Roar, page 37
Camille didn't know what the Oracle was talking about. But even as she turned to question her, something icy smashed into the floor by her feet, shattering the oak floor boards and distracting her. It was a hail stone! But a stone big enough and driven hard enough by the storm, to destroy buildings. Anyone caught beneath it would have been killed instantly. Even the benches wouldn't provide much protection. All Camille could think as she stared at the hole by her feet and then up at the jet black sky above, was that there would be a lot more coming – and she couldn't see it! They were all going to die!
Her first impulse was to run. But where could she run to? Nowhere was safe. The city was falling apart all around them. And the hail stones were tearing through the roofs as though they were made of tissue paper. She could hear more of the stones impacting on the buildings in the distance, even over the fury of the storm. Strongheart would provide no protection to its people. But neither would running.
Camille suddenly panicked. Her mother was going to die! Her aunt was going to die! She was going to die! And the entire world would be destroyed. Turned into part of the underworld and then overrun by demons.
But she didn't want to die. She wanted to live! To live with her family. To heal her mother. Do a thousand other things. Dying was not an option.
And then it came to her. Between one flash of lightning and the next. They couldn't run. There was nowhere to run to. They couldn't hide. They would die where they cowered. And they couldn't even stay where they were. But they could fight. In fact it was the only thing they could do. And if they were going to war, the battlefield was already waiting for them. They just had to get to it.
She had to get them to it.
Camille threw her head back and cried out in horror as she realised what she had to do. As she saw the storm above raging out of control. And as she suddenly felt the magic within her building; aching to be released.
It burned through her blood and her bones like an inferno. It was in the air that she breathed causing small explosions of pain with every breath she took. It was in her muscles turning them to fire. And she could do nothing about it. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't even want to stop it. Because it might be agony tearing her apart, but it was also ecstasy. The power that was her very soul. She might be the Scion, created to wield the most powerful dream magic, but at this moment it was the magic that was wielding her. Already it was trying to break loose and she hadn’t even called it.
Camille felt it spreading out all around her, bursting from the chamber she was in and then racing outward, enveloping the rest of the city. In the distance she could hear the startled cries of people as they felt the spell encompassing them. For a moment the pain was excruciating. But the joy was transcendent.
Suddenly something clicked inside her. Everything arrived in its perfect place. And for a heartbeat that seemed to linger forever, she knew it was time. She screamed with joy as the magic burst from her, finally free.
In the next heartbeat the storm died. The world was once more silent save for the sound of people crying out in pain or fear. And the sound of tortured timbers creaking and stones crumbling as the city endured the unexpected strain as it became weightless. But everything was together.
Time ticked by. Achingly long seconds when she couldn't even bring herself to breathe. When the Great Dream threatened to consume her. And when all around her people were alternating between states of shock and terror. Time stretched like an eternity. And yet there was something about it that was perfect. Perfect stillness perhaps. Or perhaps a sense of belonging. Of home.
And then the violence returned with a thump. The real world returned. It was followed moments later by the impact of a sudden crash. She was thrown out from under her shelter. Everyone was tossed around. The city shrieked at its mistreatment and things snapped and broke. Floors split open and walls crumbled. Timbers failed and concrete cracked. Things began falling all around them and the storm outside returned to life.
But it wasn't the same storm. Camille knew that even as all her strength suddenly left her and she collapsed to the broken floor. The hail stones that had threatened to destroy the city were nowhere to be seen. The wind was less. But in its place there was a new threat: Lava and demons. Things flying through the sky.
The danger though wasn't as important as the fact that they could finally fight it. She understood that as she collapsed the rest of the way to the floor and then lay there trying to find the strength to breathe. Even to keep her eyes open. This was the thing that her mother had so desperately tried to stop happening. And it was the thing that had absolutely always had to happen.
But there was one more thing to do. Something to undo. And she reached out with her hands to where a knife was buried in a skull and pulled it free. It had served its purpose. Their champion was ready.
She tried to tell the others what she'd done, but she couldn't talk. She barely had the strength to breathe and remained where she lay; sweat poured off her and her heart thundered in her chest. But others seemed to understand and the oracles began giving out instructions to everyone they saw. Camille could dimly hear them telling people to go out and fight the imps and demons that were currently breaking out of the underworld and pouring into this one.
Strongheart had come to the Eternal City. The war had finally been joined.
Chapter Forty One
Was that a strange collection of buildings or a city, Thorm asked himself as the pain in his head faded? He didn't know. And he kept sneaking glances at the edifice that had suddenly appeared, even as he tried to focus on fighting the lamaia. And where had it come from? But why, when it had arrived had the pain in his head suddenly returned, only to vanish slowly? Almost as if a knife had been pulled out of his skull?
He didn't understand any of it. But he understood that he was once more himself – Thorm – a man in a lion's body. Except that his body was surely ten times the size it had been, he had wings, fire and wind burst out of his mouth every time he roared – and he was in a battle for his life.
But he had to forget his questions. Forget everything. He had thousands upon thousands of lamaia to battle and he couldn’t afford to be distracted by anything else. Because he knew that if they reached him, they would start feeding – on his soul. Buildings or cities that suddenly appeared and which didn't make any sense, simply didn't matter. Even how he had got here didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was survival.
The hole had slowly widened and widened until it had become a chasm with a crater at its heart. A crater that was now surely hundreds of yards wide with a massive chasm extending out both sides of it for the best part of a league. And the lamaia were currently crawling out in their hundreds if not thousands. In addition he had a horde of flying, fiery imps attacking him, blasting him with fireballs. On his side he only had a mad fell witch who was presently screaming incoherently even as she attempted to blast everything in sight from her chair while reinforcing her wards. It was a hopeless situation
But at least he had his mind back again. He had words again. Thoughts. And a name. Though regaining it now all seemed pointless when they were all about to die.
Thorm was fighting hard. He was pushing all the strength he had into his roars and growls. And it was effective. The army of demons trying to escape the underworld were disappearing in the flames. He had also cast the spell of falling star on the imps at the palace to great effect – at least on the imps. The palace itself simply refused to crumble. It didn't even blacken. He was battling as both a wizard and a sphinx – if that was what he was. The magic was flowing through him as never before.
But he was still losing.
To an outsider it would have been hard to tell. It was too slow. Almost glacial. But he could feel it. Each fireball that came smashing back at him to singe his fur and skin however lightly, was wearing him down. Each roar he let out was a tiny bit weaker. Each falling star he dropped on the palace, a little harder to call. He could feel his own end approaching. Exhaustion was now starting to take hold. But the tide of lamaia that continued their relentless crawl out of the underworld did not abate. And the waves of imps flying out of the somehow intact palace, did not thin. He could feel the desperation growing as he fought. Still he refused to give in. Because if he fell asleep, if he even faltered, he knew he would not survive. How ironic, Thorm thought, to regain his mind just in time to witness his demise!
So he roared. He growled and he snarled. Sometimes he smashed his foot down on the ground and watched the ground tremble. He vented his growing fury and watched as the flames in the gigantic chasm leapt higher into the blackened sky. Sometimes he took to the skies and raged and his magic battled the storm and hurled the imps out of the sky in their hundreds and thousands. He stamped his feet into the ground causing the ground under the demons to be torn apart, pulling them back down into it. And when he flapped his wings, thunder boomed and lightning crashed and the enemy died.
“No!”
The hag suddenly became coherent once more, surprising him. She'd been babbling nonsense or just screaming at the wind for a long time by then. But there had been moments before that when she had made perfect sense – even if he hadn't been able to understand her at the time. The battle had been raging all night. Dawn couldn't be far away. And he couldn't remember the last time she'd said anything to him at all. For the most part she'd just been making noises. She was too busy using her magic to contain the Eternal King in some sort of block of ice while holding a barrier to keep the imps at bay and maintaining the wards that slowed the oncoming hordes of demons allowing him the chance to burn them, to talk. They worked well together in the fight he thought. And he didn't want to have to fight alone.
“What?” He yelled at her and then was immediately shocked when for the first time in years his roar formed a word. The sound boomed in the air. It wasn't like when he had spoken to the Oracle. It was actual speech. It was an actual word made by his throat. Just then though it didn’t matter. Thorm didn’t have time to think on it. It was taking all his effort just to push himself on.
“She's here! She shouldn't be here!”
Thorm didn't know who “she” was or what the fell witch was talking about. He didn't have time to know or even ask. All he cared about was that the fell witch was still alive and fighting. That she hadn't been crying out as some new disaster had befallen them. He wasn't battling on his own. When she said nothing further he returned to the fight at hand.
A few minutes later he nearly jumped out of his skull when another fell witch joined them – Matilde. He stopped and stared at her in shock. Wasn’t she supposed to be in Erisen? How had she got here? Thorm found himself temporarily distracted.
“Easy kitty!” She yelled at him. “Keep your mind on the battle!”
She was right of course. He couldn't afford to be distracted. He couldn't afford to wonder about things that didn't matter. He had to fight. And he threw himself back into the battle as hard as he could. But still he listened as she talked to her sister.
“So, I understand that Aston's the Eternal King, and the thing in the armour is one of the lamaia.”
“How –?”
“Camille told me. She's been watching.”
“Is she –?”
“She's fine!” Matilde replied. “Unconscious just at the moment but that’s to be expected. She brought us here and collapsed. But she'll be fine. As long as we win.”
“Praise the gods! She shouldn't be here. I didn't want that. Ever!”
“She had to be here. Potaine said. Bringing us here was her purpose.”
“Us?” the hag asked.
Thorm would have asked too if he wasn't so busy. If he wasn't struggling against the tiredness.
“Yessamine. Camille brought the whole damned city across through the Great Dream!” Matilde gestured back to the edifice that had suddenly appeared.
Even as she did so Thorm noticed other people joining their side of the battle. Fell casters, wizards, mages and others. They were all arriving and sending their magic streaming into the battle.
As their magic joined his and the hag’s Thorm felt the nearness of his failure backing away just a little. Unexpectedly he had time to breathe again. To slow slightly and reclaim a little strength. He needed it. Maybe, he thought, just maybe there was a little hope? At least for a while. But still the horde was coming and the tear between this world and the underworld was widening. It wasn't enough.
Still he fought and the others fought, and for a time he grew stronger, even as he continued listening in on the conversation between Matilde and the hag. What they said though sounded like madness.
Then true madness arrived. Another joined them, another woman, carrying a huge weapon. A four barrelled rifle that had to weigh too much to lift. But that wasn't what was mad. It was that the woman was Mara! He stared at her in disbelief, almost forgetting for a moment that there was a war on.
“Hey honey,” she smiled at him. “We have to talk!”
He would have asked what she meant save that just at that moment she lifted the weapon to her shoulders, aimed and squeezed the trigger. A heartbeat later the world was shattered by the sound of a cannon blasting and a thirty foot length of fire and smoke billowed from the end of her weapon. Meanwhile one of the lamaia simply exploded in a ball of lightning.
“Damn that felt good!” She smiled some more. Then she took aim at the next of the slug like demons. “There's just nothing like the thrill of a little dragon's breath first thing in the morning!” She squeezed the trigger again and another of the Lamaia became a fountain of grey flesh in a ball of lightning.
“Yes!” She laughed at where it had been. Then she took aim once more.
Who was this woman, Thorm found himself wondering? Because she looked like Mara. And she sounded like her. But she was dressed like a warrior and carrying heavy artillery. And what did it mean that she had a bag with her that was absolutely crammed full of ammunition?
Naturally he had no time to talk. And he wasn't sure he could. That one word he had squeezed out might have been it. So he returned to the battle. But he listened as the others talked. And they seemed to have a lot to say.
“The Oracle says he can't die?” Matilde gestured at Aston who was still trapped in a block of ice in the middle of the crater of fire.
“I've cut him in half, burnt him to a crisp, ripped him apart and turned him inside out. Despite it all he still seems to heal from what should be fatal wounds in seconds. He won't die. I've trapped him in rock and watched it melt off him. Steel did the same. Ice at least seems to last a little longer. But he'll be free again soon enough. Laughing.”
And if there was ever proof that he was the Eternal King, Thorm thought, that was it. He just wouldn't die! The bastard couldn't even be hurt. Every time he was treated to a killing blow, he returned to full health a few moments later, perfectly restored. The reason he had worn the mask after being caught in the explosion of Thorm’s store apparently had had nothing to do with injuries and scars. It hid the fact though he hadn't been burnt, some of his flesh had been revealed as no longer human. Instead it was like the grey slug like flesh of the lamaia. It appeared that he was actually part demon.
“He might not do so well against dragon's breath!” Mara interrupted. “And it would be a shame not to use it. I did build this weapon just for him after all.” She let loose another blast and tore another lamaia to pieces.
“Oh it'll kill him alright,” the hag answered her. “He just won't stay dead.”
“And you can't send him away somewhere?” Matilde asked.
“No.” The hag answered her. “The spells don't work on him. But even if I could, it’s not a real solution. He would eventually find a way back.”
Thorm wanted to ask about that. Because surely if they sent him to the sun he would have been trapped there for eternity? But just then some sort of concussion rocked the entire world and he watched as a massive ring of light suddenly exploded across the sky. He didn't know what the spell was, but it was impressive. Thorm watched as surely a thousand or more imps abruptly turned to dust as they flew from the palace. Now that was some war spell!
Unfortunately, while it killed the imps, it did nothing to either the palace from which they kept coming, or to the massive chasm from which the demons kept arriving. Nothing did. The chasm kept growing. The lamaia kept crawling out of it. The palace kept standing. And the imps still kept coming. And that was the problem. They had no way to completely destroy them or send them back to the Underworld. The Tri-consular Orb had been destroyed, leaving the gate between the two worlds permanently open. And the palace seemed to be impervious to everything. He had attacked it with every bit of magic he had, and nothing worked. It just stood there, cracked wide open like an egg that had fallen to the floor and yet otherwise unharmed, allowing an endless stream of imps fly from it. The broken copper and marble didn't even show any scorch marks. He didn't understand it.
