Warlord (27 page)

“Don’t use it as an excuse not to help!” Vara cried as a titan fell next to her, tripped by the corpse of her last kill. She buried her blade in its temple, and it roared, so she struck it again. This time it fell silent and stayed that way.

“Do you need a healing spell?” Andren asked, waving a hand at him. Light danced from his fingers and a curious tingle ran over Cyrus’s body. “Just in case.”

“I’m fine,” Cyrus said, turning to face a roaring titan as it leapt over the fallen bodies of the last two comers. When it landed, Cyrus found himself face-to-breastplate, as inopportune a place to be as any, so he ran higher as he saw Vara go low, spearing it with her sword in the side of the hip while Cyrus distracted it and drew a furious backhand that missed him so closely the wave of air that followed in its wake spun him around, disorienting him.

When he came back around, Cyrus swung at the face lunging toward him. He caught it below the eye with Praelior, withdrew the sword, and went back again, this time at the eye itself. Landing it prompted a howl, and the titan started to sink. Cyrus planted his blade squarely in the middle of the forehead as it dropped. It moaned like a troll as it died, falling backwards, probably breaking its knees as it folded over.

“This is getting out of hand!” Vara shouted as another came forth. Cyrus was too quick for this one, however. He went for its face; it flinched and started to dodge back, dragging its head away and leaving its beefy neck exposed at a forty-five degree angle. Cyrus swung and was rewarded with the familiar splash of red spray and the titan fell over exactly like its comrades.

The battle.

Oh, Bellarum, the battle.

Perhaps I have missed this.

As the titans before him scrambled over the growing mound of their own dead to mount another attack, Cyrus used the spare seconds to look back toward the entry to the arena. The tunnel still seemed jammed with the Army of Sanctuary, but hints of the war that must have been going on out in the city beyond were suggested by the ripples of motion through the forces Cyrus could see.

He caught a glimpse of Larana weaving through the air still hurling spells, and Curatio standing his ground, a bright blaze of lightning blasting from his fingers, rendering his face in flashes of white. “What the hell, Curatio,” Cyrus muttered. “Not even trying to hide it anymore.”

There was a roar from within the tunnel, and Cyrus watched a thousand bright lights flash into existence. It took a moment for his mind to interpret what he was seeing.
Wizard teleportation orbs?
The flashes of the spell energy taking hold as people seized the orbs and disappeared in a burst of light began a moment later and ran through the tunnel. It seemed to move in lines, until the entirety of the army up to the corps fighting around Curatio disappeared.

“What the—?” Cyrus breathed, blinking in astonishment.
I didn’t call the retreat! What’s going on here?

Titan feet appeared at the farthest reach of the tunnel that Cyrus could see, following fast behind a small figure running at top speed ahead of them. Cyrus noted the flash of robes and realized it was Ryin, sprinting with an alacrity Cyrus was not used to seeing from the druid, the hem of his robes whipping behind him. He did not stop until he reached the knotted circle of Sanctuary defenders around Curatio, at which point he turned and held a hand up to his throat, voice coming out amplified by some spell that Cyrus did not know.

“KORTRAN IS BURNING,” Ayend’s voice sounded, “OUR ARMY OUTSIDE HAS WITHDRAWN SAFELY, THOUGH ONLY BARELY. THE ENTIRETY OF THE TITAN ARMY IS NOW SWARMING THE TUNNEL.” He locked eyes with Cyrus and the electricity he communicated was as potent as one of Curatio’s bolts of lightning.

The entire rest of the titan army? Coming here?
Cyrus swallowed heavily as the action slowed for a moment.
That explains the retreat; without heavy spellcaster support our normal armies can’t stand against that
. He swept a gaze over the arena and saw more than a little fresh blood in the gaps between titans where he could see sand.
Hell, we’ve got some of our best here and we’re still having a time of it …

“Sound retreat!” Cyrus called, bellowing out over the carnage of the battle. “Let’s get the hell out of here while we can!”

A scream of rage followed Cyrus’s order, and he swung his head round to find Talikartin still swiping ineffectually at Terian. The guardian yelled something, a shout of some word in the titan language that Cyrus did not understand, and a ripple ran through the scene of the battle.

“Cyrus!” Vara cried. “Get down here, now!”

He spun to look at her, catching sight of Terian diving for the ground as well, running in a steep dive to join them. Cyrus did not think, did not ponder, merely acted, and ran as swiftly as he could toward Vara.

He was only ten feet above the ground when the titan cessation spell draped itself over the battlefield and stripped the Falcon’s Essence from him.

Cyrus hit the ground with a hard thump as Vara left it in a leap. He watched her sail through the air gracefully, once more striking down an attacking titan with a swipe of her sword so perfectly aimed that the titan did not even manage a riposte. She used his breastplate as a springboard to return to the ground, landing only a few feet away as Cyrus struggled back to standing.

“You all right?” Vara asked, tugging at his arm and helping him return to steadiness.

“Not really,” Cyrus said, back to a balance a moment later. He looked at the formidable odds arrayed against them, and realized that without Falcon’s Essence, he could no longer even survey the full battlefield of the arena. He was limited by the mob of titans in front of him, so numerous that they blotted out any view of Curatio or the rest of the Sanctuary force still standing.

If they’re still standing.

With a breath of horror, the full weight of what had happened slammed home on Cyrus as the next wave of titans moved in on him and his small party.
With a cessation spell over the battlefield with the tyrants, we’re trapped here among them.

No fire to burn them.

No lightning to drive them back.

And no teleportation to get us out of here … alive
.

How do you find a wizard with no vestments?
Cyrus wondered as he drove his blade into a swiping hand, cleaving two fingers loose and causing the titan attacker to stagger past Cyrus. He nicked the back of the titan’s leg as it passed, and it tripped into the hard stone wall of the first tier, the clang of its helm upon impact ringing through the air over the clamor of battle.

If I were aloft, I could just look for the big bastards chanting under their breath
, he thought, moving to finish the titan that he’d just knocked over. He aimed for the neck as usual and was rewarded in the same way as always, though this time he mostly managed to dodge the stream. He did not, however, manage to duck under the panicked titan’s hand as it reached to staunch the flow of its lifeblood, and the clipping strike sent Cyrus spinning into Andren.

“Oof!” Andren cried as Cyrus slammed into him, knocking them both to the ground. Cyrus was the first to recover, pushing up on one arm. “Watch where you’re going!” Andren said, looking more than a bit put out.

“Thanks for the soft landing,” Cyrus said, adjusting his helm slightly before turning to get back to the battle. “Let me know if you see any wizards.”

“These titans all look the bloody same!” Andren called as Cyrus watched Fortin tear the knee off a titan and then smash the bone into the jaw of the very same enemy, like a small shield.

“Exactly my problem,” Cyrus muttered, finding himself with a brand new challenger as he staggered to the left to cover their flank while Vara dealt with a titan that came right up the middle at them.
No vestments, no robes. They all seem to be wearing armor, at least all that I’ve seen
. He plunged a sword through a slow-moving titan’s knee and did some kneecap removal of his own, though his was incomplete and left hanging, unlike Fortin’s. “Is the cessation spell still on us?”

Andren’s answer came back a second later, nearing panic. “Yes!”

“Okay,” Cyrus said, taking on his next challenger as Terian came staggering out from between the legs of the titan at him. The dark elf swung his axe and sent the titan stumbling. Cyrus narrowly avoided being caught under the enormous thing, the creature’s hip clipping him as he dodged its shadow.

“Sorry,” Terian said, sweeping into place next to Cyrus. “But it was either take him down or wait for you to do it while the next one behind took a free shot at me.” That very titan swung at Terian and he met it with an overhand chop that split the titan’s hand in half. “Hope that wasn’t his dominant hand, or he’s going to be so irritated at me when he gets back to the barracks and has some alone time—”

Cyrus lunged forward and plunged his sword into the titan’s exposed abdomen as it clutched at its wounded hand. Blood dripped down, and the smell of disgusting rot, fouler than nearly anything he’d smelled before, told him he’d struck its bowels. He dodged sideways, ripping with Praelior as he moved, and the titan fell on a growing pile atop their last kill. “I don’t think that’s going to cross his mind later, strangely.”

“Still no sign of healers for these bastards,” Terian said, “not that I’m complaining!” He paused, striking again with his axe against the hip of a titan passing to attack Vara. “Please, please, don’t answer my complaint, fates.”

“Now you believe in fates,” Cyrus muttered, scrambling back from a particularly aggressive titan attack. “It’s almost as if you lost your faith in the God of Darkness.”

“Can’t imagine what would have prompted that,” Terian said dryly, laying his axe into the back of the knee of the titan attacking Cyrus. “Maybe it was that I got to know him entirely too well to respect him anymore.”

“I have a similar problem, I find,” Cyrus said with a muted smirk.

“I—” Terian began.

A fearsome bellow from Fortin drew both of their attentions, and Vara’s as well from where she plunged her own blade into the face of a titan coming at her. She came to the ground, breathing heavily, the toll of killing the massive things now obvious. Cyrus looked past her and found Talikartin moving on the rock giant, finally through the crowd and coming to attack.

“Death is coming for you, foes of Kortran!” Talikartin called, his expression one of rage mingled with joy, some hybrid Cyrus could recall perhaps feeling himself on early battlefields, some strain of vindictive anger crossed with the thirst for bloody revenge and abject excitement as battle played out before him in thrilling spectacle.

I’m fighting giants and winning. Their blood soaks me. The war roars within me, and the fight goes ever on.

Isn’t this what I’ve always wanted?

Fortin screamed again and charged at Talikartin. The rock giant came up to the titan’s waist, planting a craggy fist right into his hip. Talikartin grunted and blanched from the impact, bending slightly at the middle from the force. He brought around a punch of his own in reprisal, however, and Cyrus watched it land against Fortin’s face, knocking the rock giant back a step of his own.

Rather than let Fortin recover, Talikartin pursued. He hit Fortin again, this time in the chest, and the sound of air rushing out of the rock giant’s lungs was like a bellows being pushed in a smith’s shop. Talikartin struck again and again, raining hard blows down upon the creature that stood so short against him. The power of the strikes was unquestionable, and Cyrus could hear the cracking of rock.

Fortin staggered, striking out blindly in an attack that hit Talikartin in an undefended thigh. It tore his trousers but did nothing to the skin beneath, and the titan reached down and seized Fortin by his small neck, lifting him into the air. It looked like a labor for Talikartin, but the titan did it, slowly levering the rock giant up until he could grasp him with his other hand, grabbing him around a leg.

Within his grip, Fortin struggled, but it was a futile effort. The rock giant looked dazed, some of the fight taken out of him by the ruinous blows. “You are strong,” Talikartin said, staring into Fortin’s eyes. “I am stronger,” he said with a rush of hatred, and he lifted Fortin up and brought him back down again, slamming him over his knee—

Fortin broke cleanly in half at the waist, black fluid pouring out of either side of him as Talikartin tossed the split pieces. One hit the wall of the arena and bounced near Andren, the other came to rest at Talikartin’s feet.

The titans around them roared in appreciation at the battle they had just witnessed, and Cyrus did not realize that he had been holding his breath until he made to let out a cry of outrage and had no wind with which to do it.

“Uh oh,” Terian said.

“We’re a bit screwed, here,” Andren opined.

“DIE!” Cyrus screamed, and he charged across the dirt arena floor, vaulting over the femur of something massive and using the other end of it to stage a leap at Talikartin, who waited with great satisfaction.

Cyrus had telegraphed his jump too much, he realized belatedly, rage feeding him poor strategy. Talikartin saw him coming, his trajectory obvious, and there was little Cyrus could do once in the air to alter it. The titan still stood, smirking, waiting, and moved only slightly so that Cyrus would impact upon his breastplate—

When Cyrus hit the quartal breastplate, he had already prepared himself for the impact. He huddled up and let his right pauldron lead him. It struck, the force of impact transmitted through the armor, through the chain mail beneath, mostly dissipating somewhere between the two. Cyrus hit the padding hard, the nearly immovable wall before him that was Talikartin forced a step back from his impact.

Cyrus dropped to the ground some ten feet, absorbing the impact again through his knees. He felt the pain and used Praelior to help ignore it, hoping that somewhere down the line he might get a healing spell to fix whatever minor problem he’d just caused himself. Now he was at Talikartin’s feet. The titan had probably meant for him to be here, but also probably intended him to be a bit more stunned. Talikartin himself was stumbling back a step, arms trying to balance his unwieldy frame.