Martin Hengst - The Last Swordmage

“I’d like that very much, your grace.”

Royce couldn’t help but smile. Stubborn as she was, she was learning diplomacy and tact at a frightening rate. He was sorry that he wouldn’t get to see her grow into her new role. He had a feeling that she would surpass even his expectations.

The king grasped her shoulder for a moment, and then called the room to order. They gathered around the map, Royce on one side of the king, Tiadaria on the other. The Quints and the soldiers gathered round. Dragonfell was laid out before them, every road and alley, every twist and turn. Colored markers dotted the surface and Heron wasted no time in pointing some of these out to his council.

“Scouts went out last night and this morning. We have confirmed sightings from some of our best men that the Xarundi are indeed moving on Dragonfell.” He pointed to a few of the markers with a crooked finger. “In addition, there is a splinter group that has split off from the main column and has turned toward Blackbeach.”

“Gatzbin’s gonads!” Faxon swore under his breath. The king looked at him, cocking one bushy eyebrow at his outburst.

“Gatzbin’s gonads, indeed.” The Quint inclined his head in oblique apology and the king went on. “We’ve released our fastest messengers to Blackbeach. Five of our swiftest coursers are on their way to the Academy even as we speak. We have confidence that the Xarundi won’t be able to intercept all five. We’ve asked for their assistance, after they’ve dealt with the beasts on their doorstep, of course.”

“Your grace,” Adamon put in quietly. “I would like to send my own messenger to the tower, if that’s alright?”

The king nodded. “Of course, man. Any help is good help right now.” He pointed to a different set of colored markers. “We have defensive troops here, here, and here. They cover all the approaches into the valley. We don’t expect them to be able to hold these choke points, so I’ve issued standing orders that any regiment that gets overrun should fall back behind this line.”

The king drew a wide semicircle with his forefinger, indicating an area of crop fields just beyond the edge of the city proper. The regrouping area was far too near the city for Royce’s peace of mind, but the valley was relatively small and if they had any chance of keeping the civilians safe, they would need to funnel their attackers away from the innocents and into the waiting arms of the infantry.

Heron tapped the map, looking at each of them in turn.

“This is where you will make your stand, for good or ill. I want the lot of you and your people on this line. You are the last line of defense before those mangy beasts sack Dragonfell and I want you to teach them exactly why they spent the last thousand years hiding in their holes.”

“Your will be done,” Royce said solemnly.

“As you command,” Faxon replied, bowing his head.

“Yes, your grace,” Torus answered, clicking his heels together and throwing up his hand in a sharp salute.

The king returned the honor quickly, indicating the area inside the line where they would meet the advancing enemy.

“I don’t need to tell you lot what is at stake here.” He passed a hand over his face, the weariness of the last few days evident in the lines around his eyes and the dark circles under them. “All of Dragonfell is depending on you. Hell, all the Imperium. That’s a tall order to fill, but I have faith in each and every one of you.”

There was an uneasy silence, and Royce knew that every individual was reflecting on what was to come. He knew that this would be Tiadaria’s first battle, but her face was so pensive and still that he was certain that her thoughts were turned to what would soon be happening outside the city.

“You have about an hour,” the king said, breaking the silence. “May all the gods be with you and watch over you.”

With his benediction, they scattered. The mages went in one direction, the soldiers another, Royce and Tiadaria in a third. As they reached the corridor, Royce looked back over his shoulder. The king stood in the center of the empty chamber, leaning on his cane, his head bowed. It pained his heart to see such a noble man disheartened so.

“Come,” he said to Tiadaria. “Our destiny waits.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Royce stopped in his tracks.

“I’m not Sir to you anymore, Tiadaria.”

Tia smiled and reached up, laying her gloved hand against his cheek. Her eyes were sad and knowing. His heart skipped a beat at that intimate glance.

“You’ll always be Sir to me, Captain. No matter what.”

“Then let’s go, little one. We have a war to win.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Though it was the last time Royce left the palace, he did so with lightness in his heart that he had seldom felt before. He knew the battle would be long and tiring, but with Tiadaria fighting at his side, he was sure they would overcome this menace and drive them back into the earth to hide for another millennium.

* * *

The attacking wave of Xarundi warriors spilled through the pass like a swarm of locust. They were packed so tightly together that Tiadaria thought it looked like a black, rolling fog was descending into the valley. The archers brought their weapons to the ready and Torus shouted out orders for them to hold their fire. Their enemy would need to be much nearer and the bowmen would need to make every shot count. There were a finite number of arrows and seemingly no end to the mass of bodies that raced toward them.

A long, ragged howl went up from the attackers as the first wave reached the floor of the valley and raced toward the city. They came on in a crouch, all four powerful limbs propelling them forward with unbelievable speed. The archers loosed the first volley of arrows and they fell on the Xarundi in a deadly rain. Many of the beasts leapt out of the way of the incoming projectiles, in some cases coming up completely off the ground and executing intricate maneuvers to avoid being skewered.

More arrows were fitted to bow strings. Tiadaria could see the burning blue luminescence of their eyes now, tiny points of light that glittered and flashed in the gathering twilight. She drew her swords, relishing in the once painful shock that reminded her of her unique bond to the Quintessential Sphere. She heard the twang of bowstrings and looked past the physical realm, into the one beyond. Sphere-sight showed her each arrow, a streak of light piercing the blackness that massed before her. Where the arrows struck true, there would be a brilliant flash of white that replaced the black shape. Too many of the white streaks were fading out as they fell, their targets unscathed by the airborne fury.

Up and down their ranks, their fighters burned gray or brilliant white. The Captain shone the brightest of them all, a dazzling presence that seemed to pulse with intensity. He stood atop a hastily constructed barricade, his scimitars tracing lazy figure eights. She shifted her sight back to the realm of the living. Their part of the battle would start soon. The first ranks of the Xarundi were almost upon them.

There was a roar from the flanks as the Quints unleashed their spells. Magic missiles, white and glowing, streaked across the battlefield, exploding into showers of light when they hit their targets. Balls of flame, shards of ice, and all other manner of magical projectiles slammed into the Xarundi ranks. The beasts were beginning to reply in kind. Small darts fired from their blowguns zipped through the air like angry wasps.

The soldier immediately to Tiadaria’s right was hit in the throat. He spun off the barrier, his sword dropping from lifeless fingers. The Xarundi shamans were reanimating their dead, sending the corpses of their fallen brethren shambling into battle for them.