The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (47 page)

The attack she launched was by far the most difficult task she had attempted with magic -  harder than creating massive waves, harder than forming the perfect weapon to strike down Ariel. She was miles away from the target and working with the constraints of a river that limited the flow of water available to her. Looking from the banks, the waterway seemed vast and impressive. Controlling it as a wizard, its inadequacies were evident. The ocean supplied its own energy; it was a source of raw power. The river offered only a trickle of the same fury. Alicia had to draw on her own reserves to attain a fraction of the result.

Applying the fullness of her abilities, she struck the first blow of the war. The river rose, impossibly and suddenly, spilling over its banks and pulling under those caught in the surge. Men died by the hundreds, sucked down never again to emerge. The water turned the immediate environs into a lake. The orderly march of the army fragmented with men fleeing from the sudden rage of a river that had seemed tame only moments before.

But there was only so much Alicia could accomplish on short notice with minimal planning. Exerting herself over such a distance quickly exhausted her stamina and, by drawing down so much water from farther upstream, she eventually ran out of fuel to fan her aquatic surge. For a full mile above the ford, the river was down three to four feet. She kept up the effort for nearly an hour but faced inevitable diminishing returns. After the initial torrent, there were few additional deaths, although the crossing couldn’t be resumed with waters so high. Many of the supply wagons had been lost, overwhelmed, overturned, or submerged. But Justin’s commanders adjusted and order was restored. In the end, as Alicia let go, the waters gradually receded. It would only be a matter of time before the crossing continued and she lacked the fortitude to launch a second similar attack. Her work here done, Alicia stumbled onto the shore, weary to the bone and recognizing that much more would be asked of her soon. To her surprise, men were waiting for her with a horse and dry clothing.

* * *

Azarak wasn’t given the benefit of a full night’s sleep.  In fact, his rest lasted less than two hours. He was awakened shortly after midnight by an urgent summons from Chancellor Gorton. Less than a half-hour later, dressed in full armor, the king entered the command tent, which was in the process of being disassembled for relocation, and learned the unpleasant news.

“The enemy army has made an abrupt change in course,” said Gorton, pointing to a group of markers on the large map brought from the palace war room. “Instead of heading toward Vantok along the expected route, they’ve made a turn. It now appears they intend to attack from the north, making a wide loop to the east, crossing the river at the ford, and sweeping back around to hit us.”

The implications were stark. All the defenders’ preparations, including Sorial and Alicia’s bog, were to the south and southeast. By attacking from the north, Justin’s forces would avoid the most effective of Vantok’s defenses. The new battlefield would also impinge upon the expected evacuation route, although that could be changed. Azarak cursed himself for not having been more far-thinking; he had
assumed
The Lord of Fire would avoid fording the river at all costs because of Alicia and, as a result, he hadn’t adequately planned for contingencies. It was a novice mistake, an error of the kind that men like his father and Rangarak wouldn’t have made. He suddenly felt like a boy playing at a man’s game.

“Overcommander Vikon is in the process of redeploying his men and I’ve taken the liberty of sending a large contingent to dig trenches and bolster existing defensive positions to the north but there’s no escaping the fact that they’ll be hitting us where we’re the weakest. Either they anticipated this or they had advance information about our plans.”

Azarak thought the latter more likely.
Never underestimate a wizard
. He had done precisely that. If The Lord of Fire could kill King Rangarak in the manner he had, within the secure walls of the palace, how much easier would it be for him to ascertain the strengths and weaknesses of Vantok’s defenses?

“I need Alicia here,” said Azarak.  “And Sorial if he hasn’t left yet. Maybe magic can help us at this late stage. And send a message to the palace to inform the queen what’s happening. Make sure everyone there knows that the escape route has changed.

“Lord Sorial departed several hours ago and is beyond our ability to recall. Lady Alicia was contacted as soon as we realized what was happening. She’s at the river now doing what she can to impede the enemy’s progress. The overcommander sent a small contingent of men to watch over her as she works and convey her to you when she’s done.

“I should have known...”  It was the first of what he expected to be many self-recriminations.

“No, Your Majesty, you should not have. No man, not even the most gifted soldier, can predict every action of the enemy. Ringing the whole city with defenses would have blunted a tactic like this, but it would have effectively sealed everyone within the perimeter, disallowing any kind of mass evacuation. Complete preparation is never possible when there are variables. Overpreparedness can lead to overconfidence. And overconfidence can lead to defeat. Battles are won by commanders who react the best to the unexpected. This is a setback, to be sure, but it’s by no means a fatal one, nor is it an indictment of your ability as a commander. There are many more experienced men who would have ordered a similar defensive approach.”

Gorton spent the next hour providing the king with a detailed perspective of how the enemy’s revised course changed the battle plans. He then escorted Azarak to Mount Vantok, the ugly magic-made peak that had gained unexpected tactical importance as an observation post. Soldiers were busy smoothing out a rough road leading to the plateaued top of Sorial’s creation. An obviously exhausted Alicia was waiting at the summit when they arrived. Overcommander Vikon was on hand, as were several other officers.

“Have you been briefed?” Azarak asked Alicia, who looked frail and pale in the moonlight. Her hair was still damp.

“I have. I did what I could but it wasn’t enough.”

Vikon disagreed. After summarizing Alicia’s accomplishment, he assessed the implications. “We estimate between three and four hundred infantry dead. Most of their supply wagons were destroyed or disabled. Their approach has been delayed by at least three hours. Not only were they forced to regroup but they are now sending men across in small companies, wary of another similar attack.”

“Can you re-create the trap to the north?”

Alicia shook her head. “Most of the soil’s consistency, not to mention the top camouflage layer, was Sorial’s work. I just supplied a little water. Without him, I can’t do it. If you want to set up the defensive perimeter on the near side of the river, I can make the crossing treacherous for the enemy.”

Azarak rejected the idea after consideration. “That would be too close to the central city. We need to meet them well beyond the other side of the river. If they get close enough to cross, the battle will be lost.”

“About the only advantage of their attacking from the north is that, with the river closer, I’ll be able to launch more forceful volleys but, unless you want me to flood the plains, there’s not a lot I can do on my own.”

“Is there some way you can call Sorial back?” asked Azarak.

“No. He’s beyond communication now.  His course is set. What we do, we’ll have to do without him.”

Azarak sighed. He squinted into the darkness to the north and east but saw nothing. Gorton noted the direction of his gaze. “It’s still too dark to see them even with the moon out. By dawn, you’ll see and hear them. This will delay the engagement but not prevent it. By afternoon, the fields to the north will be a killing ground.”

“Very well,” decreed the king. “Overcommander, inform me when the redeployment is completed. Gorton, order my personal guard up here. I intend to observe the battle from this vantage point.”

“Your Majesty, this is too exposed...” protested the chancellor.

“It’s also the best place to make a quick assessment of the situation and react appropriately. I’m following your advice, Chancellor. As long as this mountain remains under our control, this is where I’ll be.”

Recognizing the firmness of Azarak’s resolve, no one made another attempt to dissuade him. So it was that, during the early hours of the morning, the creeping approach of dawn provided him with his first, distant glimpse of the forces arrayed against his army.

“Sound the trumpets,” he said. “The enemy has been sighted. War has come to Vantok this day.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: THE FIRST DAY OF WAR

As Sorial drew close to source of the heat signature, he sensed that something wasn’t as it should be. There was power there, to be sure - more power than could be generated by anything other than magic - but it was, for lack of a better description, impure. Fire dominated but there were also indications of water, air, and even earth - elements Justin shouldn’t be able to control. Sorial tried latching onto the earth, but it slipped away from him, slick and mercurial. He wondered what awaited him on the surface. What sort of trap had Justin prepared, and how was he able to manipulate elements other than fire? Every time Sorial had attempted to reach out to touch air, fire, or water, he had encountered a void. For him, they were insubstantial.

He considered turning back. The more he studied the signature, the more aware he became that the potential for the failure was high. He was reminded of the superficiality of his understanding of what constituted magical dominance. He wasn’t ready to duel The Lord of Fire and what reason was there to believe Justin would permit him to lead him on a chase? But the need to investigate trumped the safer, more secure route of returning to Vantok. Perhaps The Lord of Fire was relying on Sorial’s curiosity. Maybe this was a ruse to draw Sorial in and catch him in a situation from which there was no escape.

The rock wyrm appeared unconcerned about the odd nature of what they were approaching, but that wasn’t surprising. It was a beast of limited concern and little forethought. As long as its belly was full and it had space to roam, it was content. It could be a formidable opponent in battle, however, and Sorial intended to use it to fight, although perhaps not here or now. It was better suited in a conflict against men than wizards.

Sorial didn’t plan to emerge from the earth directly at the site of the heat signature. He separated from the rock wyrm a mile away and funneled on his own through the rock and dirt to the surface. There he emerged to an early morning scene of tranquility. He was in the midst of the vast grasslands that stretched from the sea to the west to Basingham to the north to Vantok to the south. His eyes could detect nothing out of the ordinary in the early morning tableau, where a slight silvery mist hung in the air, coating the long grass blades with dew and bending them over. Sorial absently noted that Alicia would have loved this setting.

It
was there, however, lurking not far to the east, somewhere between Sorial and the sea. It was below ground - this close, he could discern that much - and continued to defy his attempts to clarify its nature. He approached slowly and cautiously, creeping low to the ground, his head below the level of the high grass. This was uninhabited land so, whatever happened, at least Sorial didn’t have to worry about innocent farmers and peasants being killed. The only life in danger here was his.

Talk of duty and honoring his oath had sounded fine when presenting this plan to the king and discussing it with Alicia but, facing an unknown enemy far from help or hope of aid, Sorial found himself wondering if honor wasn’t overrated. Planning this foray had been easy; execution was hard. Maybe the smarter approach would have been to remain at Vantok, help the army at the outset of the battle, and face Justin when circumstances demanded it. Seeking him out like this, while undoubtedly courageous, was beginning to seem more than a little stupid. He wondered why Alicia hadn’t tried harder to talk him out of it. Still, if there was any chance that his actions here could stem the tide of destruction sweeping toward Vantok, he was bound by oath and conscience to try, even if cost his life.

Within 30 minutes, Sorial was at the spot. The only evidence of something amiss was a small fire burning in a clearing. It was innocent looking, the kind of fire one might ignite when setting up camp on an early Summer day - not large enough to provide warmth, but big enough to cook a meal over. Its location and simplicity were suspicious and Sorial doused it from a distance, burying it under a mound of earth. Perhaps Justin could see things using fire the way Sorial could with earth. If so, the act of extinguishing the flames might render him blind. Sorial doubted it would in any way be a crippling blow. More of a minor inconvenience.

He was planning his next move when
it
arrived, pushing up through the dirt much like the rock wyrm, spraying soil and detritus in all directions. For the briefest of moments, that’s what Sorial thought it was, but the emerging creature was of man-like dimensions yet impossibly large - the size of a legendary giant, at least fifteen feet from sole to crown. Fire licked its ruddy skin, red-orange flames hungrily caressing its naked, hairless form. Its eyes, like its beard, were black as coal, hinting at a purity of darkness. Its head was topped not by hair but by a more intense and steady fire than the sort wreathing the rest of its body. After clearing the surface, it continued to rise, ascending ten feet into the air, towering far above Sorial. It glowered down at the smaller creature, contempt contorting its fearsome features.

Matching the image of the creature above him with one from bedtime tales and legends, Sorial had no difficulty identifying this entity. It was a djinn, a creature long thought to have disappeared from the lands of men. As Sorial had summoned a rock wyrm, so Justin had called out to this fiend.

A sound like a distant rumble of thunder emerged from the titan; it took Sorial a moment to recognize it as laughter. Then it spoke. The pronunciation and inflection were awkward, the product of a voice unfamiliar with speech or the language in which it was speaking. The words resounded powerfully, almost painfully, and Sorial realized they were being projected directly into his mind as they were spoken aloud.

It seemed to be talking to itself as much as to Sorial. “
He
said you would be puny, that you would not be like
him
. You look much like
him
, although more whole, but the light burns low within you.
He
is right. You are not a worthy match. You cannot release me from my enslavement. Therefore I must do as
he
commands and destroy you.”

Sorial felt the djinn’s power even while it was quiescent. It radiated from every pore of the creature’s being and he didn’t for a moment doubt the sincerity of the threat. Engaging the djinn was folly; flight was the only action that made sense. He dove for the ground and found it sealed against his entrance. Far above, the djinn laughed again, the rumble shaking earth and heaven.

“You cannot escape me that way, little wizard. But I have no desire to toy with you. I am not a cat and you are not a mouse. In this case, I am inclined toward mercy. Yield to me and I will make your end quick and painless. You can vanish into the blankness of eternity without suffering. Why struggle? Why make your last moments a torment?”

Sorial called the rock wyrm, which was lurking close, awaiting his command. At the same time, he created a shield of earth around himself that, under normal circumstances, might provide some degree of protection. In this case, however, he was uncertain about its effectiveness. It seemed a paltry defense against the djinn’s puissance.

The wizard leapt on the rock wyrm and commanded it to dive as quickly and as deeply as possible. Earth rushed by - a torrent so forceful that it threatened to shred The Lord of Earth as he concentrated to keep from being ripped from the rock wyrm’s back. Never before had he travelled this aggressively and it was straining his capabilities to their limits. Faster and deeper - he had to keep going until he achieved a degree of safety.

The trap was laid bare. Justin wasn’t here. He had never been here. He was where it made sense for him to be: with his army. He had sent the djinn as a decoy and an executioner. That meant Alicia was in grave danger. She was facing not only an army of ten thousand men but The Lord of Fire as well, and she was unprepared for his participation. She had to be warned; if Justin attacked while Alicia was vulnerable...

Necessity demanded that he return to Vantok as rapidly as possible so news of this threat could be conveyed to Azarak. The city would have to be evacuated and a retreat sounded. Vantok’s army, even augmented by two wizards, couldn’t stand against Justin, the djinn, and ten thousand men. If the city wasn’t conceded, the result would be a decimation of the defense forces and a massacre of those left behind.

At that moment, however, Sorial realized he remained in deadly peril; the deep, reckless dive into the bowels of the earth hadn’t ended the threat. Here, where his position should have been unassailable, he was
not
safe. The djinn, after blocking Sorial’s initial escape attempt by stymying his ability to control earth, had travelled beneath the surface. It was in pursuit, closing quickly. A confrontation seemed unavoidable. The path to save Alicia and Azarak intersected with a creature that radiated invulnerability.

* * *

Carannan, positioned on the army’s left flank, watched as chaos erupted toward the center where the attackers’ front line smashed into that of the defenders. The coming together of armies was loud and brutal, with the clanging of steel, the shouts and screams, and the occasional report of a revolver all melding into a cacophony. From here, it was impossible to say who was winning or losing. The pandemonium was complete - a mass of uncoordinated bodies hacking at whatever was nearest to them before succumbing to wounds and being trodden underfoot. In that strangely intimate circle of carnage, there was no concept of victory or defeat, only survival or death.

More men were coming forward, flowing southward like a river of armed humanity that had broken through a dam. The enemy forces seemed endless from this vantage point. Carannan knew their number was estimated at ten thousand and his daughter had drowned several hundred at the upstream ford but, considering what he was seeing, that seemed impossibly low. Still, Vantok’s front line was holding. Reinforcements moved into gaps created by losses and, at this early stage, there was no evidence of bowing. Archers, mounted in portable towers, fired volley after volley into the sea of invaders. Most clanked harmlessly off plate mail or angled shields but some lucky few found purchase. Vantok’s three large trebuchets were being wheeled into position; they had been initially set up to the south and it had taken all night to reposition them.

As best as Carannan could tell, the attackers had neither towers nor catapults. Beyond an initial volley, the enemy archers had been rendered ineffective as a result of the terrain. They were as likely to hit friend as foe, so bows had been shouldered in favor of close-combat arms. Short swords and scimitars ruled the day. And somewhere, there might be a wizard, biding his time for the perfect opportunity to launch a storm of fire.

Alicia was using her own brand of magic. Lethal jets of water arced from the nearby river and, where they struck, armor was no protection against the force of tons of water. Each one of Alicia’s attacks caused devastation equal to that of a siege engine, but Carannan wondered how long her energy would hold up, especially considering how drained she had appeared after her pre-dawn activities. As for Sorial…wherever he was and whatever he was doing, he wasn’t participating in the battle.

“Looks like it won’t be long till we see some action, eh sir?” Rotgut gave a lopsided grin that revealed how few teeth he had left. The duke had noted that many men who never before participated in a battle were approaching this experience with relish. War’s siren song, using the illusion of honor to camouflage the bloody truth. Rotgut’s enthusiasm was genuine and born of experience not ignorance - he had spent twenty years fighting in the northern border skirmishes before seeking warmer and sunnier terrain. He was emblematic of a rare breed: the grizzled old veteran who would rather die in battle with a sword in the gizzard than in bed with a warm woman.

“Too bad Vagrum ain’t here. He’da loved this, he woulda. Odds against us. Wizards fightin’ on both sides. Buckets and buckets of blood spilt. What a day t’die! But there’s no arguin’ with the way he went. Only hope I gets to go in a sim’lar way.”

“Keep an eye out behind. It wouldn’t surprise me if The Lord of Fire tries to outflank us.”

Rotgut sniffed. “He don’t have enough men. Not with this flat ground and so many soldiers standin’ against him. Might be different if there was hills, but we’d see him coming from too far away. No, sir, this’ll be as pure a clash of arms and armor as you’re ever like to see. Not much help from archers or cavalry. Brute force.”

Azarak’s strategists had claimed that the enemy outnumbered the defenders by about two thousand (perhaps a thousand five hundred after the flood) but to Carannan, things looked significantly more lopsided. Of course, the king was keeping a large contingent in reserve and it appeared that The Lord of Fire was throwing all his men into the fray.

“Is this winnable?”

“Aye, sir, it’s winnable. Any battle is winnable. There’s no doubtin’ the odds are ’gainst us, but if we make all the right moves and they make a few wrong ones, we’ll claim the day. And there’s a question of how many men they’re willin’ to lose. If The Lord of Fire fancies throwin’ away his whole army, he’ll probably take the city. But if he wants to keep a few thousand left to fight another day, he might have to retreat before declaring victory.”

Carannan considered Rotgut’s words. He was right. If Vantok fought hard enough and cost The Lord of Fire too dearly, he might retreat to lick his wounds and look for easier prey. Basingham in particular was vulnerable, with a small unskilled army that could probably be defeated by a force half its size. Maybe hope lay in that direction.