A Wizard's War

“Bring me another,” Auren Qualls spoke in a weary voice, his index finger and thumb pinched the bridge of his nose trying to alleviate the ache in his head. Two soldiers trudged off as directed toward the cages where prisoners were being held. Auren extracted the tube from the latest victim’s neck, shifted the table and watched the body slide off into the pit that had been dug for this exact purpose. There was a sickening smack of flesh on flesh as the latest corpse joined the others. Servants sprinkled lye into the hole, while Auren reset the table and prepared for the next sacrifice.

Soon another prisoner was brought to the slab and the Order soldiers held him down to prevent his incessant thrashing. Auren traced the pulsing throb in their neck and then stabbed the sharp end of the metal tubing into the flesh. The life blood immediately began to pour out, running through the tube and into the thrumming mechanical heart that sat nearby. Auren summoned void fire. In his hand it burned and flickered like a flame, but it was the absence of light, just a cold, inky blackness.

Using the void fire, Auren ignited the interior of the mechanical heart, its golden surface shivered and then the pistons and valves inside contracted. Soon the heart made a slow and exaggerated pulse, its metal parts clacking and whining as the wave of contraction moved from apex to atrium. The sacrificial blood ignited by the void fire spewed black and oily from the upper valves. Auren added more intensity to the fire and it began to pulse faster.

Thump… thump…

The man on the table moaned in agony as he grew weak and slowly felt his life fading. Auren remained focused on his task, feeding the flames and the hearts pulse grew stronger.

Thump – thump. Thump – thump.

“Yes, almost there,” Auren whispered under his breath, the oily black blood now splattering across his face and his clothes as he stayed hunched near the heart. The soldiers leaned back from the unnatural sight; they now had to do very little to hold the nearly unconscious man in place.

Thump – thump, thump – thump, thump – thump.

At last Auren pulled away his hands, cutting off the constant flow of void fire and the heart continued to pulse and beat in rhythm without his aid. Auren let out a happy squeal of delight as the ancient device finally began to operate on its own self-sustaining power. His headache nearly forgotten, Auren did a little twirl in place reveling at the sight of all the black liquid that now drenched him from head to toe. There was so much power here and now it belonged to him.

“Dump the corpse,” Auren waved dismissively to the soldiers as he pulled the now useless metal tube from the heart and the neck, then directed at a nearby servant, “Tell Lord Byron, it is ready.”

* * * *

“Come on, sing the song!” A soldier was insisting.

“Yea, we wanna hear it!” Another called from somewhere farther in the barracks.

Amos watched with interest as Dagon lowered his head in dismay. Dagon’s hair was fairly long, and the curly brown locks obscured his frowning face momentarily. Then, ever so softly, a perfect tenor filled the air. Dagon’s face tilted back up as he began to sing louder, his hazel eyes sad and perhaps barely holding back tears. His voice never hitched or became strangled with emotion, he sang perfectly on key as he recited each word:

There in the halls that were broken,

Filled with a mountain of woe,

There was a babe that was sleeping

Whose dreams the future did sow.

Far on the field of a battle,

Where our brothers have bled,

There was a man who was fighting

For the future his child had said.

Cling, cling to me my love

We will see the ‘morrow.

Hold, hold to me my dear

I will loose the arrow.

The enemy sounded their horns.

They thought the victory at hand,

But there stood the man so defiant

Ready to make his last stand.

Cling, cling to me my love

We will see the ‘morrow.

Hold, hold to me my dear

I will loose the arrow.

The man did nock his bow

The arrow flew straight and true.

Thus, did the Vile One fall there,

His heart pierced straight through.

There in the halls that are free now,

Filled with a mountain of woe,

There is a fatherless child,

Who dreams of a future unknown.

Cling, cling to me my love

We will see the ‘morrow.

Hold, hold to me my dear

I will loose the arrow.

Amos felt near to tears as well by the time the mournful song concluded, but the silence left after the final note echoed through the barracks was soon broken. Cheers and roars of approval erupted through the chamber, and Amos added his own applause and gratitude to the mix. Dagon dipped his head in humility and his cheeks colored in embarrassment. There was something soft and almost effortless in everything Dagon did, from his mannerisms to the way he deftly used a bow.

Amos was swept up in the revelry as they began to pass around flagons of ale. He spoke to the soldier that shared his bunk, David, at length about the previous battles and victories. They wondered what might lay ahead and what new nightmares the enemy would throw at them. Most of the attacks had been without magic since the unsettling attack of the undead, but they knew it was only a matter of time until Byron’s sorcerer cooked up something new.

Amos spent most of his time in training or at the barracks during the recent days and the distance made it easier to let Gregor go. Mirva often brought him special things to eat, which he usually shared with his fellow soldiers, and she would fill him in on recent events. She tried once to understand the conflict between Amos and Gregor, but she quickly let it drop. Amos feared she saw the pained look on his face as they spoke, but he wasn’t ready to explain.

Amos started to see why Gregor always enjoyed being a member of the city guard, there was a sense of brotherhood and purpose. With his family no longer near and his friend on a different path, Amos needed that sense of grounding and discipline to help him through the dark time. Amos often pondered how much his brother, Trent, would have enjoyed the comradery, but his life made to serve only their father’s purpose. It was hard to imagine that colossal figurehead of their family was also dead, but in a way, Amos was finally free.

Amos slept comfortably with the warm fuzziness of the ale effecting his mind, until he was roused for second watch. David snored audibly above as Quartermaster Gains moved on to wake the next soldier to be on duty. Amos gathered his gear and donned his armor before following the quartermaster out of the barracks. His heavy axe slung across his back felt comforting and safe. When Amos arrived at his post along the wall, he was surprised to see Dagon was one of the archers posted nearby. They both nodded in silent greeting and went about preparing for their watch.

The night sky was clear, and the stars were bright overhead. It was also easy to see the enemy campfires below, stretching into the horizon. The front ranks of the enemy were accompanied by drummers, who pounded in rhythm over and over as loud as possible. When they tired, another must take their place to keep the relentless noise going at all hours. It was disheartening to contemplate how many enemies they had killed as they threw themselves against the walls, but still see so many waiting down below. The enemy camp grew each day as reinforcements and supplies arrived from the north, but all Southport could hope to do was defend and outlast.

“You have people you are fighting for?” someone suddenly asked from behind Amos. He turned to see Dagon unexpectedly standing only a few feet away. His voice was so quiet and calm, Amos thought the person speaking was much farther.

“My family barely escaped Westwood,” Amos finally found his own voice. He studied the strange man’s expressionless face. Only the hazel eyes showed a glint of emotion and most of that seemed to be sorrow. His rather pointed nose sniffed in a disgusted sort of way as if the entire situation smelled unpleasant.

“I don’t know if any of my family survived,” Dagon looked out over the wall to the enemy fires shining in the night, “They acted swiftly when they struck Eastwood. I only escaped because I lived in the forest, not that close to town.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Amos could think to say.

“I always like to meet my shield bearer,” Dagon looked suddenly into Amos’ eyes with a determination that was not there moments before, “You guard me, and I will loose my arrow.”

Amos was taken aback by the sudden reference to the song, as if they were words to live by and not just lines in a song. Dagon was a very unusual indeed and there was an unsettling intensity about him.

“You ever feel like you are stuck, trapped in a situation by circumstance?” Dagon continued staring pointedly at Amos. Amos chuckled lightly as he recalled his previous thoughts only that evening, the sense he was finally free. Then he thought briefly of Gregor and his smile lessened.

“I know that feeling all too well,” Amos nodded.

“I turn that feeling to rage,” Dagon spoke in nearly a whisper, “Direct it at the enemy.”

“Does it help?” Amos asked curiously, but Dagon looked shocked as if no one had ever asked how his rage management affected him. But the man lowered his head again, like he had before singing, as if he momentarily hid behind his locks of hair to process information.

“No?” Dagon finally answered as his face reappeared from beneath his mask of hair. He looked as if his entire world view had been shaken.

“I didn’t mean to…” Amos began, “We all struggle, and we have to direct the anger somewhere. It might as well be the enemy.”

“You are much like me,” Dagon smiled suddenly as he pulled his long hair back and tied it into a loose knot, “We are quiet, we see things others don’t.”

“I always feel like I’m missing things,” Amos chuckled as he considered how much he misjudged Simon. Simon had seemed so innocent and kind, but then he had helped murder his father.

“But who sees us?” Dagon continued as if Amos had not spoken, “Tonight, we see each other. You have my back and I have yours.”

“Deal,” Amos nodded and made a perfunctory tap upon his shield with his knuckles.

“Thank you, Amos,” Dagon held out his hand and Amos shook it, then the mysterious man turned his back and continued sorting through his arrows and taking stock of his ammunition. Amos returned his focus to the field below and began his watch.

It was late and Gregor roused from his sleep to discover he was alone in the bed. He pulled on his trousers and found the Lady Evynee sitting quietly by candlelight studying papers that were all over the table. She was so deep in thought, Gregor thought she had not heard him draw nearer, but then she spoke without glancing his way.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, I just woke, I think,” Gregor replied, “What are you studying this late at night?”

“Ship manifests,” Evynee answered, “Making sure we have enough supplies in storage.”

Gregor was never sure where he stood with Evynee, but they had first gone to bed together just the previous evening and then again. The sex was different, as if she was just using him to satisfy a desire, not that he was complaining, but it was strange compared to Amos. Amos had been so intimate and passionate, but with Evynee everything was far less… complicated.

“You’re staring,” she said suddenly, and Gregor realized he was looming awkwardly over her.

“I’m sorry,” Gregor laughed a bit, “not quite awake.”

Gregor sat at the table with her and began to thumb through some of the loose documents at first absently and then with slowly dawning interest. Many of the manifests showed that supplies were being loaded onto the ships instead of off them.

“Where are all these supplies going?” Gregor asked.

“You shouldn’t be looking at those, I imagine,” Evynee sighed, and she gently removed the pages from Gregor’s hands.

“What happened to wanting my opinion?” Gregor asked.

“Perhaps I was interested in some of your other charms as well,” Evynee smiled mischievously at him, “but I guess the cat is out of the bag. We are preparing ships for departure in case the city ever falls.”

“Is that a possibility?” Gregor asked.

“I hope not,” Evynee shook her head, “but best to be prepared. Gods know the enemy is prepared and outnumber us greatly. Our greatest threat is Auren Qualls.”

“Because of his magic?”

“He’s always planning something,” Evynee wrinkled her brow in frustration, “I just wish I knew what. That spell he weaved over his men to raise the dead was a nasty piece of work too, but it felt like a distraction or an experiment. They never expected that assault to succeed.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I guess, I can’t be,” she shrugged, “just a pretty safe assumption.”

“Maybe you can strike them with some type of magic of your own?”

“Most magic has a cost, the larger the spell the greater the magic required. A spell of such magnitude would be difficult to perform, but we’ve had ideas if all my magic users were to work together. The difficulty is getting close enough and time enough before we are overrun by the enemy.”

“Perhaps the city military could form a protective buffer between the magic users and the enemy to buy some time.”

“And if the enemy uses magic of their own?” Evynee bit her lower lip.

“Well,” Gregor ran his hands through his hair suddenly exasperated and more frustrated by his own damaged leg than anything, “We can’t just hide here and do nothing!”

“We are not doing nothing,” Evynee darkened, “We are trying to outlast them while staying prepared.”

“I’m sorry,” Gregor stood, he waited until he had his balance, “I know you are doing your best. I’m just frustrated by this leg. I’m going to go walk and try to get some activity on it.”

“That’d be best,” Evynee nodded, “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

Amos watched as the activity began to grow in the camps below. The enemy was on the move, heading their direction and the steady drumming beat began to move closer with them. The number of enemy troops was beyond anything they had ever seen before, a full-scale assault and the alarms began to be raised all along the wall and within the city.

“By the gods,” a soldier whispered from nearby.

“The alarm has been raised,” Amos said, “we’ll have reinforcements here soon.”

“Why so many this time?” the man worried, terror creeping into his voice, “What if they come back to life again?”

“Keep it together,” Amos growled, “people are counting on us. Focus only on your job, protect the archers and the other soldiers.”

“I was a baker only three moons ago,” the soldier groaned nervously.

“And you have a family?” Amos asked.

“I do, my wife and daughter.”

“Think of them,” Amos tried a calmer approach, “You are protecting them.”

“If I was really protecting them, I would have sent them far from here. They offered them transport, but my wife wouldn’t leave me. I was such a fool to agree.”

“Focus on getting back to them tonight,” Amos urged, “Correct that decision tomorrow.”

The soldier fell silent, and Amos hoped his words had done some good. Soon the wall was alive with activity as more soldiers began to fill in the gaps between the night watch. Several higher-ranking generals were gathering and conversing on the upper ramparts, likely trying to track and understand the enemy’s strategy. Meanwhile, below, the soldiers dressed in black grew closer with each deliberate step and the drums grew louder. Then, they suddenly halted just outside of arrow range and the drums abruptly stopped. The silence was deafening and Amos could hear every creak and rustle of the soldiers to either side. Then the enemy forces split down the middle allowing something to pass between them.

The thing was glowing faintly, and it stood much taller than any man. Amos narrowed his eyes to see but was unable to grasp what he was looking at. It almost looked like a collection of rocks and metal being transported, but there appeared to be no wagon or wheels to support it. When at last the thing was out in the open, Amos realized the mass of rock and metal was moving on its own using metal, spider-like appendages that sprouted and retracted from the interior of the monstrosity. It retracted fully and became a solid sphere with many cracks from which a light was glowing.

“Archers ready!” the guard commander was calling, “Focus your fire on that construct!”

The sphere suddenly began to roll forward, gaining momentum as it went. The archers fired and the arrows glanced off. Magic users hurled electricity and fire from the upper ramparts and the rolling object did not slow. The sphere slammed into the main gate to the city without being deterred by any attack from above. The entire wall trembled with the impact.

“By the gods, what is that?” Dagon suddenly asked and Amos jumped, unaware he had drawn closer.

“Some sort of siege weapon?” Amos marveled out loud. Whatever it was it had begun to climb away from the gate with its eerie mechanical arms; preparing to get another run at the gate. Arrows and magical attacks continued to bounce uselessly off the object’s hull. Amos noticed from his periphery that Dagon was mounting the small opening in the crenelated wall.

“What are you doing?” Amos asked alarmed.

“I’m going to try and aim between the cracks,” Dagon nodded at the sphere below.

“From this distance?” Amos asked incredulously, but Dagon had nocked his bow and was studying the shot carefully. After a moment, he loosed an arrow, which glanced off of the rocky surface of the mechanism. Dagon quickly nocked another and another, trying his best to pierce the sphere, but with no success.

“Damn,” Dagon finally stepped down in frustration, “It’s too far. Have to get closer.”

“Front-line forces to the main gate!” the guard commander began calling down the line.

“Come on, let’s get closer,” Dagon looked at Amos earnestly.

“We are not the front line,” Amos pointed out.

“Well, I’m going,” Dagon shrugged, “And you promised to have my back.”

The wall rocked again as the sphere slammed into the gate with a loud crash. The large wooden gate could be heard cracking and splintering as the sheer force of the blow weakened it. Amos stared open mouthed in protest as Dagon began to follow several other men making their way to the front lines. He was tempted to stay rooted at his spot, but with a curse he gathered his axe and followed.

The main gate of Southport was prepared with a myriad of magic traps and protocols. All of the main thoroughfares had been evacuated over the last several weeks and turned into a series of barricades to thwart the enemy, should they ever breech the gate. The front-line forces were assembling in neat, organized rows behind the barricades, but Dagon showed no interest in joining the men as he surveyed the gate and then the surrounding buildings.

“Let’s get to that roof,” Dagon pointed at a building that was formerly a tack shop for horses.

“Why are we doing this?” Amos choked out as he looked bewildered at the front gate bulging from the latest impact of the sphere. Several heavy bricks came loose from around the gate and crashed to the ground below.

“Not just anyone can make a shot like that, between the cracks of the weapon.”

“But you will?” Amos was skeptical, but he was surprised by Dagon’s positive response.

“I know I can.”

Amos didn’t have time to argue further, because Dagon was on the move again in the direction of the tack shop. Amos thought the plan was absolutely insane, but the utter certainty in Dagon’s assertion, that he alone could make the shot, made Amos want to see it through. The old tack shop was quiet and smelled of worked leather, they quickly found a ladder to the upper floor and then out through the second-floor window. Amos boosted Dagon up onto the roof.

“Stay there,” Dagon instructed, “You can help me down if we must retreat quickly.”

“Understood,” Amos confirmed wondering again why he was taking orders from this mysterious young man. If Quartermaster Gains could see them, he’d be very cross they were breaking military protocol. Amos turned his attention to the main gate and watched in horror as it shattered down the middle. One side of the large wooden gate twisted in the frame and then fell forward as the sphere pushed its way inside. Several men scrambled away, but two were crushed by the gate as it fell inward.

Now inside, the sphere seemed to shift and change with a grinding and clacking of stone and metal parts. It rose on legs and sprouted arms and a head made entirely of rock. It stood, filling up the entire entry to the city with its massive bulk. Soldiers used projectiles, spears, arrows, or magic, but nothing was working. The golem lurched forward and crushed several men with its stone arms and sent others scattering in every direction as it smashed down the first barricade.

Some sort of magical web was activated, and the golem was slowed briefly, but only briefly as it attempted to free itself from the grip of the magic. Amos heard the familiar twang of a bowstring above and the whistling sound of the arrow overhead. A second later the faint light within the creature exploded near the center of the golem. Metal and rocks became dislodged from its torso and the golem let out an earsplitting, inhuman sound of anguish. Black ooze poured from the open gap that Dagon’s arrow must have created. Amos felt a surge of shocked surprise and joy at the small victory, but it was short lived as the wound began to close again with the surrounding rock and metal.

“Oh fuck,” Amos huffed as the golem turned in the direction of the tack shop, knowing full well who had inflicted the damage.

“I want down now!” Dagon called a moment later and Amos was there ready to help him. The golem would have been upon them for sure if it was not still untangling itself from the magic web. It was only a matter of time and they needed to get out of the building. They climbed down the ladder and Amos suggested using the back alley to vacate the tack shop. They made it only a few steps before the golem began smashing the building. Amos lost consciousness as something struck him from behind.

Gregor’s leg was screaming with pain as he leaned against a stone wall. Southport was in chaos around him as the enemy had been pouring into the city for hours. He had tried to find Amos and tried to find Mirva, but he had no luck. Returning to Evynee’s room, he had found that also deserted. He felt so useless and his leg could not support him much longer at the pace he’d been forced to maintain to stay ahead of the enemy.

Screams and the clang of steel against steel echoed through the streets at every turn. He considered his earlier conversation with Evynee about the ships prepared to depart if the city ever fell. He decided on a direction and made his way toward the port, attempting to duck down alleys and passages that were not engulfed with conflict.

Sure enough, when he arrived, he saw any retreating soldiers beginning to board the ships there and Evynee was issuing orders from the dock as she stood with the harbor master. Gregor made his way closer. Evynee looked confused by his sudden presence and then her face softened with relief.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Evynee helped steady Gregor, “I’m glad to see you are safe. Now get on board the ship, we will depart soon.”

“What about all the others?” Gregor asked, “My friends?”

“There is no time,” Evynee shook her head, “We will not let Lord Byron have this coastal city. There is too much military advantage to the location.”

“What are you saying?” Gregor was shocked.

“We are going to destroy the city ourselves and as many of the enemy forces that we can take with it.”

“But there are still people…” Gregor said weakly. He felt sickened by the idea, but he could see the strategic benefit of her plan. Still, it was such a cold-hearted and merciless move. Any of the allied forces that were still fighting in the streets would be eliminated along with the enemy.

“It’s the only way,” Evynee pleaded with him to understand, “I’m not giving Byron any more slaves or supplies to grow his war machine.”

“I understand,” Gregor finally spoke, “But I can’t go with you.”

“You can’t stay in your condition!” Evynee pointed at his leg.

“I know,” Gregor sighed, “but I have to find my friends.”

“You won’t have any friends to find when we are done,” Evynee shook his shoulders, “There are spells woven throughout the whole city and we will activate them as soon as we are out to sea!”

“Then I’ll have to hurry,” Gregor turned and began to walk back toward the city.

“Ramsey, Viktor,” Evynee turned to two soldiers with command in her tone, “See that man on board the ship. Lock him in the hold if you have to.”

Gregor was shocked when two big men grabbed him on each side and began to drag him back up the dock and onto the ship. He struggled to break free of their hold, but he was in no condition to fight.

“It’s for your own good,” Evynee spoke solemnly as they passed by her.

Gregor only glared at her silently. He knew Evynee was trying to protect him, but he would never forgive her for taking this choice away from him. Gregor prayed to the gods that his friends would be safe.

* * * *

“Well done,” Lord Byron turned to his sorcerer with a rare smile on his face.

“With my stone golem, nothing will stand in our way,” Auren bowed his head, also quite pleased with his recent creation. The heart offered a limitless supply of magical power to fuel his diabolical construct.

“With the harbor, we will have ships…” Byron’s words were cut short as the entire city of Southport erupted in a series of concussive blasts and fiery explosions. Buildings toppled and walls crumbled as both men and supplies were completely wiped from the face of the earth. Auren watched in stunned silence with dawning realization that the rebels must have sacrificed the city and countless of their own people in the process. Auren was impressed, it was not a move he had anticipated.

Lord Byron’s smile was gone. He simply glared at the inferno before them, simmering with rage.