Priestess of War (The Bowl of Souls Book 10), page 28
Briefly, she considered it. Having a second slave would be useful. She wouldn’t have to worry about overbleeding Vastyr anymore. The unwilling were difficult to deal with, but at least Vastyr wouldn’t see him as a rival for her favor.
Sensing Cassandra’s hunger, Vastyr came over with a towel to wipe the blood from the ex-slave’s chest. He pulled a vial of coagulant from his pocket and rubbed the prisoners ear with it, stopping the bleeding.
While Vastyr worked, she composed herself.
“There is another bauble. An orb.” She stepped closer to her captive and pressed her finger right over the spot where her spirit sight told her it lay. She watched his eyes for a reaction. “If I were to destroy that?”
His grin broadened. “That’s the one I really want you to break. Please do it. Kill us all!”
It was likely a bluff, which meant that the orb was quite important after all. Then again, it appeared that she had already done his will by destroying that earring. Cassandra changed her focus away from the mysteries in his body.
“It doesn’t matter. The reason I had you brought to me in the first place was for information.”
He snorted with confidence. “I already told you I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’.”
“Fool! You are so eager to find ways to defy me that you can’t stop yourself from revealing your secrets,” Cassandra said with a laugh. “From your attitude I can now safely assume that the Academy and Mage School both know everything that you and your wizard friend have discovered. This means that they know that the wraith’s magic is under the Dark Prophet’s control. Likely, they also think they know its weakness.”
She leaned forward, wanting to see the despair in his eyes. “They know very little. That army of theirs? Three thousand strong? I have that many and more from my own personal army camped in the vast caverns around us. And that doesn’t even count the dead and infested of which there are thousands more.
“As for the paltry number of wizards that the Mage School’s new Head Wizard allowed to join the army?” She snorted. “He definitely didn’t know who I was when he sent them out. I am the Priestess of War. High Priestess of the Dark Prophet himself! Two hundred years ago I stood alone against the wizards of the entire known lands and watched them tremble. This will be a bloodbath.”
The elf’s defiance began to deflate. Cassandra smiled as she saw it. His eyes lowered and his face fell, but only briefly.
The ex-slave let out an amused grunt and his eyes met hers again. “Yeah, you were the queen bee back then. But a single dwarf struck you down, didn’t he? A lone dwarf with a blacksmith’s hammer! Tell me, is that big scar of yours the result of his crackin’ your head open, you white-eyed, slag-faced, blood-suckin’, dog-mother?”
A snarl rippled her scarred features and she lashed out at him with her elemental magic. She didn’t need to see into his body to know how to hurt him. He screamed, his muscles cramping as searing pain rippled through his body.
“Yes!” Vastyr said, the eager grin on his face echoing his look when she drank his blood. “Kill that unwilling monster!”
The Priestess of War didn’t let it go that far. She stopped, leaving the ex-slave to slump, his muscles twitching. She let out a slow breath.
“No. Not yet. There is still more he has to tell.” She licked her blackened lips and clutched the prisoner’s face with one hand, bringing his eyes back up to hers. “You knew who I was before I told you!”
He coughed, drool hanging from his lips. Then he laughed. “I got to you, didn’t I? You didn’t know the Hero of Thunder Gap was a friend of mine!” The ex-slave looked up at her again. His face was red, one of his eyes marred by a burst blood vessel. “Yeah, we know who you are and that army of three thousand you know about? They ain’t scared. You’re the one who don’t know what you’re up against.”
Cassandra pondered the connotations of that statement. So there was likely another force. One that David’s spies had not discovered yet.
She shrugged. It was time to accelerate things then. At their current pace, the Academy army would reach the base of the mountains in two days. Luckily, the weather was in her favor. An early spring heat wave was coming.
Cassandra sent a command out to the wraith under the lake.
“It sounds like I have time to discover the rest of what you know,” she said putting together another spell. This one was more complex. Just as painful, but less likely to kill him. “Let’s start with your name.”
Outside of the building, Lyramoor’s screams could not be heard. Even if the sounds of his agony had been able to pierce the thick stone walls, they would have been overwhelmed by the horrendous buzzing that filled the air.
There had been a shifting in the lake’s writhing depths. Cracks had appeared all over the surface as thousands upon thousands of larvae pupated. The air became black with flies.
Chapter Eighteen
A cloud of flies poured from the mountain passes, blanketing the villages of the frontier in a miasma of anger and sorrow. In its adult form, the wraithflies were less efficient at transmitting the Black Lake’s rage than the larvae. But that mattered little when dozens of them coated every surface. There was no escaping the magic.
The Academy army had been prepared for this eventuality. The Mage School had very few wizards with any spirit magic at this point, but they had sent along a handful of students with bewitching talents. Mistress Sarine had taught them how to make simple charms with bewitching magic that could help keep the negative effects of the flies at bay. The students had spent the entire journey so far making them and every leader in the army wore them.
Nevertheless, the swarm was greater than expected. Flies blanketed the army and antagonized every unprotected soldier. The wizards were able to destroy large numbers of them with various spells and wards, but that was only partially effective.
The flies laid eggs everywhere they went. The army’s wagons of stores were protected by magical barriers, but the rations carried by individual soldiers along with the horses they rode on were vulnerable. Inevitably, signs of infestation began to be exhibited by the men. The army was slowed as fights broke out.
This is where Alfred’s presence within the army proved invaluable. Through messages relayed from Wizard Beehn, the gnome warrior and bonding wizard had been able to teach the wizards how to treat anyone infested with larvae without damaging them severely. Those wearing bewitching charms were tasked with isolating anyone showing symptoms and the wizards were kept busy delivering shock treatments.
Despite the setbacks and low morale the army persevered, pressing forward up the mountain slopes and towards the passes where the true battle would take place.
The Thunder People’s territory was overwhelmed.
Fist and Locksher had begun to worry when they first sensed that the weather was unseasonably warm. The wizard had already set wards over the tribe’s stores, but they were completely unprepared for what happened next.
The scouts heard it first. A fierce buzzing unlike any they had ever known. The alarm was raised. The defenses were set.
The swarm came through the pass like the dark clouds in Fist’s dreams. Panic set in immediately as ogres ran covered in flies that diffused anger to their susceptible minds. To Fist’s spirit sight it was as if the sky was black with the dark threads connecting the swarm to the wraith beneath the lake. He could feel their anger battering against the protection of the bond.
Fist called for the defenders to fall back. He set up a crackling field of electricity to cover their retreat. Thousands of flies fell crackling and burning to the ground, but thousands more flew around or over it. He leapt onto Rufus’s back, sending vibrating strands of air and earth all around them as he rode among the ogres, urging them back towards the camp.
The flies beat them there. The ogre encampment became an open brawl. The ogres battled each other, regardless of gender or previous tribal affiliations. The Black Lake’s directive was clear. Fight. Hate. Consume.
The Big Cave became their refuge. Locksher set up an intense sparkling ward across the entrance. As the ogres ran inside, the flies on their bodies were electrocuted. It was a painful process, as the electrical energies passed through the ogres’ bodies as well.
The moment they breached the magical wall, their wits returned to them. Ogres collapsed to the ground, weeping, their fists and mouths covered with the blood of their friends. Their fellow tribesmen grabbed onto them and pulled them further inside so that others could pass through.
Locksher, Maryanne, and Qenzic stayed inside the cave, treating injuries and helping Crag and Old Falog in directing the ogres where to go to best utilize the space. The cave had once been large enough for the entire tribe to enter easily, often sleeping close to each other during the coldest of winter nights. That was no longer the case. Their numbers had tripled since the war.
Fist and his bonded stayed outside in the swarm, helping Charz to break up fights and herd the raging ogres through the magical barrier. It wasn’t an easy task. Fist had to constantly pull energy from Rufus so that he could keep a constant stream of electrical shocks going to move the fighters forward.
The rock giant, his bond making him immune to the flies effects, dragged the ogres bodily. Often he would simply punch ogres unconscious and throw them through. He had the most difficulty at the womens’ caves, where many of the ogresses had fled deep inside and had to be carried out.
Rufus followed the giant’s lead and worked in concert with Squirrel. Squirrel would zap the enraged ogres and Rufus, grown three times his normal size, would shove them through. The four of them worked throughout the afternoon, saving everyone they could. When they finally came in, exhausted as the sun was setting, the situation was grim.
Too many ogres had been lost. Not so many had died in the fighting, but a great many had run screaming into the mountains where they couldn’t be found. Others had simply run off the cliff’s edge at the rear of the territory. All said, two in ten were lost.
Fist walked out of the swarm and through the knee-high pile of dead flies in front of the wards to find the Big Cave crammed full of anxious and mourning ogres. Crag had found ways to make more room, sending the women into the old giant spider den that Mog had claimed as his home. The smaller ogres and children were told to climb up to places in the upper reaches of the cave that hadn’t been in use since the goblins controlled the place.
Despite Crag’s efforts, there wasn’t enough room for everyone to lay down. But when Fist made his way to the rocky outcropping where his friends sat, the ogres made room for him to collapse. Squirrel, just as exhausted, crawled into his pouch to sleep.
Noting the lack of room in the cave, Rufus shrunk himself down to the size of a large dog and promptly fell asleep at their feet. Fist thought the fierce rogue horse looked quite different in this small form. It was as if it brought out more of his true nature. He looked innocent. Gentle, even.
Maryanne scooted over so that Fist could rest his head on her lap. She ran her hand through his hair. “Things look pretty grim right now.”
“I dreamt this. The cloud of flies,” Fist said, thinking of the image of Crag bruised and bloodied, fighting the storm. “But I didn’t imagine how bad it would be.”
“What do we do now?” Qenzic asked. The Academy Graduate was holding Lyramoor’s pendant in his hand. The quartz crystal had shattered the day before and he felt a deep amount of guilt over rejecting any attempt at rescue.
Locksher reached out and patted the warrior’s shoulder. Keeping up the electrical field was a drain on the wizard’s magic, but Locksher had once again showed his remarkable ingenuity. He had charged some rocks with earth and air magic and was using them to feed the field, leaving the drain on his powers to a trickle. If his power became too low, he could show Fist how to add to the rocks charge and keep things going.
“For now, I’d say we wait and hope that this is the worst of it. In the meantime, I shall try to devise a more efficient method of dispersing these flies,” the wizard said. “We just have to hold out two more days. Then the army will arrive and the real battle will begin.”
“Maybe we’ll get some good news before then,” Maryanne said, also watching Qenzic. He wasn’t the only one who was taking Lyramoor’s loss hard. Charz had gone into a rage when the warrior had told him. She looked down at Fist, stroking the tender-hearted ogre’s cheek.
“I just watched Drog run off the cliff,” Fist said softly. “Remember Drog?”
“Yeah,” she said. He was a tall ogre, formally of the fire tribe. He had traveled with them all the way from the Mage School. “I’m sorry. Drog was a good ogre.”
“I didn’t know him very well, but . . . I didn’t find Burl,” he realized. He sat up and yelled out to the rest of the cave. “Has anyone see Burl?”
There was a sea of sullen heads shaking.
“No, Big Fist!” shouted Old Falog. “He did not come in!”
“What’re you so worried about him for?” Qenzic asked, his voice tinged with despair. “You never liked him.”
“Maybe not, but he is my brother,” Fist replied. Burl had been with the Dark Prophet’s army during the war and had returned with a chainmail shirt and an ogre-sized sword for his efforts. It had taken some time for Fist to trust him, but lately he had begun to realize that Burl had the qualities in him that could make for a decent leader once Crag had gone.
“I had him helping me when the swarm first came,” Fist said. He stood. “I need to try and find him.”
Maryanne grabbed his arm. “You’re exhausted. You’ve been using your magic all day. You need to sleep.”
“Clear the damned way!” shouted a loud voice.
The wards flashed brightly as Charz pushed into the cave, dead flies falling in a cascade around him. Burl was lying over his shoulder. Charz laid him on the ground and when he stood, Fist realized that Burl’s longsword was sticking out of the giant’s chest.
“He had it bad,” Charz said, wincing, blood running from his lips. “Couldn’t knock him out easily. I had to bust him up good.”
Fist pushed his way to the giant. He crouched next to Burl’s unconscious form. Charz hadn’t been joking. Burl’s face was one solid bruise. He had to pull more energy from Rufus’s depleted stores so that he could work on healing him.
Maryanne approached, looking at the sword sticking out of the giant. “We should get that sword out of you.”
Charz grasped the blade and attempted to pull, but the sword barely moved. He grimaced. “Blasted body’s healed itself around the thing. Here. Feelin’ kinda weak. You give it a tug. You got better leverage than me.”
“Alright,” the gnome said. She gripped the sword’s handle and lifted one long leg, putting her foot next to the wound. “Ready?”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Maryanne,” Charz said with a wince. “Put your leg down. Crag’s standin’ right behind you.”
“I will get it, skinny women,” Crag agreed.
She gave Charz a deep scowl.
The giant noticed the look. “Don’t bother gettin’ mad at me. This really hurts! It ain’t my fault you’re a-.”
Maryanne jumped up, placed her feet on either side of the wound, and pulled, gripping the sword handle with both hands. The giant grunted in pain as the sword budged a little, then caught again. She strained and it finally slid out with an accompanying rush of blood.
“There! Don’t you ever imply I can’t handle something just ’cause I’m a woman or so help me, I’ll shove this thing right back in!” she snapped. Her eyebrows rose as she noticed that the last full third of the massive sword was slick with blood. “Wow, this was in there deep. What was it? Stopped up against your spine?”
Charz’s eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backwards. The electric wards rippled and flashed as he lay there with his head halfway outside the cave. His arms and legs twitched. Several ogres hurriedly grabbed him. Grimacing as the electricity shocked them too, they pulled his heavy body inside. His mouth lay open, his eyelids fluttering.
“I think he was gonna say, it wasn’t his fault ‘you’re a gnome’,” Fist said, looking up from Burl’s now much less swollen face.
“He does have a point, Maryanne,” Locksher agreed. “Please understand, if I wanted someone filled with arrows, I would go to you first above anyone else I know. But when it comes to pulling swords out of rocks? I’d go with an ogre.”
The gnome pursed her lips, but finally nodded. She looked down at the fallen giant. “Fine. I’ll accept that Crag is physically stronger than me. Okay? Uh . . . he’s still out.” She nudged Fist with her foot. “He’s gonna be okay, right?”
Fist turned away from his brother to get a better look at the giant. Blood was still pouring from the wound, though just at a trickle. Fist knelt next to him and sent his magic into his chest. “Charz will heal up from pretty much anything, but-. Ooh, I guess that sword was really close to his heart.”
Maryanne’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh!”
Fist looked closer just to make sure. “But . . . the artery’s healed up now. Everything’s closing on its own like normal. I think he fell asleep, actually.”
She smacked him upside the head. “Don’t scare me like that!”
“Sorry,” he said.
“What we do now?” shouted Momma Zung from the rear of the cave.
“When we can go out?” asked another ogre.
Fist stood and turned to face them. “We’ll wait until morning and see if the flies are still as bad. Then we’ll decide what to do next. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
The ogres nodded, grumbling in appreciation at Fist for speaking up.
“I think so too!” said Crag, raising his fist into the air. “The evil tried to kill the Thunder People today, but it did not! In two more mornings we will kill it with the armies of Fist’s tribe!”
