Juliet McKenna - The Swordsman's Oath

“Otrick, answer me, curse you!”

“ What is it? ’Sar, is that you ?” The old mage’s perplexity traveled clearly enough through the faltering spell.

“Don’t you see the ships?” Usara shouted. “Get Kalion to drop his cursed barrier so I can talk to you properly.”

“ Those are Elietimm ships! Saedrin’s stones, where did they come from — ”

“They’re landing troops to attack you! Get ready to defend the walls,” yelled Usara as the spell flickered and weakened.

“Target anyone wearing a metal gorget,” I bellowed as the light died away. “Do you think they heard?”

Usara shook his head, face aghast. “Something’s happened to Otrick!”

Given the chaos erupting around their ships, the Elietimm had abandoned their attempts at stealth and were charging towards the Den Rannion steading, harsh battle cries sounding across the waters.

“Get us ashore, curse you,” Livak was shouting at the master mariner.

“We can mount a counterattack.” Buril looked up from conferring with his fellow mercenaries.

“Let us at them, Esquire,” one of the colonists urged Temar, receiving nods of agreement from the others. “We have a fair rate of scores to settle!”

A crack of lightning silenced everyone as black clouds boiled out of nowhere and spears of magic lanced downwards to send black-liveried bodies flying, scorched vegetation burning merrily. Where a detachment tried to stamp out the flames, a surge of crimson fire leaped up from the ground to seize one man greedily by the arm, burning him to the bone despite every effort to quench it, rather transferring itself to anyone who came to the hapless soldier’s aid, leaving only charred remnants behind. Screams of fear and pain began to rise above the war cries.

“Do you think they need our help?” I heard one of the mercenaries ask his mate doubtfully.

“Over there, he’s over there!” Guinalle gestured wildly at the far bank, toward the ruins of some kind of watchtower. “Their Artificer, he’s over there!”

“Master, can you get us beside that wharf?” I shouted to the captain. “We have to get off quick if we’re not to be cut to pieces as we land!”

“Let us.” Shiv nodded to Usara and the great serpent vanished, leaving only a few swimmers struggling among the flotsam of the ebbing tide. Our boat rode over the water, however, gliding impossibly through the exposed mud flats to wedge itself securely against an undercut shore, the mercenaries leaping over the rail to land on dry grass, which was soon running red with the blood of the Elietimm who charged down to meet our unexpected attack.

After that first success our assault faltered as a handful of our warriors fell to their knees. The air felt heavy around me, almost as if a storm threatened. I wondered if some wizard’s magic was going awry. Then one woman, Jervice, Halice’s friend, struggled to her feet and I saw her eyes were black as pitch.

“Drianon forgive me!” As Livak whispered her prayer, she threw a dart, hard and true and Jervice crumpled to the ground before she could plant her raised sword in the skull of the man next to her. Others were not so lucky and I saw more than one colonist, so long in waiting, sent straight to Saedrin’s door by an unexpected blow from behind. Rage threatened to overwhelm me and I clubbed the man responsible with a heavy hand, sending him bleeding to the ground.

“Tror mir’al, es nar’an,” Guinalle set up a frantic chant somewhere close. “Parrail, repeat this after me and don’t stop, if you love your sanity!”

As the peculiar rhythm built, the sense of pressure faded and our attack was pressed home with renewed bitterness. “Go for the commanders, the ones with gold or silver at their throats!” I heard Temar shouting. More of Livak’s darts went shooting past my ear to drop anyone she could see with a gorget in their steps. I spared her a glance, hearing her chanting something under her breath. “What are you saying?”

“Whatever—it is—that she is,” Livak said between repetitions. “It can’t hurt, can it?”

“Over there!” Dragging Parrail along with her other hand, Guinalle grabbed my sleeve and then pointed at the creeper-clad base of the watchtower. “He’s in there.”

“Temar!” I pointed to the tower and looked around. “Tavie, Buril, with me, and you others!”

“Maintain the ward, whatever you do.” Guinalle dropped Parrail’s hand and I noticed the bruises of her finger marks in his flesh. “It’s up to you now. I have to block the source of this Artifice.”

She hurried toward the tower, heedless of danger, Livak and I hastening to put ourselves either side of her as we fought our way through the melee. As we reached the entrance, ’Sar sent magic from somewhere behind us to reduce the doorway to rubble and splinters. After an instant of recoiling from that shock, Temar and I led the charge inside. Those who came to meet us died quickly, as I found myself knowing every move Temar was going to make a breath before he did it. It seemed to be working both ways as well. As I darted to the side and an Elietimm sought to follow me, Temar’s sword was already moving to spill his guts over the dusty floor. As a second man thought he could smash his blade down into Temar’s outstretched arm, I was already poised to drive my crude blade into his head, ripping it out again to smash the hilt into the face of the gorget-wearer hoping to meet Temar’s retreat. The rest of the guard died bloodily under the swords of those beside us.

“Upstairs.” Guinalle was flattened against the wall, blood on her skirts, eyes fixed on the beams above her head. Livak, similarly splashed, waited ready to defend her, but no assailants were getting past Buril and Tavie, who had set themselves at the threshold. The two heavy-set mercenaries were drenched in gore, some their own, grimly purposeful as they hacked down any Elietimm trying to seek sanctuary within the tower again.

“Come on.” Temar set a foot on the lowest step of the stair winding up the inside of the wall and I hurried to follow him. I nodded and we both ran up the narrow treads, swords raised, ready to kill whatever we found but crashing helplessly into some unseen barrier that sent agony shooting through my skull. Gasping for breath, I stared into the hollow room in total disbelief.

It was him, the priest from Shek Kul’s domain—Kramisak, the bastard who had fled and left me to watch over Kaeska’s agonized death. He sat, calm, within a circle of eerie radiance, a mocking half-smile on his thin lips as he nodded toward me in a taunting salute. Stripped to the waist, his hands were raised and he was once more covered in black sigils, shocking against the white of his skin and hair. “I will attend to you later, Tormalin man, I have bigger fish on the hook at present.”

I glared at him and waved Temar over to test the circle on the opposite side. We found we could move around the enchanter easily enough but could not reach him; even touching a sword to the baleful light sent agony shooting up the arm that held it. As I walked slowly round, I looked over the river to see how the battle fared. The walls of the encampment were wreathed in scarlet fire; Naldeth or Kalion must have set all the creepers alight, which did not suggest the fight went well for our side. Where were Otrick’s lightning strikes, which had shattered Elietimm ambitions the year before?

“It’s a ward, a strong one.” Guinalle stood at the top of the steps, peering around Livak’s shoulder. Livak’s face was pale and set and I knew just what it must be costing her to come face to face with the Elietimm magic that had tortured her so foully before. Kramisak’s attention wavered for a moment and the circle brightened, but Guinalle raised a hand with a stream of liquid syllables and whatever the bastard was attempting against her went past in vain.