Sunset of Lantonne (95 page)

Far beyond the dragon, the pillar of black smoke that endlessly drifted from the quarry had changed and now swirled like a tornado. Flickers of light within it looked like fireflies, though these glowed a pale yellowish color. All around the cloud, hundreds of the shadowy creatures she had seen during her return to Lantonne circled in dark packs so thick she could see them all the way back at the keep.

The sky above the quarry was even more ominous, the clouds for miles around circling lazily, pulling the shadows into themselves. For as far as Ilarra could see in all directions and all the way to the horizon, the whole sky turned slowly around the column of smoke as though it were the spoke on which the world spun.

What had taken Mairlee’s attention was neither the column of darkness, nor the impossibly large army taking the city by force, but the four newest additions to the war. Ilarra had not fully understood the meaning of what Therec had called for when he had held the staff. She had taken it to be mostly symbolic, but looking out over the city, she saw that was not the case.

The rest of the old gods had come.

To the east of the keep, a column of blue and white flame nearly as tall as the city’s central tower incinerated everything in its path. When portions of the undead army got too close, the pillar of flame sprouted arms and swept the offenders into itself, though from what Ilarra could see, their bodies were gone long before they reached the creature’s central blaze. Everything it touched vanished almost immediately, whether it was a body or a stone building. Nothing but ash remained when the pillar moved on.

The second creature stood far to the northwest of the city surrounded by hundreds of the undead that did not have the self-preservation necessary to see they were outmatched. Also as tall as the keep’s tower, this creature was entirely water, appearing vaguely man-like in shape as it flowed rather than walked across the plains. From what Ilarra could see at such a distance, the land and beings closest to this creature froze solid and shattered as it moved on, becoming part of a vast river leading from the city walls to where it stood.

The last of the creatures Ilarra could see from her vantage point she initially overlooked, thinking it to be one of the stony mountains to the west of town when she saw it from the corner of her eye. After seeing the first two creatures, she did a double-take and realized the hundred-foot tall being of stone was moving, albeit slowly. Like the war golems the city had used months before, this stone creature had a humanoid shape, though the more she looked at it, the more she realized it was entirely made of mismatched blocks of stone that still had sod and trees stuck to them. Unlike the previous creatures she had watched, this one directly attacked the undead at its feet, tearing up chunks of the plains nearly as large as the quarry with each swipe of its arms.

“The four elemental lords,” said Nenophar’s mother softly, putting a hand to the wall to steady herself. “Masters of entire planes of existence that mirrors their form and mentality. Your kind called us gods for much of history, but even we half-heartedly called the four creatures that now stand on this world gods. My son was right. Today, we all could die. Their mere presence will continue to unravel the damage between worlds.”

Ilarra turned to look southward, seeing little through the small archer windows there. Though she could not make out details, flashes like lightning continuously flickered. The last of the four was somewhere out there, destroying the undead as Therec had requested.

“What did he ask for?” Mairlee said suddenly, grabbing Ilarra’s arm. “What was his exact command to them?”

“He said they are now at war with the undead,” she answered.

“Did he tell them to leave when they finish? Set a goal or a destination?”

“No. I didn’t hear anything like that.”

“Then they will destroy us all,” Mairlee said sadly, letting her hand drop. “This is why we so hate mortal prophecies.”

“Therec called on a pledge from them,” Ilarra said without meaning to, turning back to watch the third dragon fighting for all he was worth with undead clinging to his legs and back. “They’re here to help us…right? He set them against the undead—”

“They come because they agreed to come,” the elder dragon answered dryly. “A mortal sees merit in fulfilling the terms of an agreement. Those four will do what they promised to do, but what happens in the meantime is entirely up to them. We blocked them from entering this world centuries ago to protect your kind, but this undoes all of our work. There are many powers greater than dragons in the world and four have been unleashed…” Squinting at the column of darkness north of town, Mairlee hastily added, “Make that five.”

As Ilarra watched, the dragon near the front gates reeled and tumbled to avoid being scorched by a wayward swing of the flame elemental that incinerated part of the walls, along with many undead. The dragon snarled and hissed, but steered widely around the elemental lord.

Mairlee lowered her head, glancing back at Nenophar. “This city is lost. Gather any that matter to you and flee. We will need far greater forces to send the four back to their homes. I will attempt to wake the rest of our kin and hope we are not already too late.” Leaping through the gap in the wall, the woman spread her arms and began changing even before she was clear of the keep. Within a few seconds, the small woman had shifted back into an enormous, red-scaled, lizard-like dragon that took to the winds and turned westward to soar out over the city walls.

Nenophar made his way up the steps slowly, his head low as he approached Ilarra. When he did reach her, he made a point of not looking out over the city at all, as if the sight of it would be too painful. “We need to go,” he warned her, offering his hand in support. “They will destroy this city without even noticing. Anyone who stays behind will die. Soon, armies of the elementals will come and do what the undead failed to.”

Ilarra squinted at the large group of defenders at the north gate fighting against thousands of undead that had them trapped. Even the dragon working with them could not get off the ground, there were so many undead clinging to its wings. “Then get me down to the gate. I need to find Raeln. Aren’t leaving Lantonne without him and Greth.”

Nenophar leaned out over the edge of the broken wall, his eyes sweeping over the gate. Finally, he turned back to Ilarra. “I don’t see him out there. He may already be—”

“Take me down there or leave the city without me.”

“My brother will help anyone who is still alive get out—”

Ilarra grabbed Nenophar by the shirt and slammed him against the crumbling wall with a strength she had not known she possessed. Even on one leg, she drove him into the stones hard enough to dislodge several. “My brother is fighting for his life down there,” she told him. “If he dies, I will not leave that gate until they find a way to kill me too. Get me down there and I’m more than happy to let your brother help us out.”

“Ilarra—”

“I am not afraid to fall off the tower. Do you think the fall will kill me? I don’t. Take me down safely or that will be my only choice.”

Nenophar winced and nodded, looking out over the city again, his eyes settling on a spot on the wall that had not yet been fully overrun. “I can’t get us out of there once we arrive. I’ve used up much of my strength changing and fighting to save my mother back at her den. At most, I can take us away from here or take us down to find your…brother…but I cannot do both. I already am too weak to change back to my normal form,” he warned.

“I will not repeat myself again, Nenophar. If I’m to die a monster, I will die trying to make myself fight for the city I dreamed of living in my whole life and save my brother if I can. If they can’t kill me, all the better.”

Nenophar nodded grimly and took her hand, pointing at a spot just east of the city’s north gate.

“We will appear there,” he explained. “Once I do this, I will be almost powerless. I will be little better than a mortal for a few hours. If I die—”

“Then don’t.”

“Ilarra, you don’t understand. If I die, this will get much worse.”

“Stop arguing and do it already,” she insisted, tightening her grip on his shirt again. “Every second you stall, Raeln could be down there dying. We all live or we all die.”

A gust of wind washed over them and swirled about within the confines of the keep. The winds quickly changed direction, closing in around Ilarra and Nenophar and forcing Ilarra to close her eyes as dust stung them. When she managed to blink away her tears to look around again, she stood atop the city’s wall holding Nenophar against the battlements. Almost immediately, Nenophar slumped to the ground.

All around Ilarra, the battle to hold the walls raged. Men and women shouted warnings to one another about undead slipping past. Weapons rang in all directions, accompanied by the groaning of thousands of zombies that had either already reached the top of the wall or were trying to climb up the stairs nearby. Somewhere behind her, the occasional roars of Nenophar’s brother drowned out everything else.

Ilarra turned to search for Raeln, but screamed and stumbled backwards as a sword came at her. Blocking with her forearm, Ilarra felt the stinging pain of the blade cutting into flesh and bone. The smell of cooking meat filled her nose as something on the weapon scorched her skin. She nearly fell off the wall as she struggled against the blade, the reaching hands of the undead behind her scraping at her back in an attempt to drag her over the edge of the wall.

Twisting hard, Ilarra knocked aside the weapon, though blood ran freely down her arm and her hand went numb. She expected to find a rotting corpse facing off against her, like those she shoved back from grabbing at her hair and dress. Instead, a burly orcish man with Turessian markings on his face and heavy black leather armor cracked with age stared at her, holding a sword that sparked with magical energy.

“I feel what you are. An infiltrator,” he said, nodding to himself as he straightened up and readied to attack again. “He always was fond of sneaking young women into places where they could do the most damage. I hope for your sake, he taught you how to defend yourself. I grew tired of killing people who thought they were innocent a long time ago, girl.”

Ilarra growled without realizing she had picked up the habit from either Raeln or Nenophar. She stood with her back straight as she faced the green-skinned man. She might not have any appreciable magic left, but she had every intention of fighting the Turessian with every ounce of strength in her body. Rage at even seeing him made her want to tear his limbs off. “Since when does Dorralt mark orcs?” she demanded of the man, which seemed to take him by surprise—he lowered his sword an inch. “For as long as he’s been yammering in my head, I’ve been told you filthy, angry, and unpredictable creatures deserve nothing but a swift death. Why would you serve him?”

“Serve?” the orc asked, lowering the weapon completely and grinning, baring large tusked fangs. “What in all the lands are you—?”

The orc’s question was cut short as Nenophar tackled him, sending the sword tumbling away to land near the rest of the defenders on the wall. The two struggled, each trying to roll the other.

Ilarra limped for the weapon, dimly aware Raeln had poked his head up among the others at the battlements trying to keep the undead at bay. She scooped up the sword in a hurry, hoping to use the magic she had seen in it to kill or at least slow down the Turessian before he could hurt Nenophar. As soon as she grabbed it, she realized her mistake, feeling nothing within the weapon. The magic had come from the orc, not the sword.

Swearing loudly, Ilarra threw the sword aside and spun on Nenophar and the orc, summoning what magic she could manage to hold together. She hoped unleashing every ounce of it into the Turessian would weaken him enough that Nenophar could finish him off. She raised her arms overhead, flames from the tips of her fingers to her elbows, and then lost control over the spell as she saw the two men sitting down and grinning stupidly at one another.

“Dragon?” the orc said, staring in disbelief at Nenophar.

Nenophar answered, “Orc.”

“Scaled chump.”

“Betrayer.”

The orc sneered and lowered his head slightly. “You win, as always. Betrayer trumps most anything I can call you.”

“Then perhaps we should stick to names, On’esquin.”