| |
THE ALDER TREES that ringed Barakiel’s compound glowed red in the crisp autumn air. Pellus wondered if his heartbroken warrior even noticed their beauty. He barely had time to admire them himself. The High Command had sent him a message through the Conduit telling him that he must fetch Barakiel for his appearance before the disciplinary tribunal. They gave Pellus no notice.
The High Command would treat me with more respect if I still held my formal rank as an adept.
This scuttled Pellus’ plans to arrive well before they were due in the Covalent Realm so Barakiel would have time cope with his news.
He found the warrior in his training room, slowly and fluidly running through forms with his sword. Pellus stood for a moment admiring his grace. The warrior acknowledged his presence but continued his form.
“Why are you early?” Barakiel asked, as he swept his sword in front of him and stared down its blade.
“The tribunal. Osmadiel needs time to dole out your punishment before her battle begins.”
The warrior laid down his sword and wiped his face with a towel.
“I did not realize she would handle it herself.”
“Neither did I. The High Command’s staff usually attends to routine disciplinary matters.” Pellus cleared his throat. “Routine matters.”
“All right.” Barakiel eyed him curiously. “Let me put my sword away. I will not need it to pound rock.” They hurried toward the main house. Pellus stopped the warrior just before he opened the door.
“Wait. There is something you need to know before we go to the hearing.”
“Is that trepidation, I detect, Pellus? Have I made your life so difficult you are losing your famous inscrutability?” Barakiel smirked but stopped at the look on Pellus’ face.
“Remiel and Osmadiel know about Zan.”
Barakiel gasped. He slid his eyes away from Pellus and tightened his hands on his sword.
“They made it clear I would be barred from my duties as your traveler if I did not tell them. Remiel insisted that they had the right to know why you have become so filled with rage.”
“It is my fault, Pellus,” Barakiel said. “I have placed Zan in even more danger.”
“I do not think so. Remiel assured me that both she and Osmadiel will keep your confidence.”
“Remiel, yes, but Osmadiel? Why would she? This must be why she is attending the tribunal!” The warrior pressed the pommel of his sword into his forehead, hard. “Demon take my selfishness! I do not know what to do. Tell me what to do, Pellus.”
“All you can do is hope that Remiel had reason to offer her assurance.”
The tribunal eyed the ill-behaved warriors with mild contempt from their perch atop the massive bench of russet marble. Barakiel was thankful these hearings were closed to the citizens. A throng of Covalent stood outside the thick maroon doors. He hoped the crowd had nothing to do with him, but he suspected it did. His head was swimming.
As the tribunal droned on, he kept his eyes on the ground, breathing deeply, trying to slow his wild pulse. When it became clear that Osmadiel was only there to observe, he calmed down. By the time the proceedings were over, he was relieved enough to want to smack the low-level warriors being punished with him.
They are staring at me like I am a mythical beast.
His punishment for insubordination was as he expected. He was suspended from his next two battles. He would be sent to work in one of the quarries outside the city’s protective barrier, back-breaking work in the freezing cold. The oxygen would be low and the gravity would be heavy, but he was glad to hear his punishment. He hung his head back and expelled a long sigh, his eyes closed.
When he opened them he noticed Osmadiel watching him. He avoided her gaze and went to wait with the other punished warriors to be led to the work site. As they walked off single file, Osmadiel pulled him aside. She waited until the chamber was empty except for the attendants.
“Barakiel, I hope you realize why we needed to make a show of this,” she said. She had never looked at him in quite that way before.
“Yes, high commander. I, uh, I am grateful to you. I know my punishment could have been much worse.”
Do I allow her to see my fear? My pain? Will it help?
“I know I was, uh, I am at your mercy,” he continued, bowing his head.
“Yes, yes.” She gave a quick nod and glanced at the attendants, who waited by the doors. “But listen here, I am upset.”
“I am sorry, high commander.”
“You must use your time in the quarry to meditate on your purpose,” Osmadiel said. “We need you in top fighting form and that includes discipline. You do not seem to care about anything. This concerns me, so do not mistake my efforts here. I know your situation is difficult.” She glanced toward the doors again. “And painful. But I hope it will change.”
Barakiel stared at her with his mouth open.
Does she mean what I think she means?
“You are a creature of astounding symmetry and it wounds me to see you this way,” Osmadiel continued. She allowed him to see her weariness and worry, which stunned him because she was normally so full of bravado. He had the urge to throw himself into her protective arms.
“Poor beautiful warrior.” She reached for him but evidently thought better of it. She took a step closer and spoke in a low voice. “Now I understand what I see in your eyes.”
He couldn’t speak.
“I lost my mate an age ago.” Her voice grew faint. “An age ago, and a moment ago.”
“I am so sorry, Osmadiel, that you must carry that pain.”
“You shine your compassion upon me, even as I pluck out your heart for my inspection.” She squinted at him for a pulse. “I often wonder how you’ve become the warrior you are. We abandoned you.”
Osmadiel exhaled forcefully and looked around. When she spoke again, her voice had regained some of its military gruffness.
“I take care of my fighters, Barakiel. As does Remiel.” She placed a hand on his shoulder as she turned toward the exit, a ghost of sadness in her eyes. “What can any of us do, warrior, but go on?”
The messenger ran through the maelstrom of swinging weapons and spraying blood to find Remiel. “Commander!” the messenger yelled, struggling to be heard over the din of battle and the throb of the Turning. “The battalions in the other sectors are under heavy attack. They cannot shore up our defenses. Lucifer has released a horde of demons the likes of which I have never seen.”
Remiel looked out over the fray from behind the protection of her personal detail. Her battalion had been coping with a swarm of demons nearly double the size they usually faced when they were set upon by a phalanx of Corrupted, more than she knew Lucifer could still field in a targeted attack. Her warriors had been driven back toward the vibrating edge of the Turning. Its boiling silver and amethyst light threatened to overwhelm her senses.
If I am not reinforced these foul warriors will punch through our line.
“Follow the other messenger I have dispatched to the High Command,” Remiel shouted. “Press the urgency of our need. The idle battalions must come to our aid immediately. Our line is close to collapse.”
“Yes, commander.” The messenger ran off, her speed instantly removing her from view. Remiel observed the battle. She needed a plan.
I would give my eye to have Barakiel’s sword at my disposal right now.
She remembered a past battle when the war still raged within the Realm. Under Osmadiel’s command, warriors had charged from the Keep. Lucifer sent his fighters to attack them from the rear when they separated from the Keep’s protective bulk. Osmadiel had split her troops into seemingly vulnerable bands, flinging them out in a random configuration. The traitors’ eyes had glittered with the anticipation of a slaughter, believing the movement to be a sign of panic, but Osmadiel’s disciplined warriors reconvened. By that time, the traitors’ formation was imbalanced and Osmadiel herself led the charge that forced them to flee.
Do I try to hold, or let them through, regroup, and attack them from behind as they rush to gain the gates?
Remiel opted to feign greater weakness than was true, but if the reinforcements did not arrive in time she would have abandoned this sector to their enemies.
We are too close to the gates for my decision to be wrong.
Advancing with her sword before her, Remiel signaled to the warriors in the weakening line. They were to flee, but with a method. Each knew whom to follow. The demons rushed gleefully into the breach and charged through the glowing boundary of the Turning to the city wall, but the Corrupted were not fooled. They remained in formation and moved slowly forward, restraining a large number of demons to act as a buffer at their rear.
We are sunk.
The first demons had surely reached the wall by now, to run along its base in the direction of the gates. Remiel wasn’t worried about them. The Realm’s Watch would exterminate them. She worried about the orderly formation of Corrupted now making its way out of the Turning. As they marched, more demons fell in behind in a thick column.
I doubt Lucifer would have mounted this offensive without a plan for the gates.
All Remiel could do now was slow the progress of the Corrupted. She directed her warriors to form small groups. Using the Turning’s edge as cover, they would burst out to harass the head of the column, forcing it to pause and fight. Before it was overwhelmed, each group would melt back into the Turning, to be replaced immediately by another. The tactic proved successful. Remiel’s squad had just executed a quick hit when a messenger from Hagith’s battalion appeared before her.
“Commander, Hagith warns you that the Corrupted have disengaged from his battalion. They have bypassed Osmadiel’s fighters and are heading this way. He has given them chase but he fears those in the vanguard may reach you.”
“No doubt they received word of the breach. Go to High Commander Osmadiel. Her battalion fights in the sector directly before the gates. Tell her she must fall back. The Corrupted are approaching on her left flank.” The messenger departed. Remiel and her warriors continued their desperate attacks on the column.
At the gates, Osmadiel and her warriors had created a strong line to deflect the furious frontal assault surging from the edge of the Turning. The high commander had reinforced her left flank in anticipation of the approaching Corrupted, but she had been unable to spare many warriors. Shouting wildly, Remiel gathered her remaining fighters and attacked the head of the column in a last-ditch effort to slow them down before Osmadiel’s battalion was caught in the pincer. Grossly outnumbered, Remiel and her warriors fought with calm focus. They knew this was a fight to the death.
What is left but to kill as many as we can?
The commander quelled her dread with pride. Her warriors fought savagely before they fell lifeless, one by one. She had failed them, but they would be honored. She shouted at them to gather for a last stand when she heard the horns sound from the ramparts.
Reinforcements! The gates will not be breached! Not this turn.
Splinters of rose quartz shot from the surface under Barakiel’s hammer. They whistled past the lower level warrior working next to him, who first snarled, then gulped as he glanced at Barakiel before leaning away.
“Sorry,” Barakiel muttered. He moved farther away from the line of grunting warriors until they were shielded from the energy of his blows by an outcropping. He wiped his brow before he applied himself to another promising seam of quartz. The city’s protective barrier flashed here and there in the distance. The Stream roared overhead.
The Stream seems so close without the barrier, as if it could suck me up into that deep blue. Just a few turns ago, I would have wanted that.
He pounded the quartz with such force that the sound echoed through the quarry. The need to see Zan—to talk to her—flowed through him like acid as he tried to work his muscles enough to expend their violent energy. He growled as he swung his hammer.
Why stop me from killing? These rocks could be the heads of the Corrupted.
A commotion arose near the warrior-in-charge, who started to shout and gesture frantically for the Covalent spread out along the quarry wall to return to his location. A battalion messenger was there, normally used only in battle.
What in all the realms?
Barakiel hurried over. The warrior-in-charge ordered the others into formation but the undisciplined gaggle was so slow to respond he looked on the verge of panic.
“Get in line!” Barakiel shouted with such force that the stragglers immediately fell in. He strode over to the messenger. “You are a battalion messenger.” He inspected his indicia. “With Camael’s battalion. Why are you here?”
“A call for reinforcements has come from the Turning. Lucifer has mounted a major offensive. You are needed at the gates, Barakiel, sir, and all idle warriors are to assemble on the Great Plaza. Commander Remiel’s battalion has collapsed and High Commander Osmadiel’s battalion is severely outnumbered.
By the time the messenger stopped speaking, Barakiel had run off toward the city. The messenger followed, leaving the rest to trudge along behind.
Camael’s battalion was frantically assembling in front of the gates when Barakiel and the messenger reached it. “You sent for me, high commander?” the warrior asked, bowing his head.
“Ah! The tip of my spear. Thank Balance!” Camael turned to the messenger. “This warrior needs gear. Please fetch it from the attendant in the Keep. He knows which sword to give you.” As the messenger sped off, Camael placed his hand on Barakiel’s shoulder. “I would like you in the first line through the gates, Barakiel. The Corrupted are right outside. They have not been this close to the city in an age.”
The messenger returned with the gear.
“I know you would prefer your own sword, but perhaps this one will do you,” Camael continued, brandishing a blade of green-tinted steel.
Barakiel bowed as he took the sword, a movement that both displayed respect and hid emotion. The sword had belonged to Kemuel, a warrior from Remiel’s battalion who died protecting Barakiel after he lost Balance as a result of killing the false monks.
“Let us hope we will change this sword’s story, high commander.”
“We had better.”
Another messenger appeared. She informed them that Galizur’s battalion was ready to move. Barakiel hastily prepared and joined the formation, while Camael signaled the heralds.
As the horns rang out, Barakiel glanced upward, gratified by the shouts of relief floating up from the other side of the walls. He heard the warriors on either side of him gasp. He followed their gaze to see a hole appear in the middle of the enormous city gates. The hole started small but grew at an alarming rate as the amber surfaces of the gates went from smooth to grainy, then slid in upon themselves, like sand cascading down the face of a dune. At first, the assembled warriors did nothing but gawk. Then a sharp-eyed fighter to Barakiel’s left yelled, “The Corrupted. They are entering through the breach!”
With a howl, Barakiel launched himself at the gates. The first dark warrior had pushed through but was forced back out, riding the point of Kemuel’s sword, a death rattle escaping his chest. Bursting from the gap, Barakiel flung the corpse at a pack of Corrupted. His fellow warriors followed.
As Covalent fighters poured through the gap, the gates ceased disintegrating. Another horn blew and the damaged gates began to swing outward to allow egress of the battalion. Barakiel dove headlong at the knees of a gang of Corrupted so they would not rush the opening gates. Some of his comrades did the same. Under a pile of dark warriors, Barakiel growled and cursed, punched and bit and jabbed with his dagger until he fought his way free. Once on his feet, he left those he had wounded to be finished by other fighters. Despite his many lacerations, he bolted forward to meet a charging line of Corrupted, applying Kemuel’s green blade in balletic semi-circles, first left, then right, then left. The sword glowed and sang with speed as he sought the traitors’ necks until every fiendish warrior at the front of the charge was dead. He took their heads before they could react coherently to his presence.
The damaged gates were fully open now, and the muscular column of Camael’s battalion joined Osmadiel and her warriors to deal with the enemy still streaming from the throbbing edge of the Turning. Barakiel wordlessly joined Osmadiel’s personal detail as it fought off a thick knot of demons. She grinned to see him. She slit the throat of a demon then ripped off its head as she turned to him, shouting.
“Barakiel! Take my detail and the warriors on the left flank to help Remiel on that side. Now! She has been without assistance far too long.”
Remiel saw the Realm’s Watch gathering on the walls above her dying battalion. The archers took down the Corrupted when the shot was clear, but this was not often enough to stem the flow of Covalent blood. The dark warriors had reacted to the herald by applying themselves to the slaughter with renewed viciousness. The horns had come too late. Remiel collected wound after wound, throwing herself in the path of the Corrupted to give her warriors a chance to survive. They held on, with nothing coming from the direction of the gates.
The din of battle grew muffled. Blood leaked from Remiel’s limbs. She struggled to stay upright and braced herself for another attack. A Corrupted sliced toward her neck with steely precision. Remiel blocked the blow, but she was too weak to answer its momentum. She fell as her warriors tried to reach her. The Corrupted loomed over her. The commander prepared to feel of the sting of the blade in her chest when she heard shouts of jubilation. Barakiel entered her field of vision, swatting the Corrupted out of his way. Kemuel’s sword flashed emerald in his hands and the warriors who fought at his side joined in his yowls of rage. The dark warrior about to kill Remiel turned to meet the threat, but he was too slow. Barakiel ran him through and shook the corpse off his blade.
“Remiel, give me your arm.” He raised her up, put her over his shoulder and sped back toward the gates, hugging the wall as fresh warriors rushed in. Remiel struggled to stay conscious, wanting to learn the fate of her warriors. Barakiel gently laid her beside a line of wounded. He grabbed her hand and held it to his chest.
“Balance help me, I thought we had lost you,” he murmured. He looked up when he heard a chorus of shouts. “The healers will attend to you, commander,” he said. “You fought well today. If not for you and your brave warriors, the reinforcements would not have been in time.” He ran off to rejoin the fight.
Taking shallow breaths, Remiel tried to prop herself up so she could see what was happening, but she did not succeed. The healers came and forced her to lie still.
“Osmadiel’s battalion,” she rasped. “It held the gates?”
“Yes, commander. The fight goes on, but the idle battalions have been mobilized. We are slowly pushing Lucifer’s forces back into Turning. You can sleep now. We need to get you back to the city.”
Remiel closed her eyes.
We will prevail.
Barakiel woke on a luminous green bed in a chamber carved from pure white marble. He wondered how long he had been sleeping. His wounds had been numerous but not deep. The Sylvan Three could have healed him with middling effort. He stretched and luxuriated in his feeling of physical well-being. He would worry about Lucifer’s newly demonstrated power later, when he was away from the serene protection of the healers.
He dozed until the Three entered the room. He moved to rise but they pushed him gently back on his bed of light with their soft hands. They caressed and probed his naked body, then looked at each other to engage in their telepathic communication. They turned the haunting beauty of their silver eyes to him and spoke in unison.
“You are flawless once again, Barakiel. We are honored to have restored the most celebrated warrior in the Realm to perfect power.”
“Most celebrated warrior in the Realm? Are you teasing me Three? Though I admit, my exile does give me a certain mysterious cachet.”
The Three laughed. “You do not know, fine warrior. While you were in your healing slumber the quickeners sang your name to the rafters at the feast in the Hall of the Ancients. Our servants told us that Remiel’s warriors were reduced to tears when they spoke of how you saved them.”
“Remiel! Is she here?” He leaped to his feet.
“Yes. She still sleeps. Her injuries were grave.”
“Will she be all right?”
“Thanks to you, Barakiel.”
He bowed his head. “I did not save her singlehandedly, Three.”
But what a feeling, to see such admiration in their eyes. From the Sylvan Three!
“We know, fine warrior.” They put their hands on him again. “But we want you to enjoy your success in battle. Enjoy the gratitude of the citizens. It will ease your pain.”
Barakiel kissed each of their hands in turn. “You help with my pain, Three, just by understanding it.”