A Darkness Unleashed (Book 2) (16 page)

Dorias leaned from his seat on Shade’s back. “Patience is the hardest lesson to learn for a powerful wizard. But we will not regret these men’s aid if a pack of orcs find us in the dark.” Merl squawked agreement from Dorias’ shoulder, and Gwelan Whitehand signaled from his saddle not far away.

In the orange torchlight cast by the soldiers, Tallen picked out Duke Aginor speaking with Tomas. The duke sent several of his aides running. Tomas then waved at the captain, and the column set off. Tallen pushed Stew to the front, Dorias bringing Shade close behind.

Tomas led the company in a direct line toward where Tallen still sensed his brother moving closer at a steady pace. As they neared, his Psoul magic discerned their horses and a large wolfhound moving among them.
Brawny made it out, too.

Tallen’s anxiety grew as the miles passed. Jaerd’s presence hovered in the distance, and it did not close as quickly as he desired. The black night turned to light gray before a pinkish hue pulled the sun over the eastern horizon. Once they closed to a few hundred yards, Tallen sensed his brother’s scattered thoughts through the haze of his Psoul magic, tense and full of apprehension.

Tomas called for a halt along a slow flowing gully, and in moments, a ragged, tired band emerged from it. They led their horses, and a muddy hound led them.

“Jaerd!” Tallen jumped from his saddle and charged forward, releasing his grip on the Psoul Aspect for the first time since sensing his brother.

“Tallen.” Jaerd spread his face in a wide smile. “I should have known it would be you who found us.”

Tallen threw his arms around his brother, both clapping each other on the back. A sense of relief washed away his exhaustion. Tears threatened to well up, but the warmth of his brother’s strong embrace calmed them. He stepped back, an unabashed grin spreading across his face. He turned to the others close by, each as unshaven and unkempt as Jaerd.

“Earl Boris,” Tallen bowed his head, his knowledge of Boris’ parentage giving him a renewed respect for his old travelling companion. “It is good to see you safe.”

Tomas reached out an eager hand. “Indeed it is, my friend.”

Tallen heard a low huff and ducked his head toward the Bluecloak Battlemage. “Magus Britt. I have learned and done so much since you last taught me. I can’t wait to show you.” He looked at the others and gave Tilli a smile of greeting. When his scan passed over the cloaked young woman, his heart missed a beat and he gasped. “Dawne!”

For a moment he could not unlock his stare from hers. The shock that ripped through his senses paralyzed him, and he could not catch his breath. She ducked her head meekly, even though a soft grin hid along her lips.

“Hello, Tallen…surprise, I guess.”

He searched for words, none coming to his mind. He stammered. The logic of how his sister stood there escaped him. His thoughts froze, and only a few words escaped his lips. “Mother is going to kill me.”

Dorias cleared his throat. “Family greetings notwithstanding…” The wizard stepped toward Boris. “What happened at Highspur? What has happened to Kirath?”

Boris shook his head, a dark cloud on his features despite the rising dawn. “Highspur has fallen. For all I know, we are her only survivors.” He looked warily over his shoulder. “Kirath is being sacked as we speak. We were able to get most of the civilians out. They are headed to Novon under the protection of a somewhat capable watch captain and his militia. We decided to head directly for Gannon to bring word of events.” Boris clenched his hands. “The orc horde has Kirath’s food stores now, packed granaries to feed them all the way to Gavanor.”

Though most of the others stood in silent shock, Tomas Harte strove ahead. “How many?”

“At least twenty thousand warriors at Kirath,” Boris stated flatly. “Ten times that many at Highspur.”

The silence hung even heavier over the group.

“We cannot handle that many with the army we brought from Gavanor.” Dorias’ concerned expression deepened as he spoke. “Especially if they dig in. And if the orcs create a base of supply, they can wreak havoc all over the Free Cities and the Western Realm.” He shook his head. “We cannot let them have it.” He tapped his shaven upper lip. “Granaries, you say… If I remember correctly, they are close together, stuck behind the mayor’s wall.” He scrutinized Magus Britt first, and then Tallen. “Perhaps I have an idea, but I will need both of you to help me.”

Earl Boris narrowed his brow. “Will you require an escort? We need to get what men you have to Novon. That is where the refugees will gather. That is where we will have to stop them.”

Dorias pointed toward Tomas Harte and Gwelan Whitehand. “I’ll need no more than usual, My Lord Earl.”

Boris inclined his head. “Then I will go with these men to pass on our news to Duke Aginor.”

The silent elf, a coal black patch over his eye, stepped forward. “I will continue on toward Valen. We must prepare for the coming storm.”

The Hadoner followed suit. “As must I.” He looked at the elf. “Perhaps we can travel together as far as Daynon, where we both might take ship to our homelands.” Gael nodded in return.

Tallen turned to look at his brother and sister. Mixed emotions of surprise and joy swam through his heart. He could not help the dumb smile that he knew spread across his face.

Jaerd frowned at Dawne. “I will see that she gets to the Bardic College in Kerrigier. Then I will remain with Boris’ command.” He leaned in close to Tallen. “Whatever the wizard has planned, be careful. Things are…changing, Tallen. I don’t want events to consume you. I am committed to seeing you both safely through this war.”

Dawne waved goodbye from horseback as the company of Gavanor soldiers headed back the way they had come. Tallen returned the gesture, his head aching to hold back tears of relief and startled joy. Jaerd grinned in his direction and pulled his horse closer to Dawne. Tallen sniffed against the cold and his emotions, pulling together his composure with a few deep breaths.

“Come along,” Dorias called to him while the others mounted. “We will definitely need your strength if I’m going to pull this off.”

K
irath rested on a hill in the near distance, quite a few fires dotting its low skyline. A pale haze of greasy smoke hung low over several quarters. The rancid stench drifted to Tallen’s nose, where the party sat mounted on a ridgeline. Orcs swarmed through the city, while red and black banners marked with animal symbols flew over the mayor’s keep. The mid-morning sun showed a line of bodies nailed to the wooden slats of the granaries.

“Before the end I assume Mayor Kodi finally believed the orcs were coming,” Magus Britt grumbled.

Tomas Harte shook his head while still in his trance. “I am only sensing orcs in the city, though things are far too chaotic to tell for certain.”

Shifting in Stew’s saddle, Tallen raised a tentative hand. “I could try.”

Dorias shook his head in the negative. “I don’t want you to waste your power right now, Tallen. We are going to need all of it to do what I’m about to attempt.” He looked at Joslyn Britt. “If it weren’t for your exceptional skills in Fire, Magus, I doubt this would even be possible. It will take the combined strength of all three of us.” Merl cawed from the bare branch of a nearby oak tree. “All four of us…”

Britt lifted a shaggy eyebrow. “And just what do you propose to do?”

Swinging down from Shade’s saddle to land lightly on the ground, Dorias began to remove his riding gloves. “Eliminate those granaries from the orcs’ possession, and stop this advance army from wreaking any more havoc.”

Tallen gawked at the distance between them and the granaries, wondering what they could possibly do. “How?”

The wizard signaled for them to join him. “By destroying everything myself.” He looked to Tomas and Gwelan. “If you gentlemen would keep watch for me, we will be quite incapacitated for a few minutes.”

Gwelan already had both of his swords bared. “Don’t worry, my friend. We know our jobs.”

Dorias signaled both Tallen and Magus Britt to come closer. “I will need you to open your power to me. I am not strong in Fire, but the two of you are burning with it. I can use Psoul to direct the power from the three of us. My…connection with Merl will help me to focus.”

Britt opened his mouth a crack, appearing on the edge of argument, but at last he relented, closed his eyes, and took on the peaceful expression of meditation.

Tallen felt a stab of nervous excitement. “What do I do?”

Dorias patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry lad, I’ve done this many times. All you need to do is place yourself on the edge of embracing your power. Don’t quite touch the Fire, but come to its very edge.” His raptor gaze focused on the distant city. “I will handle it from there.”

Taking a deep breath, Tallen folded his hands, unable to avoid a dry swallow. He shut his eyelids and opened himself to his power, a move as natural to him these days as taking a drink of water. The five Aspects sang out, each with its own melody, crossing over each other like the chorus of a grand musical. Fire’s crispy tenor flared before him, and he hovered, ready to pull it in.

He heard Dorias sigh. “Alright then. Here we go.”

Tallen sensed the wizard touch Psoul, even through the choir of his own intense power. The silvery Aspect washed over him, and Tallen could feel Dorias’ comforting presence. A moment later, he sensed Magus Britt, gripped in the same web of Psoul magic. From a seeming great distance, he could feel Merl, a sparkling point of magic.

“Brace yourselves.”

The Fire leaped through Tallen, the entire burst channeled by a funnel of Dorias’ Psoul magic. His breath escaped him for a moment before he forced the air back into his lungs. He sensed Joslyn Britt’s Fire Aspect as well, nearly as raging a torrent as his own. The two great powers met, and then Tallen felt Merl’s presence as a sort of intersection point for the streams of power. Dorias added his own meager skill in Fire, then directed his pipeline of Psoul Aspect out toward the city.

With the full strength of his power summoned, Tallen opened his eyes.

A great spurt of flame erupted from the first granary. Three more burst from the rounded roofs of its neighbors, the fires spreading with ferocious speed. Huge chunks of burning wood and sprays of incinerating grain flew through the air, crashing into nearby buildings. Another blast ripped along the pinnacle of the Mayor’s former residence, tearing through the orcs who had claimed it as their own. More of them ran screaming, their clothes, armor, hair, and bodies aflame.

Tallen forced himself to breathe as the Fire Aspect rushed through him. Dorias pulled further, and a great funnel of flame shot down the main street of Kirath, catching hundreds of feasting orcs in its path. The low wooden structures of the city kindled instantly, and the fires spread from roof to close-built roof.

A tight sensation unfurled across Tallen’s forehead, as if his skin were being stretched over his skull. A lump caught in his throat, and he began to gasp for air. Still the Fire flowed through him and into the city.

Cinders spread as the heat created its own wind. Side streets and warehouses caught afire. The rare trees scattered throughout the city began to blaze. The few wagons left behind, and those brought by the orc army, burst with flashes of orange and red. Near the center of the city, close to the conflagration of the old Mayor’s keep, a giant tornado of spinning flame formed, pulling in air from the fields and ridges surrounding Kirath.

A cold breeze lifted Tallen’s cloak. He could not feel it except as an abstract thought. The world around him grew distant. His hands became those of a stranger. The ground, covered in scant white snow, swelled in his vision, and his view of the city faded to a hellish mix of gold, black, and scarlet. He realized he had fallen to one knee. Across the deluge of his flowing power, he felt Joslyn’s Fire cut off. The Battlemage collapsed to the ground.

“Dorias!” Tomas Harte shouted from a vast distance. “It is done. You must let go!”

The pull on Tallen’s Fire Aspect halted, and he dropped to his elbows. Sensation flooded back to him, and a warm trickle ran down his upper lip. A single crimson drop fell, splattering onto the snow dusted on prairie grass. He wiped the blood away, smearing it into his leather riding glove.

Suddenly Tomas Harte stood beside him, helping him to his feet. His dazed thoughts began to clear as he felt the paladin’s healing power wash over his body.

Dorias stepped closer, his own face less focused than usual. “I am sorry, lad. Here…” He handed Tallen the silver flask from his coat pocket. “This will help.”

The long swig eased the tension in Tallen’s head and drove away some of the numbness. He passed it back, and Dorias took a good pull himself.

“Thanks,” Tallen said when he caught his breath. “You still have to teach me that recipe.”

The wizard offered the flask to Joslyn Britt, who stood a little unsteady. The Battlemage took the liquor with a grateful nod.

Tallen watched the city burn in the distance. The flames had faded somewhat since Dorias withdrew their power. The faint screams of burning orcs floated on the invigorated wind, along with the fetid odor of burning flesh and leather. Only a few scattered stragglers ran westward from the holocaust of fiery death.