Gemworld (51 page)

Four granites closed in on Keth, each taking hold of a limb. He wrestled against his captors, but their grips were like stone. A fifth granite drew a leather strap across Keth’s eyes. As the blindfold slid home, Keth realized what was happening—they wanted him alive. He bucked and fought with renewed vigor, trying to shake the blindfold off, or at least work a hand or a foot loose, but the granites held him fast, extending their auras over him. Keth grabbed at his own magic, but it came to him sluggishly, if at all. The invading auras were interfering with his own magic. He tried time and again to wield, but the magic kept slipping away. He could feel the brown auras of his attackers crawl up his arms, his legs, coating his flesh like pond scum. He could do nothing but struggle vainly, and listen blindly as the battle unfolded around him.

***

Delana, caught off guard, dropped to the ground to offer aid, but hesitated. Lightning crackled vainly at her fingertips. She had the means to at least buy Keth some time, but she couldn’t take the risk. They were all so close together! With Keth’s own granite aura disrupted, one errant spark could fry him to a crisp. Or worse, it could catch Reit, who lay on the ground near them. So she stood there, agonizing, impotent, while she waited desperately for a clean shot.

***

Reit, still winded from his own struggles, groggily regained his feet and unsheathed his sword. He stumbled forward and hacked at the nearest granite. A lucky strike, the blow caught the granite off guard. The brown woolen robe deflated as the headless granite crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

That was about the extent of Reit’s luck, however. One of the granites saw his fellow drop, and issued a blood-curdling battlecry. The others turned to take stock of their change in fortune. Before Reit could raise his sword a second time, the granite that had spotted him wielded. A magic-wrought orb formed in the space above Keth, and sped toward Reit. The rebel leader swept his sword upward in a broad arc, barely batting the sphere away. The impact jarred his sword arm, and before he could fully recover, the nearest granite was on him.

***

Keth, blindfolded against the exchange happening around him, felt the granite attack weaken with the loss of two attackers, and he pushed that much harder with his own. His control over the mana strengthened for a moment, but a surge pushed it back as the fourth granite rejoined them. His flesh tingled as the very surface of his skin started to crystallize. As hard has he pushed, Keth was still losing ground—and flesh—to the granites. Unable to subdue him, they were killing him, an inch at a time, and there was nothing he could do about it.

***

Jaren wasn’t entirely surprised by the arrival of the Granite Guards. In fact, he’d expected them long before now, and had stayed as close to Keth as the heat of battle would allow. He knew that the renegade granite would be a primary target for the Guard, even above
el
’
Yatza
. They were notoriously protective of their secrets, and Keth posed an unacceptable breach.

Rotting corpses littered the area surrounding Jaren and his magically-enhanced sword. But the emerald didn’t let himself get so caught up in the battle that he forgot the young granite. So when that moment finally came, heralded by the five new granite auras, Jaren leapt forward, blood-drenched sword in hand.

He was vaguely aware of Delana dropping to the ground before him, but he was more concerned with Keth. The young mage was surrounded by brown cowls, each of the five wielding—no, wait.
Four
granites. Jaren watched the fifth crumple to the ground in a heap, decapitated, courtesy of
el
’
Yatza
.

The emerald’s burst of pride was short-lived. One of the remaining granites took note of his fallen comrade, and exacted revenge. Turning, the granite thrust his hand into Reit’s chest—
deep
into his chest—and gripped... something. Reit threw his head back in pain and utter shock. The granite pushed Reit back with one hand, withdrawing his other hand at the same time. Blood flowed freely from his grip. He tossed aside whatever he’d ripped loose, and turned his attentions back to Keth.

Jaren heard a horrific, bloodcurdling scream as he ran to Keth’s defense, splashing through decomposing bodies and leaping over those still more or less solid. He was halfway to Keth before he realized that the scream he was hearing was his own.

It was truly a bizarre feeling. “Disconnected” was the only word that even came close. And it did. He felt disconnected—from the battle, from reality. It was as if bloodlust had completely overtaken him, and his soul was just along for the ride. He noted vaguely that Delana was screaming as well, lightning crackling all around her like the pent up fury of a summer storm over Leviathan’s Maw.

He thought he heard Keth join the chorus as well, but just as he did, a deafening thunderclap sounded, and the emerald felt himself pulled forward. Breathless and ears ringing, Jaren found himself once again in control of his faculties... as well as face down in the blood-sodden grass. He needed desperately to catch his breath, but he couldn’t afford that luxury at the moment. Reit’s life hung in the balance. So he made due as best he could, struggling to his feet and lurching forward.

He knew before he even reached the body that he was too late. He scanned Reit thoroughly with his second sight, scouring the body for any sign of vitality, any sign of life at all. There was none. No brain activity, no reflexive muscle jerks, nothing.

But he didn’t need his magical secondary vision to tell him the truth of the matter. He didn’t even need to see the residual granite aura enveloping the body, concentrated over the cavity that had once held a heart that many would claim was purest gold. All Jaren needed to see were the lifeless, soulless eyes, staring out into oblivion.

Reit was dead.

***

Outside the fortress walls, the battle raged. Sal and his forces cut a swath through the opposing armies like a hot knife through butter. But as much as he hated to admit it, he was a pretty thin knife in a huge tub of butter. Something would have to give, and quick.

He saw some of those loyal to him fall, either to traitors or to the enemy proper, but the fallen were swiftly avenged. The half-drunken rabble was terribly overmatched, but sheer numbers stood on the part of the Earthen Ranks. Through a breach in the granite wall, he caught glimpses of the battle raging within the fortress, but what he saw was confusing. One moment, the defenders were whipped up in a frenzy. The next, chaos had ensued. He wasn’t sure what had turned the tide, but it didn’t seem to be for the better. And it was catching. The Earthen Ranks saw what Sal saw, and let loose a cheer, redoubling their efforts to put down the rebel army.

Sal swallowed grimly. There was nothing he could do about the battle inside the fortress. Turning his focus back to the task at hand, he danced among the Rank soldiers, sword cutting a devastating swath around him. He recited his hilts, over and over, keeping his focus sharp. But just outside his focus, that nagging thought buzzed like a horsefly. Something had to give.

As if in response to his silent prayer, a reptilian roar broke over the din of battle. A second followed. And a third. The thunder of creaking leather drew his attention to the sky, where his eyes beheld... something. It was monstrous, whatever it was, dressed in red scales that reflected the fires of battle off its underbelly. It beat its wings, and the creak of leather sounded again over the battle. Dumbfounded, only one word came to mind to describe such a beast.

Dragon.

As he watched, the dragon wheeled to the right, picking out a likely target, and spat a series of burning globules. Each one impacted a combatant squarely in the chest. Another dragon—a blue one—flew a strafing route to the south, showering its targets with icy needles.
Dear God
, he thought.
If the Highest has
those
things fighting for him, we may as well just give up now
.

“Heads up!” came a slurring rumble from directly overhead. Sal instinctively went down on one knee and flooded his conduits to the breaking point with emerald magic. It wouldn’t completely protect him, he knew, but it might just keep him alive long enough to heal whatever damage that monster did to him.

The dragon—a violet one, this time, as much lightning as flesh—swooped past him in a trail of ozone, issuing a hissing shriek. Out of its mouth broke a jagged bolt of lightning. It branched as it advanced, and struck a handful of combatants not a few steps in front of Sal. Stunned, Sal regained his feet, starring at the charred bodies before him. They all bore the tattoo of a segmented fist upon their foreheads.

A bloodthirsty shout from the side drew Sal back to reality. He sidestepped the Rank soldier as he rushed toward him, sword upraised. Sal swung his katana in an upward cut, neatly parted upper torso from lower. The emerald-infused blade set the flesh to festering before either half hit the ground.

Above the killing, a new sound floated. The rhythmic blasts of a brass horn cried its signal, drawing Sal’s eyes to the hornblower. Some minor officer—likely the
ranking
officer, forcibly promoted by the rebels—was calling a hasty retreat. Whoever the officer was, he didn’t enjoy his commission very long. His first and only order was punctuated by a spray of rapidly congealing blood—at the hands of Aten’rih! The commander of the Earthen Rank training camp paused long enough in the bloodshed to turn and wink at Sal.

Will wonders never cease?

Without a definite leader, the Earthen Rank retreat became a full rout. A vast majority of the Bastionites took to their heels, each trying to outrun the onslaught, or at least the man next to him. But none were making good their escape, mowed down from behind by their supposed brothers-in-training, with their few outrunners picked off from above. Sal allowed himself a stunned, bemused smirk. There was absolutely nothing that could stop—

Stars filled Sal’s vision as pain exploded in the back of his head. It wasn’t until he spat out a mouthful of grass and blood that he realized he was on the ground. His magic slipped easily from him, and consciousness threatened to follow. The thud of the blow echoed off the insides of his skull, keeping perfect rhythm with the throbbing knot just behind his ear.

He rolled over on his side, expecting the finishing blow to come at any time. Instead, a body, cloven nearly in two, fell hard in the spot that he’d just rolled out of. Above him, he found a welcome, if somewhat disappointed face. His rescuer’s black hair was disarrayed from battle, long strands of it having fallen from the ponytail that he kept held back by a simple silver clip.

“I see that life in the Earthen Ranks has softened you up a mite,” Retzu sighed, jerking his blade loose from the corpse. “I have unhilted hopefuls that are a sight more observant than you are. You’ll never reach the linen at this rate.”

“I’d settle for some good old fashioned peace and quiet right about now, to tell you the truth.”

“Another second or so and you may o’ got your wish. Lucky for you this bugger was the kind to gloat over his kills before he gutted them. So heal yourself already. There’s more people to kill, and you obviously need the practice.”

After a few failed attempts, Sal recaptured his hold on Emerald, and wielded. As healing sped through his body, he and Retzu rejoined the melee. Teacher and student fought side by side, though the fleeing enemy would never live to tell which was which.

The battle raged a little while longer, but it was largely a formality. Sal’s men found fewer and fewer opponents to cut down to size. Someone let loose a ragged cheer as he struck his last down, the cry carrying like thunder over a swiftly stilling battlefield. The cheer caught, and spread through the crowd like wildfire. The sound was echoed by the blasting shriek from the squadron of dragons, flying in formation high above, the last one doing its own version of a victory roll.

Sal sighed a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. It was followed by tears of relief, streaking down his dirty face in a torrent. He wept unashamedly, never noticing that scores of his brothers in arms were doing exactly the same. In their own way, the tears were as celebratory as an upraised pint of ale, or a hearty cheer. In the end, it all cried out the same thing.

They’d won.

Marissa cheerfully held the bandage to the side of Sal’s head, his final trophy of the battle, courtesy of a panicked Bastionite macer. Sal had been too drained at that point to heal himself, and Jaren was busy tending the more severely wounded. Which was just as well. At least he didn’t have to come up with some lame excuse to have Marissa baby him.

“
Oww
!” he yelped as she folded and reapplied the blood-soaked compress.

“I still have my emerald ring,” she reminded.

“What? And get well enough to help with the clean-up? Snowball’s chance in Hell,” he muttered, settling himself back against her.

She chuckled at his otherworldly comment. “What in the Prophets’ names did that one mean?”

“No, thank you.”

The clean-up actually went fairly well, all things considered. Once the weak section of the southern wall was brought the rest of the way down, they were able to tend to the survivors within. Finally whole, the rebel army licked their wounds as best they could. Those who were well enough set to the task of burying the dead.

The bodies and weapons of the fallen, both friend and foe, were gathered together and placed in the center of the fort, to be burned in a funeral pyre that night. Those emeralds not tending the dead saw to the living, healing the most serious injuries first, then moving on to the more cosmetic ones. Thankfully, not a single soul was lost to untended wounds.

With Reit gone, and his wife and brother unable to cope just then, Jaren stepped up as the interim leader of the Resistance. Everyone came to him with their questions, their concerns, and he did his best to attend to them. Still, it was plain to see that he wasn’t comfortable with such a position, so they only bothered him with the most pressing of matters.

The clean-up lasted all day and well after sunset. The dragons graciously offered their assistance with the most mundane tasks, though for the most part they chose to remain apart from the humans. They feared that their presence would be more of a distraction than a help at this point, so they put off introductions and allowed the humans time to grieve in peace. “Time enough for answers later,” rumbled their leader, a massive red dragon named Aplos, when Jaren had asked where they’d come from, and why. “For your dead, the journey is over, while ours has barely begun. I would not dishonor their memory by us continuing on our way together without you first seeing them on theirs.” Jaren offered a sad smile, accepting the dragon’s respect and wisdom, though it forced the emerald to return to the task at hand.

When the plain was finally cleared of corpses, Jaren called a midnight ceremony to eulogize the dead. All were in attendance, even those still receiving healing for their wounds. The dragons took up position around the rebel fortress, an honor guard for the dead. The emerald gave a rousing sermon, praising the Crafter for their victory, and lauding them all for their sacrifice. In eulogizing the dead, he included the fallen of Bastion, which surprised no one. The enemy hadn’t been evil. Misconceptions of the Highest had been bred into their people for countless generations. To their minds, attacking the rebel “infidels” had been the Crafter’s will. Jaren couldn’t disrespect them for that, however he might have pitied them.

At Delana’s insistence, he said nothing specific in his eulogy about Reit, who lay in state in the command tent. Mourners had been filing past the tent all day, paying final respects to the man they all knew as
el
’
Yatza
, the Hand of the Crafter. Even now, not a few stragglers hovered near the tent. None missed Jaren’s omission, but none objected to it either. As Reit had been wont to say, he was just a man, no better than any other. He had counted it a privilege to use his nobility to
serve
his people, when others would rule. His followers knew this all too well, and did him the best honor they could by counting him among the honored dead of the Battle on the Plains of Ysre.

Still, his body lay in state, rather than in the pyre along side his brethren in arms. Honor can only go so far before love overrules it.

Jaren offered a final prayer to the Crafter, then nodded to Senosh. The fiery-eyed Mandiblean stepped forward, flanked by a troop of his finest rubies. As one, they raised their hands to the heavens, wielding their magic.

Smoke billowed from the pyre as the dead ignited. It twisted and curled phantasmally as it rose, like the ghosts of the battle, floating off to their eternal rest. Higher and higher the flames leapt, till the bonfire was too bright to look at. The rubies released their magics and stepped back into formation, their services no longer needed. As one, the dragons craned their long necks and bellowed into the heavens, their terrifying, united cry shaking the very foundations of the fortress, announcing to those in the Afterlife the valorous men and women that would be joining their ranks.

Ceremonies concluded, the assembly broke up. Some retired to their cots for some long overdue sleep. Others spent the night in the mess tent, turning it into a makeshift tavern as they lifted mug after mug to their fallen comrades, or in celebration of their hard earned victory. Still others, like Sal and Jaren, stood in silent support of one another around the funeral pyre, watching the flames light up the night sky.

Two figures stood apart from the rest. One was dressed all in black, invisible in the night if not for the white tent behind him. The other wore a purple gown, faded and drab in the pyre’s light. They held a silent vigil at the flaps of the command tent, together and yet alone.

“So, what’s next?” Sal asked Jaren, both of them eying their friends with deep sympathy. “We’ve won a major battle, with relatively minor losses. We’re a few hours march from a defenseless city, which just happens to be the most
defensible
point on the map, I might add. And we’ve got over three hundred Earthen Rank defectors, which brings our numbers to well over a thousand, probably closer to two, not to mention about a dozen dragons, who before tonight were little more than a myth. But we’re down one fearless leader, and one very unique granite. Did I miss anything?”

Jaren chuckled ruefully. “No, that about sums it up. I dare say that our situation is rather ‘touch and go’ at this point.”

“Whoa... right words
and
proper context? You’ve been brushing up on your Inga’Lish.”

“It was a long trip downriver,” the emerald deadpanned.

“I can imagine,” said Sal. But he knew the mage saw the concern beneath the jest, so he said what was really on his mind. “Are you okay? With Reit, I mean.”

Jaren didn’t answer immediately. His lips pursed thoughtfully, and his glassy emerald eyes went distant as he gazed into the past. “When I was nine, I went with Father to Aitaxen. He had some minor land dispute that required King Titus’ attention, and he saw the opportunity to introduce me to life at court.

“Needless to say, I was bored to tears. As it happened, there were these two boys there who were about my age—Reit and Retzu. They shared my enthusiasm for court life, so we sort of fell in together.

“We passed the time as children do, mocking the courtiers, raiding the pantries, aggravating the twins’ older sister—who was the very essence of nobility, I tell you. But we quickly ran out of things to wreak havoc upon, so we went out into the market.

“Things were going fairly well—Retzu was in the process of training me in the ways of the Master Thief—when one of the King’s Guard spied our lessons. Of course, he was having none of it. Guards tend to frown upon that sort of education. I don’t know why. It’s job security.

“Anyway, he recognized the twins from previous encounters, so he led us by our ears—or Retzu’s ear, in any case—back to court where he announced our crimes to the King. In the presence of our fathers, to make matters worse!

“Well, the king consulted with our fathers privately, and by the glances they shot us from their huddle, we expected to be drawn and quartered for certain! I was absolutely in tears, and knowing Retzu, he probably had a preplanned excuse on his tongue, ready to go. But it was Reit who stepped forward and addressed the king. In what I came to recognize as typical Reit fashion, he fearlessly took full responsibility for our actions, and begged the king to have mercy at least upon me, a first time offender.

“The king, impressed with Reit’s display of valor, deferred to our fathers... who flatly rejected his plea. So the king sentenced us to stay the night in the royal dungeons—in our own cell, of course. The food was bad, and the smell was
horrible
, but the dungeon was better than the stocks, or the rack, or any of a thousand punishments that a boy of nine can dream up!

“From then on, we were fast friends. Keep du’Nograh was less than a day’s ride from Darsen’s Way, so our families encouraged the friendship. Oh, at first, both fathers saw the arrangement in light of their own personal gain, to be sure. Mine saw it as an advancement of our family’s station, while Count du’Nograh saw it as an education in character and social interaction for his otherwise sheltered sons. But over the years, our families grew more intertwined, until one was barely distinguishable from the other. Lord Eram even paid for my formal training at the Academy, in full, within a week of my ascension.”

Jaren paused for a moment. He had been smiling throughout the recollection, even amidst his tears, but the smile faded, and his lip trembled slightly. “So you see, Reit was my brother, as surely as any of my own siblings. I mourned his mother and father’s passing as I mourned my own—as
we
mourned mine. I shared the loss of Anika, and the joy of Reit’s wedding. Besides Retzu, I was the first one that Reit came to when he decided to rise up against the unjust rule of the Highest.”

The emerald gave a shaky sigh and scrubbed his eyes with one hand. “Am I okay? No, not really. I’ve lost my best friend, and a very large part of who I am. But Delana has lost her soulmate, and Retzu his only remaining blood kin. I’ll mourn later. Right now, they need me.” Having said his piece, he fell silent. He’d said more than he had apparently intended, but there were only so many ways to answer a question like that.

Sal lay his hand on Jaren’s shoulder supportively. The emerald humbly nodded his appreciation. “Try and get some rest,” Sal suggested. “Tomorrow’s gonna be another long day.”

“What about you?” Jaren asked as Sal started away from the tent city that had been erected to accommodate the rebel camp.

“I don’t know. I want to check something out. Something about Keth’s death...”

“Doesn’t hold water?” Jaren finished playfully, scrubbing away the last of his tears.

“See? I knew you’d been practicing.”

“Don’t stay out too late. I know a certain artisan who’s been dying to show you her latest tricks.”

Sal let that one slide without comment, and turned away, headed for the hole in the southern wall.

As much traffic as the area had seen that day, the scene of Keth and Reit’s death had remained eerily untouched. He could still see where Reit had collapsed, dead before he hit the ground. Even in the dark, the outline of a body was clearly visible in the blood-matted grass. Especially to his diamond eye, which saw each blade of grass with crystal clarity.

But that wasn’t what he was here for. Holding up a torch that he almost didn’t need—
That pyre must
really
be lighting up the night!
—he hunkered down before the heap that marked Keth’s grave.

Ash dusted the ground for yards in every direction, evidence of a cloud settling. The main heap sat at the center of the cloud. An explosion, maybe? Did Keth take the granites with him in some magical blaze of glory? No, that didn’t seem to fit. As powerful as such as spell would have to have been to destroy all four granites at once, Reit and the headless fifth granite would have been consumed as well, or at least the dusty blindfold that lay atop the pile.

Okay. What else, then?

The heap stood about a foot tall in the center. Sal scooped up a handful of ash and brought it up close, examining it. He looked at it from every angle, smelled it, even ground it in his hand. It seemed like ordinary ash, but it had the slight gritty feel of granite magic. Whatever else happened here, Keth and his captors had been disintegrated. Then how—?

The sound of a tumbling rock outside the wall caught Sal’s attention. He snapped his head around, instinctively taking hold of Amethyst and employing its visual spectrum. The night beyond the breach came alive with violet-hazed skeletons of all shapes and sizes. Nocturnal birds, mice, foxes, toads, all scurrying about in the dark, but nothing the size of a man nearby. Nothing glowed with the aura of magic... well, no recent magic, anyway. Every aura he saw was a shadow of that morning’s battle, growing more faint with each passing moment.

He heard the sound again. This time he saw the rock fall. The pebble bounced lightly down a nearby pile of rubble, dislodged by a fair sized raccoon, scavenging for anything that the rebels might have missed in their clean-up. Sal snorted, amazed at how jumpy he was, even this long after the battle. Still grinning, he returned his attention to the heap—and froze.

Magical auras floated in his amethyst sight, the ghosts of the assault. They twisted and flailed in his sight, bleeding into one another in a confusing, jumbled mess.

He saw the wide circle of Delana’s lode field, and in its center were five granite auras, distinct and separate—mainly—in the heap; one aura in the center, and four arms, fading as they radiated outward, with each ending in a set of footprints. It was obvious to Sal what it looked like, but the implications were ridiculous. The four remaining granites had surrounded Keth, each taking hold of an extremity. Somehow, Keth had summoned the strength to fight back their magic and wield some of his own. His counter attack disintegrated the granites, and somehow caused him to implode. The resulting vacuum pulled in everything around it, air and ash rushing together to meet in the center of a sonic boom.