The first of the men were almost to the carts. Daron roared in defiance, clenching his blade tightly as he prepared for the first swing. His shoulder burned furiously, making his arm feel leaden and slow. Soon, too, that wouldn't matter. The defenders cramped about him picked up his cry, hurling a wordless challenge at the oncoming storm.
A man jumped, attempting to leap onto a cart, but stopped in mid air, slamming into some unseen force and slumping unconscious to the ground. Another half dozen already in motion slammed up short as if running into an invisible wall, their momentum too great to arrest their movement. The immediate next wave immediately slowed, and the roar of vigor died from their lips. Confused silence settled over the battle.
Martin squatted next to him, muttering under his breath, brow furled in deep concentration. Sweat poured down despite the cool air, and the pale color he'd been before was blooming into an angry red, as if here were under some great pressure. For all Daron knew, he likely was.
"What is happening?" Leah asked from his other side, hazarding a peek over their barricade. Their attackers were hacking impotently at the unseen force, their blade skipping along nothingness in the air.
"You remember my demonstration with the cage?" Martin hissed through clenched teeth.
"Yes."
"Same thing, only the force is being let out much more slowly," he said. His voice was thick and strained, but he seemed to relish the explanation. Despite the concentration he was exerting, a grin flashed across his face. "It's much more difficult, but in this case it's worth more than blasting a dozen of them a block away."
"Hah!" Daron said to Leah, slapping her on the shoulder. "I told you he could do the same thing. You owe me!"
Leah rolled here eyes at him.
"How long can you hold it?" Daron asked.
"Almost out now."
Daron clapped a hand onto the historian's shoulders. Martin nodded, and Daron once again felt a chill rushing through his hand, pulling precious heat and energy away from him. Daron shivered, not from the cold, remembering his fight with the sorceror in the woods. It was an unnerving feeling, but if it would give them a few precious moments, he was glad for it.
The pain in his shoulder throbbed louder with each passing moment. The almost euphoric feeling he'd had earlier had passed, leaving him once again weary and devoid of energy. What Martin took from him almost seemed to be sapping the last of his reserves, and Daron felt a slight tremor start in his left hand. Clenching it closed so no one would see, he waited.
Abruptly the sensation cut off as Martin nodded, still focusing on holding the barrier. The advancing army began to push against it, slowly gaining ground, sliding back Martin's casting. Martin glanced at Daron and nodded. The historian collapsed and let out an explosive breath, right as Daron shouted.
"Fire!" he commanded. The last remaining gun wielding guards popped up and fired, not needing to aim with their enemy packed so close. The barrier vanished, sending a dozen of the intruders sprawling to the ground as the resistance vanished. A hail of bullets tore into the first rank, felling a score of men in a shower of gore and screams of pain.
It slowed them for only a moment, and a heartbeat later they were pouring over the barricades, leaping down onto Daron and the defenders. The Justice slashed and thrust with abandon, hoping to wound or kill the men before they had a chance to fully gain their feet. Bodies piled up atop the carts, blood staining the wood as it pooled and dripped like wax down the side of a candle.
Daron felt a hot lance of pain across his unwounded shoulder and spun, slamming his blade into the stomach of a man that had landed behind him. He whirled away before the body had even collapsed, sending a raking swipe across the shins of a woman about to leap down atop of Martin. She fell forward with a scream, nearly tackling him to the ground. Leah stepped in and the woman's scream cut off abruptly.
The smell of gun smoke hung thick in the air, mixing with the ever present clinging smell of burned coal that always shrouded the city. It burned at his eyes and clawed at his throat, making it difficult to suck in air. He tried to even out his breathing, calling on the earliest techniques from his sword training. It helped a little.
More attackers poured over the carts like a dam suddenly burst. A torrential flood of flesh and steel cascaded over the makeshift wall and into the last stand of the city. The defenders were being pushed back, step by step, until they were more than a dozen paces away from their barricade. Daron saw the advancing army was pressed in too close to pull the carts away, hindered by their own numbers. The full force wouldn't be able to advance as one mass, thankfully. The bridge was still wide enough for a score of men to stand shoulder to shoulder, and their own numbers were dwindling enough fast. As soon as a hole opened in their line, they were done.
Martin shuffled backwards, lobbing tiny balls of flames at any attacker he could fix his eyes clearly on. While small, they were frighteningly hot, searing at Daron as they flashed inches away from him to strike an opponent. The smell of charred flesh joined the acrid odors that enveloped them, the screams lost to the din of battle. Each blast of fire came slower than the previous, until Martin flicked his hand and nothing happened. Daron had to give the man credit. He'd done significantly more for the defenders than any one person had. Brynn was there in an instant, once again supporting the historian as they slid back across the arched bridge.
He wondered what a small detachment of trained sorcerors could do, and shuddered at the thought. Perhaps there was a reason the church had been so zealous in hunting them down, though the historian had proven to have upstanding character. The church had lifted the edict on sorcery, though most people were still distrustful of it, and it was generally still frowned upon by the Order. There were no sorcerors amongst their ranks.
Daron almost laughed at the thought. People were just as distrustful of Justices. While they gave a Justice respect, many feared coming before final judgment, and viewed those that undertook the duties with fear and sometimes loathing. They weren't so different, in the eyes of the common folk. Both wielded power in their own alien ways. Respect and fear, he thought.
Praying silently, a sphere of utter darkness popped into existence within the enemy ranks. It took significant more effort to hold it in his mind than ever before, and within moments he was sweating. Another joined his as Brynn plied her own skills to the task, and then another. He'd done two at once before, but dared not try it now. He was simply too exhausted to focus.
The confusion helped some, slowing the inexorable tide of attackers over the makeshift barricade. Their slow backwards retreat halted, and again they held their ground. Daron yelled for them to push forward, but it was lost to the noise of battle.
He cried out in pain as it felt like a dull spike was rammed through his skull. Too tired to continue concentrating, his cantrip wavered and vanished. Waves of nausea rolled over him. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the pain continued to throb in opposite time to the thumping in his shredded shoulder.
The tide of attackers began forward again. To his left, past Brynn, two more defenders fell in rapid succession, cut down without a chance to even cry out. Their defensive line weakened, their opponents pressed the advantage, surging into the gap. Between two blinks their defense crumbled. Behind him he could hear feet beating a hasty retreat as some of the city guard dashed across the bridge, abandoning the fight.
Their numbers had dwindled, and Daron realized they wouldn't even make it back across the bridge. They'd be felled before they could reach the far side, and the city would fall shortly. Tel had a handful of guards protecting the western gate, in case of a flank, but it was too few to do any serious damage.
He shared a look with Leah, and saw his own feeling mirrored back. This would be the end. He longed to say something to her, but what words would really be sufficient? In a few moments, it would hardly matter what he'd said. Instead he nodded, and then set himself to hold what little line there was while the remainder of guards fled. Leah took a step forward, shoulder to shoulder with him, copper eyes fierce with determination.
A brazen horn burst through the night air, sending a shock through the battle. Sharp orders were barked somewhere behind him. Deflecting another blade, Daron chanced a look behind him. Arrayed at the end of the bridge in perfect formation lay hundreds of armed men and women in maroon and gold colors.
The mercenaries had arrived.
Their leader was a powerfully built man with a closely shaved head. The man gestured, and the gathered mercenaries pushed forward in perfect lines. They surged around the straggling defenders and joined the ranks next to Daron, engaging the enemy. Hope surged through him. They'd done it! They'd actually managed to hold until reinforcements arrived. With renewed vigor, he pressed the attack.
Leah stiffened and snarled beside him, a feral yell of rage or fear. She grabbed Daron's shoulder and yanked him forcibly back from the fray, dragging him through the ranks of mercenaries and guards alike across the bridge, abandoning the fight. He struggled, but with so little energy, he simply stumbled along in confusion.
"We have to go," Leah hissed. "Now." Without waiting for an answer she dashed across the bridge. Daron glanced back at the battle, spying Brynn dancing through the front lines, her blade a blur. Martin was nowhere to be seen. He sighed and took off after Leah, catching up to her in a few frantic steps.
"We can't leave yet," Daron said. He grabbed her hand, warm and comforting in the night. "We've got to see this through."
Leah spun, copper eyes burning with anger. She gestured to the shaved head leader of the mercenaries. "That man there is the one who killed my uncle," she spat. "Yolen. These are the mercenaries that were hunting me. We've got to get out of here before he recognizes me."
Daron watched the battle, torn. "We have to defend the city," he said, shaking his head.
"They've more than enough now to stop the attack," she said, crouching low against the side of the bridge and skulking along to the far side. "I'm not sticking around to be clapped in irons."
He knew if he let her leave now, he'd never see her again. She'd run to the ends of the world, and never stop fleeing. His eyes swung back to the battle. To Brynn, fighting at the front lines, side by side with the few guards that hadn't fled. They fought with their last strength to keep the city safe. Surely one more wouldn't make the difference now, but it was his duty to be there.
He watched Brynn fight. No, he thought. She glides. Each move with lithe grace, a dance rather than a frantic battle. She almost seemed to sense each incoming attack a breath before it landed, sometimes deflecting a strike without even fully seeing it. Her braid bobbed behind, a dark shadow mirroring her moves.
That is what Aiden means when he says the gods work through you, Daron realized in awe. It was harmony in motion, something he'd never manage to understand and achieve.
They answered my call in the forest, he thought. And again with the ice. They are watching, but that's something different.
Leah had stopped at the edge of the bridge, and watched him without emotion on her face. Daron thought for a long moment, trying to decide what to do. He nodded to himself once, and then jogged across the bridge, sheathing his blade, without looking back at the battle. They could get by without him, now that help had arrived.
They dashed through empty streets, though here there were more signs of life evident. Lights flickered in windows, and occasionally he spied faces peeking out from behind partially closed shutters or dingy glass windows. They watched the two pass without a word.
He stopped after they'd run at least a mile, nearing the secondary walls that contained the oldest part of the city. Daron collapsed against a building, unable to catch his breath. Leah slid to a halt beside him, glancing furtively around to see if they were being followed before leaning beside him.
The burning in his shoulder was growing, causing his fingers to feel warm, aching with each movement. It took far too long for his taste to catch his breath.
"We need to get to the western gate and find Tel," Leah said. Her eyes were filled with concern as she watched him. "He can heal you."
"I'm fine," Daron said. "Just a bit winded from the battle."
"The wound you took is infected," Leah said gently. "Brynn couldn't heal it fully. It's spreading through your body."
"We need to tell them the mercenaries arrived anyway," Daron said with a nod. "Though Kerris is still somewhere, with Jarod and Aiden. Maybe even in the city." He didn't give voice to his fears, but it was hard not to think of their fates. They'd been in the company of Kerris for far too long.
"He couldn't have gotten into the city very easily," Leah said. "Both gates were closed, and it's unlikely they crossed the river to come in from the north."
"They could have come over the wall," Daron countered. "We didn't have nearly enough people to keep watch on every part of it."
"With two men in chains? Unlikely. Perhaps they came in by boat?"
"Or another entrance we don't know about," Daron muttered. If only they'd had some clue as to what Kerris was looking for, they might know where to search. Their only weak lead had been the sketchbook and the drawings of the museum, and that had been a dead end.
Daron took the sketchbook out and leafed through the pages once again. He scrutinized the images of the museum, looking for any clues. Nothing useful. Snarling, he threw it to the ground.
Leah picked it back up and flipped to the last page, eyes flicking over the flowing narrow lines. They covered the entire page, mostly straight lines with a few gentle curves mixed in. An area on the bottom of the page was circled, and the top of the page had thick sinuous lines that stretched from side to side.
"What does this look like to you?" she asked, holding the book up. The faint light from the electric streetlamps barely lit the sketch, but it still looked as unintelligible to Daron as before.
"Someone with no artistic talent?"
"Be serious, or the infection will be the least of your worries."
He grunted. "Streets, maybe?"
"Possibly, but I haven't seen any curved streets like these." She stabbed a finger at a couple of the soft curves that wove through the angular scribbles.
"A map of some type," he muttered, thinking. "If not streets, and then what?"
"This at the top looks like the river," she said.
"Possibly, but these still aren't streets," he said. His eyes narrowed. "The sewer?"
"You think this is a map of under the city?"
"Remember what the stuffy little man at the museum said," he said, a thought slowly building in his mind. He glanced up, almost excited. "The most advanced sewer in the world. This could be a map of the passages under the city."
"We should inform Tel about this," Leah said.
"No time," Daron said, shaking his head. "If we're right, it won't take long to check out this circled area. Kerris has been in the city a while now, and could be close to whatever he seeks. It would take far too long to get to Tel and get a group together to check it out. We need to check it out first."
Leah flashed him a grin, drawing her sword once more. Tired as he felt, he couldn't help but smile at the picture she painted, beautiful and fierce in the soft darkness.
"A trip into the sewers," she said. "You know how to show a girl a good time in the big city."
Chapter 25.
The light glowing from Daron's sword was weak, barely enough to give them sight in the blackened tunnels below the city. He tried the urge the light brighter, but it flickered fitfully before dulling back down. He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but it couldn't be a good sign. The warmth within him that he tapped into for cantrips felt dull and hazy, though it had been a raging inferno less than an hour ago. Was it possible to tax it so far as to use up the well entirely?
They followed the hand drawn map of the sewers, pausing at each junction to consult the sketchbook. It had been flawless in accuracy. Hope began to surge in him with each step. They were finally closing in on Jarod and Aiden. He prayed it wasn't too late for them. It would have been hours since they'd entered the city at this point.
Finally the tunnel wall gave away to a recently excavated side passage, clearly breaking away from the sewers into unknown territory. They were at the circled location on the map. Rubble was strewn about from where someone had meticulously worked their way through the stone that formed the walls, breaking into a narrow natural passage. With a look at each other, they headed in.
The passage was short and nearly straight. A dozen feet in, smooth gray stone appeared before them, too flat to be natural rock. Somehow, they'd come across the walls of a long buried building that someone had chiseled their way to get to. The wall had been likewise attacked, hacking a door through into the building beyond. If he was any judge of distance, Daron guessed they were now past the outer walls of the city. Water trickled in to the passage from the stone of the walls, filling the walkway with a shallow puddle that splashed about their feet with each step.
The outer wall of the ancient, buried building was covered in meticulous hatch marks, faded and worn to the point of being almost invisible. Daron held his blade close, tracing a finger across the writing, but was unable to decipher it. He raised an eyebrow at Leah, who peered closely before shrugging. Whatever it was, he had never seen its like.
They entered the building, Daron's faint light barely piercing into the darkness. The air was dank and moldy, making it unpleasant to breathe. Rows of stone benches filled the room, angled slightly to point to a raised dais on the far side of the room. The benches were heavily worn and spattered with a fine layer of fuzzy moss in places.
Footfalls echoed off of the enclosed space as they weaved around the benches. An arched doorway loomed out of the darkness, and beyond Daron could see flickering light. Voices, muffled and undecipherable, floated to them. Daron pressed his back to the side of the door and willed the light away.
Beyond he could make out half a dozen forms, arrayed in a semi circle around a raised stone pedestal, like an ancient lectern podium riding from the floor. His heart leapt as he spied Jarod and Aiden kneeling against the far wall, wrists behind their back, presumably still shackled. Atop the podium rested a thick tome, which an unassuming man was carefully reading by an oil lantern that had been placed at the edge of the podium.
Daron blinked as he regarded the source of all their troubles. Kerris looked more like a simple businessman than a sorceror that animated corpses. He wore a simple green shirt of an expensive cut, well tailored, with matching gloves. He wore no adornment or jewelry, though a pair of simple spectacles rested upon the bridge of his nose as he read.
This was the man who had started a war? While he knew from watching Martin that a sorceror was nothing to scoff at, the man seemed almost timid. A bookkeeper, or an accountant. Daron tried to fix in his mind that he was a killer, an abomination to the gods with his raising of foul undead as well, and not to be underestimated.
"This is fascinating," Kerris muttered, though the echo carried the conversation easily to where Daron and Leah hid. "It's all here, just as I was told. One could become a god with this."
"Blasphemous nonsense," Aiden spat. Jarod remained quiet, head bowed in a look of peace and tranquility. It almost looked like his commander was simply taking an afternoon rest from his posture.
Kerris blinked and looked up, sliding his spectacles further down his nose to look over them at Aiden.
"There is a great deal that the gods have not seen fit to tell mankind," Kerris said. "The power held in this book is astonishing. It's beyond my wildest fantasies."
"The gods are eternal," Aiden said by rote. "They have been, and always shall be. You can't become a god."
"That is where you are wrong," Kerris chided. "So much power has been written into these pages. Information hidden from us by the gods." He swiveled back to the book, flipping another ancient and yellowed page. "And all of it is mine."
"Ignore him," Jarod finally said, looking up. "He's reading a book written by a raving lunatic. None of it is truth."
Kerris strode across the room and squatted before the two kneeling prisoners. "What would you know of truth?" Kerris asked simply. "The Order has tried so valiantly to conceal the truth, not embrace it. You're ignorant of even your own history. History is written by the victor, and the gods have spun a wonderful little tale and spoon fed humanity its version for such a long time."
"Is that one of the spells in that book?" Jarod asked. "Incessantly prattle on until we take our own lives out of boredom?"
Daron glanced across the doorway and nodded to Leah. They'd have only one quick shot at this. Six armed guards, and one sorceror. If they could keep the guards between Kerris and themselves, they might be able to take most of them through surprise. How he'd survive long enough to take a swing at the sorceror was up in the air at that point.
He thought back to the times Martin had pulled strength from Daron to fuel his abilities. It had required physical touch. The historian had pulled from grass and trees about him easy enough, but to pull from a person, he'd actually touched Daron. Aside from the fine moss that clung to the walls, there was nothing besides people to draw from. If he could keep the sorceror from laying hands on anyone, he should be denied his power. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself.
Daron sprinted into the room, Leah a step behind him. He curved left and hit the closest exposed back while she broke to his right, cleaving through one guard and shouldering another on her way through.
Kerris moved faster than he'd anticipating, slamming the tome closed and charging directly towards Daron. The Justice saw and opportunity and swung, but Kerris dodged to one side, clasping a hand onto one of his own bodyguards. The grappled man cried out and shivered as the sorceror drew on his energy.
Daron desperately prayed for darkness. Kerris winked from view as a sphere of blackness appeared, spanning from floor to ceiling and centered on the sorceror.
They didn't waste a moment. Daron spun and blocked another sword strike, parrying it wide as he dashed past and towards the kneeling prisoners. If he could free them, it would significantly even the odds. He dodged, narrowly avoiding a swing that would have caught him in the ribs, sliding low to the ground. He glanced over his shoulder, willing the globe to move, hopefully keeping Kerris locked within its inky confines.
Leah moved with him, catching another thrust and knocking it aside. Without pause she stepped in, bashing the bodyguard in the bridge of the nose with her palm, sending him stumbling back as blood gushed forth. A quick lunge, and the man crumpled.