Nature Mage (47 page)

They set off at a steady trot, looking left and right as they ran, but they didn’t come across any demons or Wargs. Minutes later they arrived at the tower, and still found themselves alone. A sudden motion to the right caused them to jump. Taurnil’s staff was already in his hands, ready for battle, as Gaspi drew deeply on the magic within him, summoning power to his fingertips as they whirled to face their attackers. But instead of a pack or Wargs or the dark bulk of a demon, they were faced with the backs of several guardsmen and Voltan, carefully retreating towards the tower, stepping backwards as if expecting attack from the front at any moment. As if sensing someone behind him, Voltan looked over his shoulder, and saw them.

Taurnil lowered his staff. “Stay ready!” Voltan ordered. “They’ve split up and could come from anywhere.” Taurnil lifted his staff once more. Gaspi kept his power tingling at his fingertips. A second commotion had them whirling in another direction, but this time it was Hephistole and another handful of guardsmen. Hephistole’s hair hung wildly round his face, his eyes blazing with a fierce light Gaspi had never seen before in the normally genial Chancellor. Gaspi was taken aback by the aura of sheer power emanating from Hephistole’s crimson-robed frame. He was almost crackling with magical energy, lively as storm-tossed air before a lightning strike.

Seeing Gaspi, Taurnil and Voltan, he strode over towards them, leaving the guards behind him to cover their retreat. “Gaspi, Taurnil. Good,” he said as if ticking off items on an inventory. “Voltan, how did you fare?”

“We killed twelve but lost ten guards,” he said, business-like but grave.

Hephistole looked around at the remaining guards. “So we have thirteen men, three magicians, Sabu, Baard, and Taurnil,” he said as if measuring them against an unknown standard. “The other magicians?” he asked.

“Robyn and Thieron saw one of the demons and went to battle it. Beth was taken down by the Wargs,” Voltan reported, pain showing through his brusqueness.

Hephistole said nothing for a moment, absorbing the news, and for a moment Gaspi could see deep sadness flowering behind his eyes. The Chancellor gathered himself, shelving his emotions.

“Voltan, stand guard at the foot of the tower. I’m going to use the scryer to see where the fighting is. Gaspi, come with me,” Hephistole commanded, and strode into the tower. Gaspi hurried to keep up as the tall Chancellor strode purposefully towards the transporter. Speaking the word of command, Hephistole initiated the device, and they were quickly at the top of the tower. He led Gaspi around the broad curve of the office, until they reached what Gaspi assumed was the scrying device - a large white sphere resting on a bronze, three-legged stand. It was filled with a misty white substance, like smoke captured in glass, glowing gently as it swirled.

  “This will show us how things stand,” Hephistole said. He placed the tips of his fingers against the device, and closed his eyes. Gaspi watched intently as the glowing mist span more rapidly, responding to Hephistole’s magic as he began to search with his inner sight…

Taurnil stood guard at the entrance to the tower, surrounded by the surviving guardsmen. He was in good company: Sabu stood to his right, and Baard to his left. The blademaster looked relaxed, but Taurnil knew this was an illusion, and that Sabu kept his energy contained like a coiled spring, waiting to be unleashed when it was needed. Baard was formidable enough on his own - an enormous, red-bearded, fighting man with incredible strength and a reputation for unpredictability - but, carrying that glowing black axe, he looked like a god of war. Voltan stayed with them, watching the possible routes the Wargs could take to reach the tower in a state of transparent readiness. Taurnil looked at the heavy lines etched into Voltan’s serious face; lines currently hardened in determination and anger. Taurnil was glad they were on the same side. Voltan would make a formidable enemy. A loud growl brought him back to attention. A chorus of snarls and yelps sounded from one of the nearby passageways. A louder, deeper growl ripped through the others, quieting them in an instant.

Voltan hesitated for a moment, then signalled to eight of the guardsmen, including Baard. “Come with me,” he said. “The rest of you stay with Taurnil. Taurnil; you’re in charge.”

Taurnil was momentarily taken aback by the decision, but he was also well-drilled in responding to the voice of command. “Yes, sir,” he said.

As Voltan led his group of guards in the direction the sounds had come from, Taurnil glanced covertly at the remaining guards. Every one of them was older than him, some more than twice his age, but not one of them showed any discomfort at being placed under his command. Perhaps it was because of his staff, but Sabu had the swords, so that didn’t completely make sense. He caught Sabu’s eye, concerned that the blademaster might be unhappy with the arrangement, but Sabu just gave him a small smile and a nod, letting Taurnil know he was fine with it.

There was no need to say anything. They were already standing in a defensive formation, and Taurnil wasn’t about to start shouting orders for no good reason. Instead, he scanned the various entranceways to the open area in front of the tower, alert and ready for action. The Wargs could come out of any entrances, at any moment.

The sounds of fighting erupted from somewhere in the maze of streets in front of them. Some of the guards started forward instinctively, anxious to support their comrades. Taurnil held them back with a simple hand gesture. “We can’t leave the tower defenceless,” he said. “Voltan told us to hold.” Everyone settled back into position.

The minutes ticked by with unbearable slowness. Loud cries and the occasional boom of a magical concussion punctuated the waiting, setting Taurnil’s teeth on edge. If only something would just happen!

And then it did. Twelve Wargs came boiling out of a passageway, silent as the grave, and heading straight for the tower. “Guards, ready!” Taurnil cried, each of his group of fighters bravely readying themselves in the face of overbearing odds.

Taurnil had a few surreal seconds to watch the Wargs silently eating up the ground between them, before the first deafening collision of battle pushed all thought from his mind. His staff connected with the first Warg, its magically enhanced strength smashing right through its ribs, and killing it on the spot. With the exception of Sabu, his guards didn’t share the advantage of magical weapons, however, and were immediately battling for their lives with creatures stronger and faster than they were; armed with vicious teeth and cruel claws, and powered by iron-hard muscles built for destruction. Taurnil leapt to help one guard, just as he saw the brutal teeth of a Warg clamp onto the throat of another. The Warg shook the guard like a cloth doll, ripping his throat right out with one powerful wrench of its jaws.

Taurnil span back to help the struggling guard, gagging as he fought. He broke one Warg’s spine with a single heavy blow of his staff, so that it could only drag itself along the ground using only its front legs, its limp torso and hind legs a dead weight behind it. Filled with horrifying malice, it snarled and snapped at the ankles of any guard who got too near, desperate to cause pain and injury to the hated humans. To his right Sabu span and swirled, magical blades aflame with white light as they cut effortlessly through hard muscle and sinew and even bone. Two Wargs already lay dead by his hand, one of them beheaded by a single swipe of those formidable blades.

Taurnil assessed the situation in a glance. The odds were still against them. There were eight Wargs left, but two guards were down, and others were hard pressed, bleeding from numerous injuries. Another Warg suddenly sprang out of the dark. It was twice as big as any of the others - more like a small horse than a dog - and something about it filled him with loathing and dread at the same time. Taurnil stepped back and raised his staff, bracing himself for a brutal impact, but it sprang right past him, rushing into the interior of the tower. Taurnil knew in that moment that, above everything else, he had to stop this Warg.

He left the other guards to battle the remaining Wargs, and raced after the big one. It was heading straight for the last of the twelve glowing plinths set into the floor round the periphery of the room. Taurnil took long leaping strides towards the monstrous Warg, lifting his staff above his head like a spear, ready to throw it as soon as he was in range.

The Warg reached the plinth and spun around, its baleful eyes filled not only with the same driving hatred as the other Wargs, but with an undeniable intelligence. Taurnil took one more pace and threw his staff, sending it slicing through the air towards his adversary. The Warg glared at Taurnil with a kind of wilful mockery, before growling a word Taurnil couldn’t make out, and disappearing. Taurnil’s staff sizzled through the air where the Warg had been just a second before, and clattered against the wall, dropping to the floor. Taurnil raced to pick it up, and jumped onto the plinth. What was the damn word?

“Follow!” he said. Nothing happened. Roaring in fury, knowing he’d failed in his most important duty, he raced back towards the other soldiers. At least he could make sure none of the other Wargs survived.

Chapter 35

Gaspi stood by Hephistole, watching intently as the Chancellor’s enigmatic face was drawn in fierce concentration. His eyes moved back and forth beneath closed eyelids, hands splayed widely over the scrying sphere. Suddenly, his eyes sprang open.

“The demons have been banished, but the Wargs are attacking the tower. We have to get down there,” he said, and then froze in mid-motion. “The transporter!” he said, his voice edged with sudden fear. Gaspi never thought he’d hear that tone of voice from Hephistole, and his guts clenched anxiously in response. Summoning his power to his fingertips, he turned to face the direction of the transporter.

The scryer was right around on the far side of the office from the transporter, but in a matter of seconds they could hear the sound of something heavy ripping up the polished wood of Hephistole’s exquisite floor, an unknown something that was getting rapidly closer. Hephistole also summoned his power, a nimbus of gently glowing light surrounding him as he drank deeply of the magic within. A huge creature sprang from round the curve of the office. In a surreal moment that seemed to last forever, Gaspi noticed every detail of the massive Warg; the sheer size of the thing, the bunching of muscles thicker than his torso, the thick, hooked claws and brutal teeth, the slaver dripping from its snarling mouth, the reddened, intelligent eyes. Everything about it shouted of killing. A large medallion hung from its neck, bouncing against its chest as it rushed towards them.

The moment passed in a heartbeat, and Gaspi started to forge his power into the biggest force strike he could muster. Hephistole, similarly, was summoning some form of attack, when the Warg skidded to a stop. With a dip of its head it ripped the medallion from around its leather thong, and flipped it across the floor towards them. Gaspi watched in dull apprehension as the device skidded and span across the polished wood, stopping at their feet.

Hephistole’s strike flew from his fingers; a golden, misty substance that Gaspi had never seen the like of before. It formed into a serpentine shape and whipped across the room, wrapping itself around the giant Warg’s neck. Gaspi released his force strike, a massive ball of energy that hit the Warg square in the head.

A loud buzzing drew Gaspi’s attention, and after a  moment he realised it came from the device near his feet. Too late, Hephistole reached out to grab it, but red light burst out from its core, surrounding them in a crimson radiance. Gaspi tried to summon another strike, but his magic was untouchable, blocked away beyond his reach. He tried again.

“It’s no good,” Hephistole said quietly. “It’s the device. It blocks magic.”

Gaspi didn’t hesitate and kicked at it, trying to send it spinning away from them. As his foot connected, Hephistole looked at him with a mixture of chagrin and acceptance. The device skidded away as intended, but when the periphery of the light reached the two magicians it was as if a wall slammed into them, dragging them along with the edge of the sphere of radiance. The pain Gaspi felt wasn’t just physical; it was as if his thoughts and feelings were scraped along the floor with him. When they stopped moving, Gaspi looked at Hephistole apologetically. The Chancellor just smiled grimly, and turned his attention to the Warg.

The massive creature was growling in annoyance, snapping at the constricting golden mist around its neck. Gaspi’s force strike had done almost nothing, but somehow Hephistole’s summoning still existed beyond the circle of red light, strangling the Warg in its intangible grip. The Warg growled deeply, a sound as visceral as Gaspi could imagine, and then with a final shake of its heavy head, the spell dispersed.

“Resistant to magic,” Hephistole murmured quietly to himself.

Gaspi almost jumped when the thing spoke. “I wish I could rip you apart,” the Warg snarled, a hoarse and broken sound emitting from a throat that was never designed for speech, “but my master has other plans.”

“Your master?” Hephistole asked, almost conversationally.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” growled the Warg, advancing towards them. Gaspi’s stomach clenched in fear. There was no way they could fight this monster if they couldn’t use magic. Even with it, they could only slow it down. Gaspi glanced around hurriedly, looking frantically for a solution.

And then he saw it. They were not far from the other way out of Hephistole’s office – the hole you could drop through and float down to the atrium. Jonn had told him about it after his first and only visit to the Chancellor’s office. The red light emitted by the magic-subduing device had an edge. It beamed unwholesomely for several metres, and then stopped at a clearly defined point. They were encased in a dome of light, and he’d already found out that it could be moved. One good kick in the direction of the hole could move the dome so that it extended over it, and perhaps he could drop through. The dome may negate the magic of the hole, but he remembered what Jonn had told him all those months ago; the plinth at the bottom should stop anyone falling before they hit the floor. It was a massive gamble, but much better than letting this Warg get them.