High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (73 page)

Camp was quiet and tense that night as we all prepared.  The dogs got some much-needed rest, and our men were able to limber up and properly prepare for the assault.  I got some sleep in the barge with two over-sized hunting dogs on either side of me.  It was warm and cozy, but the big mutts had bad breath.  And gas.

Rondal and Lorcus woke me by starlight a few hours later.   As I gulped down bacon and a cold biscuit, they told me the Kasari and Alka Alon had already departed camp.  The warmagi would start up the trail toward the outpost within the hour. 

I splashed water on my face, peed, stretched, and secured my armor.  Spells were hung soon thereafter.  I was ready, as ready as I ever am to face mortal danger.

We trooped single-file up that narrow, rocky trail, our footfalls, coughs, and cleared throats concealed by powerful spells.  The stealthy vanguard silently eliminated the lone pickets and patrols with bow and knife.  The small outpost – no more than a score of gurvani – was unprepared for the attack.

But when first light broke over the far horizon and illuminated the rocky camp, we screamed our war cries and leapt up the path, swords singing and spells blazing.  There was little determined resistance, so total was their surprise.  Within seconds of our first blow, the camp was swarming with warmagi tracking through blood and black hair.

The next outpost along the path was larger, but no less vulnerable to the near hundred warmagi who launched themselves at the primitive barricade.  These scrugs had the time to raise their arms, but not the strength to defend against such powerful spells and determined attackers.  Rondal and Tyndal were among the first inside the gurvani lines, and the boys plied their mageblades and warwands like madmen against them.

“Nice,” Lorcus remarked, as Rondal sent a goblin sprawling headless with a sharp, determined blow.  “How far until the next checkpoint?”

“Less than a quarter mile,” I said, as the last of the defenders were put down.  “That’s got a garrison of at least two hundred, light infantry.  After that it gets challenging.”

“Two hundred?” the Remeran asked, cocking an eyebrow.  “Maybe I’ll actually get to wet my blade, this time.”

The next outpost apparently had word of the incursion, and half of the troops were lining up to go investigate when we fell upon them.  Indeed Lorcus wet his blade in the furious but brief action as we overwhelmed them in formation.  He also got to use some wider-area spells against the confused rush of gurvani, including a spectacular flare that set a few of them on fire.

But that was the last small group to contend with before the main section of the rearguard.  We abandoned stealth at that point because our foes had been alerted.  The main camp was coming alive as news of the attack spread.  We moved forward until we found the best places for concealment we could as closest to their lines as possible.  We were helped in this by the terrain.  Apart from the smooth-worn Alkan path, the rest of the landscape was littered with convenient rocks and boulders. 

“I’ve got a nasty I want to try,” wheezed Wenek, when we were in position, nearly two hundred yards away from their makeshift camp amid the tower’s ruins.  “Can you give me a few minutes?”

“At your convenience,” I decided.  There are few warmagi who understand offensive magics better than Wenek.  He took up the challenge of wide-area offensive spells with vigor, once he’d gotten a witchstone, though he rarely had the opportunity to try them out.  Huffing and puffing in his large coat of plates, he began summoning runes and casting spells to raise power and channel energies.  It was impressive to watch.  An arcane ball of force built in front of him.  It grew in size and intensity for several long minutes as he poured power into it lavishly.

Finally, he opened his eyes.  “Everyone take cover!” he ordered.  “As soon as this goes off, every hell you’ve ever imagined will break loose!”

We hunkered down behind anything offering a hint of shelter.  Wenek’s facility with hurtful magic was gaining a reputation.

The rotund mage hurled the sphere into the air, and it immediately sped off at his direction until it was directly over the center of the goblin ‘s camp.  Then it winked a bright flare of piercing white light.

Wenek’s prediction was understated.  What followed was the biggest and most dramatic shift in emotion I’ve ever witnessed.  Every goblin in the camp, at least a thousand of them, began to wail and scream.  Some began running away in no particular direction.  Others took up arms and began hacking at their fellows.  Still others cowered on the ground with their hands over their ears.

Wenek grinned in professional satisfaction at the chaos.

“What the hells did you do?” demanded Lorcus.  “Berserker spells?”

Wenek looked offended.  “Try pure existential terror.”

“Beg pardon?” Lorcas asked, confused.

“Every goblin affected is in mortal terror.  He fears for his life at an abstract level.  Everything he sees and senses is a threat to his existence.”

“That seems a little subtle for most gurvani,” Lorcas said, doubtfully.

“Look at the result,” Wenek said, dismissively.  The goblins were attacking and running and hiding and moaning in piteous terror.  Not all were affected – but enough were so that order and discipline were shattered.  “That should make attacking them easier.”

“They still outnumber us by ten to one, or more,” Lorcus said, uncomfortably.

“Ten to one, with nine out of the ten weeping, withering wrecks,” Wenek countered gruffly.  “Use high-display spells, sonic spells, harsh language, tell them they ain’t pretty, whatever, you just give them a reason to run and they’ll run.”

“You are one devious bastard,” Lorcus conceded a minute later, as the chaos turned to carnage in the camp.  “I like that.  Are we ready?” he asked, drawing his mageblade.  Wenek picked up the big mace he favored and nodded.

“Charge!” I ordered, manifesting Blizzard’s halberd blade.  We jumped from behind our hiding places and ran into the mass of terror-stricken goblins.

As predicted, as the lead elements of our assault plowed into the disorganized mass, the goblins began taking to their heels or lying prostate on the ground.  The rest was a bloody mess.  Warmagi charged into the mess, firing warwands and stabbing wildly with their blades.  The more noise they made, the more the regiment resembled a terrified mob.  In five minutes of heavy fighting – mostly us hitting them – the entire group of them began screaming and running toward the apparent safety of the tower across the frozen river where their comrades might protect them.

It was gratifying, a few dozen of us screaming and yelling and chasing goblins over the short cliff down to the ice.  Their terror-laden expressions fed the sadistic thrill of it.  I couldn’t help amplifying the occasion magically, using select spells to make myself seem even more fearsome in appearance than I was.  Ordinarily a shaman’s protection would keep such flimsy spells from being effective on the battlefield, but I didn’t feel a lot of defensive magic up around me.

We routed them.  The fleeing goblins ran for their lives, leaving their shields and weapons behind them in their haste.  That was unfortunate for them, for as soon as they crossed the narrow shelf of ice and came to the southern bank of the frozen river they were mowed down by the adept bows of the Kasari rangers and the incredible archery of the Alka Alon.

You could hear their screams of abject terror and despair across the ice as the morning sun lit the pass completely.  Their screams carried well in the morning air.  And we were not the only ones to hear them.  We had gained the day, it seemed, and there was just the one last—

I could feel it in my chest before I heard it, the roar was so loud and all-consuming.  Lungs the size of sailing ships propelled a massive growl of anger and defiance from the dragon’s maw, and we felt every massive footfall the beast made as it came to investigate what was disturbing his slumber.

“Stand ready!” Terleman shouted from behind me.  I saw Sire Cei raise his dragonhide shield and grip his hammer.  Wenek furiously cast defensive spells on himself.  Rondal began spinning a wand in his hand, his purpose unknown, his eyes set on the top of the five-story high pile of rubble that had succumbed to the dragon’s claws.

All around me the warmagi prepared.  The designated specialists marched to the front of the rank as the first great claw came into sight, grasping the top of the pile and pulling upward.  As stones fell and were scattered, the other claw arrived, and in seconds the tremendous head was lifted above the crest of the pile. 

Another bellow came, this one even more enraged as it surveyed the scene.  That one made my teeth vibrate.

“Ready!” Terleman ordered, raising his own big mageblade to signal. 

I reached out to Dara, mind-to-mind. 
It’s time for my lady’s big entrance,
I reminded her.
  Try not to get yourself killed.

I’m just a distraction, remember?
Chided my youngest apprentice. 
Just how much do you want him distracted?

Can you get him to keep his neck up?
I inquired. 
That’s where we hit the last one.  They seem a little weaker there.

I . . . I think I can try something,
she promised. 
Bide!

I watched in fascination as the great dragon’s head – the size of a tournament pavilion – cleared the summit, and his huge eyes turned downward.  To us.

That’s when six small shapes darted out of the sky and began swarming around the beast’s head. 

The falcons dogged the dragon like a pack of circling dogs.  Only four had skyriders, the others were being controlled by beastmasters.  It was almost impossible to tell which of the six were being ridden at this distance without magesight, and I could not spare the attention at the moment.  But the birds dived on the saurian head with elegant ferocity.  It took a moment for the beast to realize it was being attacked from the air, but when it did it wasted no time scrambling up the pile of rubble in an attempt to get at the flying irritants.

It moved fast, when aroused, I noted with horror.  Much faster that I’d anticipated.  Its head poked up into the air so suddenly the giant falcons were forced to swerve to avoid it – and one nearly lost some tailfeathers to a lightning-quick snap.  I hoped that wasn’t Dara.

I saw a quick streak fly from one of the birds toward the big black eyes . . . and that’s when I saw it.  I wasn’t sure at first, and so I quickly summoned magesight, regardless of the distraction it implied.  I saw something that made my blood freeze as cold as the Poros below.

Around the neck of the dragon, I saw as I amplified the image, was an immense iron chain that seemed dainty only by comparison to the neck it encircled.  Amid the black iron links were cages holding something white . . .

Snowstone.
  Each wrought-iron enclosure bounded a boulder of snowstone.

That was how Shereul was deploying the dragons so neatly, I realized.  The snowstone lowered the magic resistance of the beasts just enough to allow spells of control.  My home was furnishing the enemy’s most lethal weapon.

Before I could assess just what that might mean for the battle at hand, the skyriders lined up in formation and began another run at the dragon’s darting head, coming in from a very steep angle . . . a collision course with its head, I realized belatedly.

Lance after lance shot forth from the graceful falcons as their riders loosed skybolts – metal javelins hurled at great speed.  Utterly ineffectual on a dragon, of course, unless you were lucky enough to pierce its great eye.  None of the skyriders, it seemed, were that lucky.

Dara, pull up!
I ordered, mind-to-mind, as I saw my apprentice recklessly keep on course long after her skybolt bounced harmlessly from an eyelid.  The beast was drawing back, its eyes on the airborne threat.  It was inhaling, I realized with grim terror.  And when it exhaled, my noble experiment in aerial warfare would plummet to the ground, fully cooked.

Dara didn’t answer me.  My fear consumed my stomach as I watched her dive unwavering into the dragon’s maw.

“Hey, Wenek!” Sarakeem called from behind me, “have you anything that would make the
dragon
question his role in the universe?” he joked, nervously, as we awaited fiery death.

Before I could utter the word to attack, Dara answered all of our questions at once.

Suddenly a rock nearly as large as Frightful’s big body materialized in the air, falling at the same speed and in the same direction as Frightful.  Dara pulled her aerial steed up hundreds of feet shy of the dragon, but the rock continued on its way.  A moment later it hit the right side of the dragon’s face, smacking it into the side of the cliff and producing a sharp double impact.

The great beast collapsed under the shuddering impact of the blow and fell limp over the mountain of debris.  The side of its face was crushed and bloodied, though its great limbs still twitched alarmingly.

“Or she could just do that,” Sarakeem said, a little anticlimactically, as a cloud of dust flew from the force of the dragon’s fall.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The Battle Of The Red Ice

I stood gape-jawed as I watched my youngest apprentice land her fearsome bird neatly on a rock twenty feet away.  She was sliding off the harness and unfastening her leathern helmet as she descended, her red hair tossing free in the breeze.

“I did it!”
she was screaming excitedly. 
“I did it!”

“What . . .
what did you do?
” I asked, bewildered, though no less happy for it.  “Dara, what
the hell
did you do?”

“It was easy!  I remember Taren talking about how the pocketstone’s capacity was a function of mass,” she began, “and he proved that with how easily he moved the barges, once he’d created the interdimensional space to do so and anchored it in the rod.  Then he made a second access through the other rod.  I was thinking that the only realistic way I could clobber a dragon was to get all my birds to drop a barge on him, and that was just stupid, but then I started thinking . . . we have all these
giant rocks
just lying around, not doing anything . . .”

“. . . and so you pocketed a boulder the size of a cottage and dropped it on the dragon’s head from the air!” I finished.  “Briga bless your inspiration, girl!  That was
brilliant!
”  She beamed as I swept her into a hug.  I was the first, but not the last.  Several full-grown men in armor insisted on doing her honors for her bravery and ingenuity.

I was relieved.  The dragon was not dead, not yet, but it was senseless.  While there was no telling how long it would take to regain consciousness – or, indeed, how it would be feeling when it did – Dara’s inspired spell had done the job nicely, and far more quickly than we’d anticipated.  The sun was not even completely over the hills far to the east, yet, and we had run out of foes.

I looked over at Rondal and Tyndal, who were looking amused and useless.  “You two, while it’s still out, cut that chain off of its neck.  Bring it with us,” I ordered.  While they looked at each other, appalled, and tried to figure out how to do such a thing I started ordering a site for our staging area to be located.

Now the battle would begin in earnest.  Ahead lay a hundred thousand gurvani and another dragon.  The battle raged in the distance, I could see, with Alkan magic holding the hordes at bay.  While a good six miles of icy lake lay between us and the besieged city it seemed terribly close, now.

The easy part was over.  Now it was up to Pentandra.  I began looking around for a quiet spot so I could prepare for the battle ahead.

*                            *                            *

Min, I think we figured it out!
Pentandra said, excitedly into my mind, when I finally made contact with her. 
We looked at—

Penny, I’m as interested in this from a professional level as I could be, but right now time is of the essence.  Anthatiel isn’t looking too good,
I reported, grimly. 
The sooner we can come to her rescue, the better.  Can you counter the spell, or not?  And how soon?

I . . . We can counter the spell,
she admitted. 
We have our team moving into place, now.  You know, you really have a knack for sucking the enthusiasm out of a girl.

I hear that from Alya more than you’d suspect.  If you can counter the spell, how much time do we have?

That’s hard to say.  We’ve got most of the materials that we need now.  We’re just waiting on a few key magi.  We’re having to get creative with some of this,
she said in a tone that hinted at a lot more problems than I had time to hear about. 
But give us a few hours to get into place, and then we should be able to drop it.  I hope.

A few hours should be fine,
I agreed. 
It will take us that long to get into position.  I’m sure Aerotas can hold out that long.  We’ve already eliminated one of the three dragons.

Who did that?  Sire Cei?

Dara, of all people.  I’ll explain later.  We’re moving into position now, and the way things have played out we may have more of an advantage than I thought.  Just keep us apprised of when you can counter that spell.  We’ll need to know.

She assured me she would inform me.  My next consultation was with Count Salgo, through one of the noncombatant High Magi we’d left at Castle Gavard.  I let him know we were in position to begin the final, suicidal attack.  I told him what to expect.  He appreciated the warning – he had to deal with the reinforcements the Prince Heir
was leading toward his position – before informing me that His Majesty commanded me to communicate with him at my first available opportunity.

I sighed.  I couldn’t put it off any more.