cooked and heads blew apart. I could barely hear myself scream. A giant barbarian raised a massive warhammer to crush my skull and got a crossbow bolt in the eye.

I turned. Mina was reloading. She smiled weakly.

Czeleborn’s men were a mix of elves and halflings, even some humans and dwarves. They knew how to deal with Northlanders—with heavy shield, thrusting sword, and smooth teamwork. They followed their lord across the chamber, leaving a carpet of broken foes.

Father’s voice was thick with power. “Get down!” he said. Everyone friendly hit the ground. Findecano Elanesse spun on his heel, whipping his arms to either side and firing unbroken streams of death. The hot beams flashed through men, armour, and pillars, vaporizing flesh and stone alike.

When we got to our feet, the battle was over.

“I’ll never yell at your father again,” Mina said. Behind us, a pillar crashed to the floor.

Czeleborn returned. “They’d set up mana stones to create the null-field. I managed to break the circle.”

I turned to Father. “Those rings. This is why you started wearing them?”

He nodded and flicked his wrists to eject the spent crystals. “Ever since Angrod proved null-fields possible I have been determined never to be without reserves. The feedback is less than you think, dear daughter. And I’d rather not face a dragon without a single spell.”