Invasion (3 page)

He was confused. Where was he and why did every muscle in his body ache and throb? He was sure he wasn’t dead, otherwise he wouldn’t be in this sort of pain. So what had happened to him? He tried to think back to his most recent memories and an image of a horse came to mind — a perfect black mare.

Images of himself riding this horse at impossibly fast speeds and jumping over a wide canyon flashed into his mind and vanished again before he made sense of it. He focused hard to regain the images without success and his head throbbed with the effort.

He shifted his mind further back in time and found himself on top of Arthea’s western wall surrounded by soldiers and looking out over a battlefield covered with thousands of orcs. This image must have meaning but as he dwelt on it no further information revealed itself.

So he went back further in time. He was hiding high up in the branches of a tree looking down at a wooden fort crawling with large orcs. The gates of the fort opened and they marched out. Panic struck him. He had been sent there to watch these orcs and he needed to report any activity from them. But he had a sickening feeling that he knew exactly where they were heading and so instead of reporting in, he shadowed them to confirm his suspicions.

His mind flashed forward and he found himself meeting a dwarven general on a road. He recognised the face and the name of General Ludko came to mind with an effort. He warned the marching dwarf army of an ambush set on the road by the large orcs and instructing them to go around it.

Once again his mind leapt ahead to where he stood on the edge of a canyon shooting arrow after arrow down at a mass of orcs who were battling dwarves on the canyon floor. He emptied his quiver and then recommended to the General that they move on. This they did, abandoning the dwarves in the canyon to their fate which is against every natural fibre of a dwarf’s being.

His memories came flooding back to him. Finding out about the arrival of a new orc breed from another world, the destruction of El Rasa, the capture of Fort Lowmount, the attack on Arthea and Master Pilk’s desperate act to defend it, his own scouting mission on the orcs’ homeworld with Mistress Cali, the march on the orc fort which led to an unlikely alliance, discovering Ciara, a magical horse which eventually allowed him to ride her and then the battle on the orc world which he thought would be his last — but apparently it had not been.

Amongst all these flashing images that sped around his recovering mind was a woman’s face. Every time he conjured the image he felt at peace — reassured that all would be well no matter the situation so long as she remained by his side. But then he remembered that she had gone home, back to Zin-Baiden, and a new kind of pain seared through him. Tears came to his painful eyes unwillingly until he heard a familiar voice. A comforting voice. A woman’s voice. He opened his eyes suddenly and there she was leaning over him, calling his name and then his tears took on a whole new meaning.

“You came back,” he croaked.

“You almost died. I had no choice,” she replied.

“Well I’m glad you came and not just because you saved my life.” His head spun.

“It was Koren that saved your life. I just sped along your recovery. Now get some rest. We can talk later,” said Cressida.

Decker closed his eyes once again and found that the pain didn’t bother him as much now. Soon after he drifted off to sleep.

Sylestra watched the slow movement of the sun, wishing that she could speed along its progress in the sky. She wanted this fight over and done with and Gnash along with the entire Black Skull tribe in her hands so that she could deal with more important matters.

The result of the upcoming fight remained clear in her mind; no one had come close to besting her in battle in a very long time. Gilkan’s size did not intimidate her in the least as she had fought many of the giant kin on Aleri before it had been abandoned and the smallest of them were as large as him.

Her main concern was that the humans and dwarves would find a way to close the Gate before she got there. She needed to keep the army surrounding Gnash or else Gilkan might decide to fight his way out of there — or if not Gilkan, his army might see that as a better fate than that which awaited them.

Distant shouts brought her out of her musings and she turned to the south where they had come from. Two ragged orcs were running in her direction. She knew even before they arrived that something had gone wrong at the Gate.

“They destroyed our ballistae and killed all but us two, Supreme Mistress,” said the orc in ragged breaths.

“So you broke through the wall then?”

Both the orcs nodded.

“Fools! You should have sent a messenger the moment a bolt penetrated and waited for reinforcements to come before continuing.” She turned to General Jak’ho who had joined her. “Send a thousand warriors to the Gate immediately with siege and ten necromancers. We have to prevent them blocking it again.”

“We’ll weaken our hold here,” protested the General.

She set her jaw and glared at him.

“We have more here than we need,” she yelled at him. “Do it now!”

General Jak’ho bowed his head respectfully and hurried off to do as ordered. She turned to the two orcs and ordered them to go and get some rest.    

  A short time later the army marched off toward the canyon. Once they were out of sight she sought out General Jak’ho for a sparring match. She wished that she had brought Gerard along as he was the best swordsman she had come up against and would have better prepared her for the coming fight, but she couldn’t trust him just yet. If he found out what she was doing and even got a hint of what she’d planned, he’d turn on her in a heartbeat and she’d be forced to kill him which she didn’t want to do.

She put her two magical weapons to one side and picked out a standard great sword from a weapons cart. She figured that this would be her weapon of choice against Gilkan as she’d need the longer reach and the strength of the blade. Knowing that Gilkan favoured the great sword as well, she insisted that General Jak’ho use one.

After some warm up exercises they faced one another and went through basic manoeuvres as they familiarised themselves with the weapons’ weight and balance. Sylestra increased the momentum and the General kept pace. He was an excellent fighter but he didn’t have the speed of Gerard. What he lacked in speed he made up for in aggression. Sylestra had watched him many times in battle and seen him kick out with his tree-trunk legs, punch his enemy with rock-like fists or even bite into their flesh with his steel tipped fangs. Every part of this orc was a weapon to watch out for.

She had told him many times not to hold back anything in their sparring matches and he showed his understanding of that request now as he kicked at her with his right leg to prevent her from coming in behind his back-hand slash.

If she’d had a dagger on her she could have planted it into his extended leg, but then he would not have made that move anyway. She made a mental note to choose a dagger as her back-up weapon for the challenge fight.

She turned side on to dodge his kick and jabbed her blade toward his heart. General Jak’ho had bought enough time with his kick to reverse the momentum of his sword and swat away her feeble attack.

Their blades met time and time again, ringing out over the battlefield as warriors surrounded them to witness the spectacle. General Jak’ho was a great leader and held a plethora of respect by those in his command and Sylestra would not do anything to lessen that respect. She no doubt could have finished the fight many times already but that would make the General appear weak. She also needed the distraction and the warm up so she would not do herself any favours by a quick fight.

The spectators would gasp with every near miss and she caught a glimpse of the odd worried face as she put General Jak’ho back on his heels. Perspiration ran down his hot face as he struggled to match her speed.

General Jak’ho surprised her as he blocked one of her attacks firmly, spun in close and shouldered her. She had already been off balance with her swing so the unexpected bump knocked her to the ground. A stunned silence came over the crowd as General Jak’ho chopped down with his sword, missing her head by millimetres as she rolled to one side.

The General looked tired, though, and his moves were slowing so Sylestra’s kick into his shin connected solidly as he failed to respond to the attack in time. The General hit the dirt and Sylestra pointed her sword at his throat as she regained her feet by arching her back and propelling herself upwards with her shoulder blades.

The stunned crowd applauded and stamped their feet as they grunted their approval. Sylestra lowered her sword and extended her arm to the prone General. He took it willingly and she pulled him to his feet.

“That was new,” she said in an approving voice.

“I know how much you like surprises, Supreme Mistress,” he replied in ragged breaths.

Chapter 3

The Challenge Festival

Vik stood poised in the small back yard of Master Pilk’s house. Mezz, the Great Dane lay to one side watching him intently. He blotted out her loud panting as Master Pilk had taught him and focused on the panel of wood he had set up. On the wood he had painted the basic outline of an orc holding an axe over his head.

When Master Pilk had first discovered his magical power in the enchanted room where he had touched a globe, Vik was a little sceptical about pursuing it as a means to aid his swordsmanship, but the more he practised the more he realised the potential. 

He summoned the energy to his body with the words of power and a tingling sensation flowed through him which grew to an intensity he had not managed before. Muttering the words of the magic missile spell, he pointed at the orc’s head. The energy gathered in his arm. The focused sensation threatened to distract him but he put it out of his mind.

After uttering the release word a purple bolt of pure energy shot from his finger and hit the wood panel with a loud crack. Mezz sprung to her feet and barked at the smoking timber. Vik calmed her with a soothing voice and a quick pat of her head.

Once Mezz relaxed he walked over to examine his handy work. A deep, black charred mark showed the point of impact clearly. Vik was dismayed to see that his magic missile hit just to the left of the orc’s head. However, he soon brightened up when he observed how deep the missile burnt into the wood. This had been by far his most powerful bolt yet. The few seconds it took for him to cast the spell would have no doubt meant his death if it had been a real orc. But it was becoming easier and more natural for him to cast spells and the power made him feel good.

“What was that noise?” asked Trent as he stormed out the back door. Vik pointed at the black mark on his target. “You missed,” said Trent, seemingly unimpressed.

“But look at the damage,” replied Vik, “if that hit a charging orc, it would really hurt him. Follow that up with my sword and he’s finished.”

“So you mean to go ahead with your magic training then?” Trent raised an eyebrow.

“Master Pilk is right. If I can manage even a few minor spells like this it could make all the difference in an otherwise equal fight. Look what it did to that orc that attacked us on the orc world. That brief distraction bought me the time I needed to go on the offensive. Without it I would’ve been backed into a corner and that was a weak missile compared to this one.” Vik pointed once again to the charred divot on his target.

“Care to try it in practice then?” Trent grinned at him.

“What do you mean?” Vik patted Mezz as he looked at his friend, confused.

“Spar with me and see if you can finally beat me with the aid of your magic.”

Vik scarcely believed what Trent proposed. Did his best friend really expect him to hurl a magic spell at him in a sparring match?

“I could hurt you,” he replied. “I don’t have great control over my power yet. What if I give it too much?”

“I’ll wear my gambeson. That should take most of the blow.” Trent was serious. He wanted to test this out. Was it to sate his own curiosity or was it an attempt to prove his point of the futility of magic for a sword fighter? Either way Vik found his own curiosity piqued. After all that had been his main concern when Master Pilk first mentioned that he wanted to train him in magic. His father was a sword fighter and trained him as one. Vik’s own physique was more suited to fighting than to casting magic. 

“Okay, you’re on. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though,” replied Vik after a moments silence. They both went up to their room and collected their training equipment. Vik decided to wear his gambeson too because Trent got carried away sometimes. They would spar with their wooden training swords but they still hurt when they hit.

Once again out in the back yard they went through basic warm up exercises — stretching and loosening all their muscles. Then they stood toe to toe. Vik’s thoughts on them starting off slow and building gradually went out the window as Trent charged in, swinging his wooden sword with wild abandon. Vik just managed to block the first unexpected strike.

Trent’s sudden ferocity had him backing back and giving more ground than he would have liked. Trent almost seemed possessed. Vik meant to wait out Trent’s fury but his friend didn’t ease up at all. Then it dawned on Vik at the same time as he took a solid blow to his shoulder. Trent deliberately gave him no chance to cast a spell in order to prove his point.

Vik shrugged off the minor blow and had his sword in place to parry the expected follow-up strike. He knew Trent’s fighting style so well that he got himself into a comfortable routine and let his concentration slip a little.

He mumbled the words of power and a surge of magical energy flowed through him. Now came the dangerous part — he had to focus on the form he wanted it to take and direct its release.

Trent’s downward chop came fast but Vik had anticipated it and got his sword in place in the nick of time. Trent’s next strike would be slow in coming as he reset his stance and so he made the most of that time. He took a step back and stretched out his left arm with an extended index finger. He rushed the words of the spell and uttered the release word in a continuous flow.

The purple bolt of energy that came from his finger dazzled his eyes and blasted into Trent’s padded gambeson, knocking him over. Vik dropped his wooden sword and ran to his friend who lay quite still. Bending beside him, he saw that Trent still drew breath but his eyes were closed. “What have I done?” he muttered to himself.

As if responding to his voice, Trent opened his eyes and smiled a weak smile at Vik. “Okay, I stand corrected.”

Vik couldn’t help but laugh and was glad to see Trent do likewise.

After helping Trent back to his feet, Vik examined his gambeson. The blackened hole went right through to Trent’s flesh, where there was a nasty  burn.

“I don’t understand,” said Vik. “That’s the most powerful one by far I’ve managed and it was under pressure.”

“P’haps that’s what made it so strong,” replied Trent. “Maybe your built-up adrenaline contributed to the spell. You’ll have to ask Master Pilk when he returns.”

“When is he gonna return anyway? He’s been gone for so long, as has Decker,” said Vik.

“As has most of the city you mean. The streets are so quiet. The Duke must’ve sent most of the army, if not all of it.” Vik put one of Trent’s arms over his shoulders and helped him inside.

“You realise that if they succeed in closing the Gate, any chance of seeing our fathers again goes with it?” said Vik as he helped Trent sit at the dining table.

“I know,” replied Trent soberly. “But I understand why they have to do it and our fathers would too. While the Gate is open it poses a risk to us all.”

“You’re right, I know. We’ve seen the other side of it and even our fathers would be hard pressed escaping and finding their way back home. It still doesn’t make it any easier.” Vik walked into the kitchen, pulled out two cups and filled them with water before bringing them back and placing one on the table for Trent.

“Thanks.” Trent poured the liquid down his throat in one gulp.

Master Pilk was exhausted. He was the last wizard left at the Gate — the others had all gone off to get rest, including Great Shaman O’tukka. He saw real progress. Between the magic-draining spells of the wizards and the tireless, circuitous marching of the one hundred soldiers, the Gate’s hue looked to be a medium blue instead of the original deep purple.

They still had a long way to go and with the wizards all depleted the process would slow considerably. It’d be a good few hours before they had sufficient rest to continue. After throwing off another spell, a wave of dizziness came over him and if not for leaning up against a building he would have toppled over. That’d have to be his last spell.

Just as he headed off to get some rest a soldier came from the Gate and started yelling that orcs were coming. Master Pilk hurried over to the soldier who spoke to Major Hillsworth. The Major had been left in charge as Duke Angus, King Buster and General Ludko had all gone to get some much needed rest.

“How many are they?” he heard Major Hillsworth ask the soldier as he drew near.

“P’haps a thousand or more,” replied the soldier. “It’s hard ta tell. I came back as soon as I seen ‘em.”

Major Hillsworth cupped his chin, “If it’s a thousand we could defeat them. Go back and get a more accurate count.”

The soldier nodded and hurried off.

“Perhaps we should wake Great Shaman O’tukka, Major. He may shed more light on this army,” suggested Master Pilk.

“If it’s only a thousand we have a real chance to thin their numbers before more arrive, Master Pilk. Not to mention that by sending our army through it’ll continue to weaken the Gate,” replied Major Hillsworth firmly.

“I understand, Major. But it may be wise to determine which tribe of orcs we face here and how many magic users they have amongst them. Remember, we have no magic. Our wizards are all out.”

The Major cupped his chin. “Very well. Rouse the Great Shaman.”

Master Pilk scurried off at once. He found Great Shaman O’tukka in short order and shook him awake, instantly regretting it as the orc pulled him in close, snarled at him and pushed him away ferociously.

“I’m sorry to disturb your slumber,” stammered Master Pilk, “but an army of orcs approaches.”

“From what tribe?” asked Great Shaman O’tukka gruffly.

“I was hoping you’d tell us that. Major Hillsworth wants to attack them, but I’d like to know a little more about them first.”

Great Shaman O’tukka nodded and rose, still looking none too pleased with the disturbance. Master Pilk walked with him to the Gate and watched him disappear as he entered.

Major Hillsworth had a large number of soldiers at the ready. Master Pilk stood beside him and waited. A good few minutes passed and Master Pilk’s concern increased but finally he emerged.

“They are from the Ta’zu. There’s at least ten necromancers among them. I’d recommend that you don’t attack.” O’tukka walked off.

“Wait!” shouted Major Hillsworth.

Great Shaman O’tukka stopped and turned around, still wearing a grumpy expression on his face.

“Care to elaborate? We outnumber them easily.”

“But you have no magic. They have very powerful magic. Leave them be, but keep an eye on them if you can. They won’t attack for the same reason that you should not attack them. If more show up soon then we should be ready to abandon this place and pray to whichever deity you believe in.” Great Shaman O’tukka trounced off once again.

“I’d heed his advice, Major. I’ve read a bit about the powers of a necromancer and it’s not something you want to face without appropriate protection,” said Master Pilk.

“How do we know that he is not still on their side and is simply trying to stall us?” asked Major Hillsworth.

“Because I saw the fear in his eyes when he spoke of this Sylestra and the hatred in his eyes when he spoke of Gilkan the Fierce One. I assure you, he wants this to fail even less than we do, for he’ll be the first hunted.” Master Pilk turned and walked off, leaving Major Hillsworth to ponder his words. The sooner he got some rest the better.