Patch 17 (Realm of Arkon) (9 page)

The gate shuddered from a mighty blow, but stayed intact. Three more blobs of fire flew over the walls and crashed into the donjon's masonry, splashing red-hot splinters and flooding the gray stone with liquid fire.

As the dust settled, the stunned humans saw a veritable army of demons advancing on the castle: four squares of heavy infantry under black banner, heavy cavalry on bipedal lizards on the right flank, six colossal creatures resembling steppe rhinos (if rhinos could be blown up five times in size and covered with a turtle shell), and sixteen tall figures marching in between the infantry squares.

"Worms! How dare you crawl onto my lands!" a menacing roar sounded in Altus' head, with tangible threads of horror amplifying the mental message. The faces of warriors standing behind him twisted in fear, and many began collapsing to the ground.

"Mental shields to the max!" he shouted, adding Barbs of Reason to Mental Canopy that was already enveloping the humans.

"What's happening? What is that?" Kan Shyom yelled, running up to him. He hadn't yet recovered from the mental blow, wincing at every explosion.

"That's Ahriman, the overlord. That blue circle with the pentagram in the center on the banners is his symbol. And those," Altus motioned at the figures of demons unleashing firebals at the fortress, "are the Throne Attendants. And judging by the distance and potency of their attacks, they're every bit as good as I am," he declared darkly.

"Monsieur, we won't hold out long," Saverus' voice sounded overly calm. "We can't feed both mental and elemental shields at this rate; people will start passing out in ten minutes, tops."

Cool and collected on the outside, inside Altus was scrambling for a solution. The portal was destroyed, so retreat wasn't an option. Stay and fight? The option was too ludicrous to even consider. The demons were about half a mile away; even if the cavalry were to lead an assault through the breach, they had maybe ten-fifteen minutes to work with.

"This will be a glorious battle..." Kan scowled.

"There will be no battle. Quick, get everyone into the vault." Consummate officer that he was, Kan Shyom simply nodded and hurried to carry out the order.

"What are you thinking?" shouted Saverus and Raena, running up to the archmage, as the junior officers were ushering the Foxes and Altus' people to the donjon's gate. The last several minutes were clearly hard on the two: the master of two elements was limping on his left foot, his mantle soiled with dark blots in several places, and the blue-brown pattern on it—the image of water and earth—had grown dim; the sorcesses' hair was disheveled, with blood oozing from a deep scratch on her forehead.

"I will lock you in the vault with Oblivion, the Seal of Bel," Altus winced from a nearby explosion. "I will leave and return later, and we'll figure out what to do next."

"Where did you get the seal of the God of Thieves?" the master marveled, adjusting his sling with the staff on the go.

"Doesn't matter—the important thing is that I do," Altus glanced at Raena, her face full of resolve, and preempted her protest. "No! I will go alone. I'm sorry, icicle, but you would only get in the way." The young woman kept a glum silence.

The castle's great vault was shaped like a triangle. Racks of weapons and armor, food supplies, crates and barrels and rolls of materials, and components of two disassembled ballistas by the far wall.

"Warriors," the archmage called attention to himself, standing in the vault's doorway. He waited until all the voices died down and all eyes turned to him, then continued. "I will cast Oblivion on everybody here and seal the doors with the Seal of Bel. No one—not demons, not even gods—will be able to see through the seal of the God of Thieves. The seal can only be applied from the outside, so I will have to leave you. I will return when the demons withdraw from the castle and lift the spell. Even if the overlord's troops raze this whole castle to the ground, you will not be harmed." Altus turned to the commander. "I will cast the spell on the Champion of the Order's signet ring. Here," he handed Kan Shyom Lars' sword and a jewelry case of truesilver, wrapped in runecloth. "You'll give it back to me when I return. Or..." the archmage locked eyes with the knight, "to whoever comes in my stead."

"Farewell," Altus stepped toward the doors, turned around, eyeing a morose Kan, pensive Saverus and weeping Raena, and activated Oblivion. Casting a brief glance at the bodies settling on the slabs, Altus walked out of the vault, slamming shut the massive metal doors, brought the Champion of the Order of the Red Flame's signet to the crack between the doors and whispered several long phrases in a strange hissing tongue. A cool air washed over his face, as intricate weavings ran along the edges of the doors, closely resembling cobweb patterns of frost spiders. The archmage pocketed the signet ring, now radiating a small amount of heat, and rushed toward the exit.

By the time Altus reached the open doors of the donjon, the lizard riders were already entering the fortress. He struck a quick combo of Icy Fan and Chain Lightning, and followed up by raising the rock shards littering the courtyard into the air and hurling them at the already thinning throng of riders. He considered the results of his efforts momentarily, noting with satisfaction that roughly twenty attackers, along with their dreadful mounts, were now lying motionless in the courtyard or blocking the breach in the wall. Easily repelling a pair of ice spears, the archmage slipped behind the wall and fled from the citadel via a random portal, covering his tracks with a dozen decoys.

***

Archmage Altus was standing in the middle of a small canyon, looking up at the clouds above crawling quaintly in the sky, a light breeze tousling his gray hair. He was tired. There was no sense in running any longer. He wasn't going to escape his pursuers, not in their own lands. It had been twelve portals jumps—all of them futile, one giant waste of effort.

A depression with smooth walls along the edges, and boulders clustered along the bottom. The slopes were lined with reddish limestone, underlying isles of shrubbery and trees that resembled pines. A small waterfalls splashed nearby. A lovely, picturesque place to make one's last stand. Altus threw out several more decoy traps, and proceeded to wait.             

Not at all like Erantia, which is so far, far away now,
he thought wistfully, looking up at the sky. Gods! Why did it have to happen this way? He wasn't afraid of death, but his team... How would they make it without him? He had never asked the gods for anything, deeming it unbecoming to distract higher beings from their work—unfathomable to mortal beings—with empty requests. There had been several instances throughout his life when he'd carried out some deity's will (and had been rewarded for it), but he had never asked for anything himself. But now, for the first time in his long life, he was begging for the chance to save his people and the knights of the Red Flame. As for him, he was sure that SHE was waiting for him—in a place that was destined for him—she could wait a little longer while he did his duty to the end.

Memories flooded his mind, a mighty torrent sweeping him away—two hundred sixty years back in time...

He stood apart from the buzzing crowd, cupping a glass of Kjenian Tear, gazing out of a huge arched window at the billowing steam. The royal graduation ball was in full swing in all its splendor. It all made for a silly sight—the festive ribbons on the young cadets and sackcloth-like garb on the Academy of Higher Magic graduates. He was irritated by the scurrying waiters and their trays, the scents of perfume, the smiling faces all around him.

Ten years prior, at his own graduation ball, he had gotten shamelessly drunk, got into a scuffle with Duke Kerat's third son, breaking his face and singing his luxuriant hair, while himself losing three front teeth... and a favorable placement. And now, instead of the enormous Synala with its elven maidens and Rowass wine, he wound up in the small northern Port Vallidu, reeking of mold and codfish. He'd been averse to events such as this ever since.

Altus took a sip from his glass. He was feeling dizzy from all the flickering faces—diplomats, soldiers, socialites, humans, elves, dwarves! He would be glad to ditch the party—hell, he wouldn't be here in the first place if not for the king's personal invitation... And no wonder, with him being a decorated Knight of the Order of the Maple Branch and commander of Blue Salamanders—the legendary squad that had cleansed the Norleyd Ruins of undead and slain Hartalyon in Kraet Peaks. He was recognized everywhere he went, but given a wide berth upon meeting his dispassionate gaze, with only scraps of phrases reaching his ears: "Yep, that's him all right..."

"Say, aren't you the celebrated Count Altus, grandmaster of fire, who had defended Vallidu from an undead invasion?" a young woman's voice rang out to his left.

The mage turned, then bowed his head in deference.

"How may I be of service, Your Highness?" he spoke with a smile.

The young woman let out a disappointed sigh.

"How did you know who I was? We've never met!" she puckered her brow, which made her even lovelier than before. He looked her up and down, noting her shapely girlish figure, the turquoise mantle, the white lily in her hair...

"With my tattoo expertise, I'd be disgraced if I mistook the House of the Singing Dew for anything else. So, I ask again, princess, how may I be of service?"

"I want to join your squad!"

He was taken aback. The second daughter of the head of one of the most powerful Houses—this was truly unheard of...

"I've just finished my apprenticeship, and I am ready to be tested," her voice broke, "or are you afraid of the complications that might arise with my father?"

Complications were indeed a concern, and major ones at that, but even a Prince had to obey the Law. Besides, the archmage really didn't give a damn about all the rulers of the Great Forest put together.

"Princess..."

"Elsaniel," the girl smiled. "But call me Elsa. I've studied at the Academy; I know how you humans like to shorten your names."

"Why would you want this? We live by strict rules, and don't do grand receptions," he looked around the hall. "And we've none of this..." he hesitated, "lobbying and intrigue, there."

The princess burst out in infectious laughter.

"But you do have adventure. Your squad is all anyone's been talking about the past five years, and life in the princedom is so dull," she made a wry face. "Nothing but..." she twirled her wrist, as if remembering something, "lobbying and intrigue. There!" This time they laughed together.

"Why aren't you dancing? Or do you expect a lady to beg?" she creased her eyebrows.

"Princess, it's not that I can't dance well, I can't dance
at all
..." he felt his face flush.

"It's easy. Come, I'll show you," she offered her hand.

His knees weak and lungs gasping for oxygen, Kyam took the young woman's hand and led her into the hall, toward the dancing couples.

There was a reason he hated these balls. The dance just wouldn't end, and no matter how desperately the mage tried matching his partner's quick and fluid movements, he ended up stepping on her foot and messing up a movement's direction numerous times. By the time the torture ended, he was on the brink of burning a hole in the floor from sheer shame.

To his shock, Elsa had decided to dedicate the entire evening to him exclusively. They chatted of trifles, drank wine and laughed, and when the ball ended, they left together. And they hadn't parted since.

And when, forty six years ago in Borderlands, with their squad hemmed in the castle of a backwater barony by a thousand ear-hunters and young drow wolves backed by mages from the House of Twilit Shadows, they were rescued in the last moment by a sudden blow in the enemy's rear courtesy of Lars' knights and Count d'Arysak's heavy cavalry, he carried her lifeless body—sprouting a poisoned arrow—out of the burning castle. And then he personally cut the throats of twenty six higborn captives, including the of the House Patriarch's youngest son.

A fluttering of wings tore the archmage from his memories, as a huge white bird landed on a boulder fifty feet away. The arrival cried out in alarm, craning its neck, and turned into a cloud of mist. Dumbfounded, the mage peered into the cloud, watching it take the shape of a young woman. Translucent and perfectly still, she gazed at him wistfully.

"Have you come for me?" Altus smiled.

Just then there was a tremor a hundred yards away; billows of mist covered the ground, and four towering figures sprang up from it.

"Wait here, I won't be long," he spoke quietly.

"I am Prince Saad Khor, First among Equals—Ahriman the Overlord's Throne Attendants—General of the First Punisher Legion, and I have come for you, worm!" a fifteen-foot-tall demon in pitch-black armor stepped forward. "On your knees, and don't even think of resisting. Perhaps then the overlord will grant you an easy death."

A powerful, dread-inspiring aura emanated from the demon.

Altus chuckled.

"I am Count Kyam Altus, Archmage of Erantia, and I spit on you and your overlord's mercy, wretched beasts!"

Suddenly there was music playing in his head—the same music they had danced to then, two hundred sixty years ago. Altus repelled two Ice Spears and rolled to the beat of the music, evading rocky spikes that shot up from the ground, then activated his traps and conjured up ten astral projections. Smoke flooded into the gorge, and before long he heard the agonizing roar of one of the seven who had stumbled into a trap. A pity, he counted on more casualties than that. But look, Elsa, I'm getting the hang of this! Another pas—a quick portal jump fifty yards to the side, dodging four terrible lightning bolts. An Icy Fan—his go-to spell—then Quicksand and another Fan at the ensnared monster! He teleported again and spun around. There wouldn't be any mistakes this time. Two mighty strikes with Watery Lash at the horned mug that had popped out of the smoke, and an Ice Arrow with a decoy to finish off the beast.