The wizard Lamaniss picked his way carefully across the rubble strewn streets of Fort Battleaxe. On either side if him stood the ruined shells of buildings that had, just a few weeks before, been filled with ordinary people going about their ordinary lives, complaining about various woes and imagined Injustices that must seem utterly trivial to them now if they were still alive. Some of the buildings were still smouldering, but the lull in the fighting had allowed most of the fires to be put out. It was almost possible to imagine that the war was over, that the long task of rebuilding could begin, but to Lamaniss, who knew the reason the enemy had ceased their attack, every blackened timber was a reminder of what was to come. A horror beside which everything that had happened so far was nothing more than a brief prequel.
Arriving at what had until recently been the Fort Battleaxe branch of the Imperial Bank of Belthar, he saw that the line of refugees queuing up to enter had shrunk to just a couple of hundred, waiting their turn to use the teleportation chamber in its basement to escape to safety. Lamaniss squeezed past them and into what had been the manager’s office where another wizard, Catavolcus, had a glowing globe of crystal in his hands, his eyes closed in intense concentration. He gave a jump of alarm as Lamaniss put a hand on his shoulder. “Greg! Gods, you almost gave me a heart attack!”
Lamaniss smiled wearily and reached out to take the globe from him. “I’ll take over, Del. You look bushed.”
“This thing’s almost finished anyway. Another half hour I reckon, then anyone left in the city has to get out the old fashioned way.”
Lamaniss nodded. The enemy had surrounded the city with a barrier of magic in an attempt to prevent the defenders from being resupplied and reinforced by teleportation, and it also prevented the city’s civilians and auxiliaries from being sent to safety. The globe punched a hole through that interference, allowing the teleportation chamber formerly owned by the Fellowship of the Golden Griffin to send people to the island of Pargonn without them arriving with their guts on the outside. It had never been Intended to be used this long without the spells that animated it being renewed, though, and Lamaniss saw a delicate cobweb of tiny, hairline cracks all across its surface telling him that it could shatter at any moment. Every second it survived meant more civilians escaping the fall of the city, though, and so he squinted his eyes and concentrated on feeding his body’s magic force into it, forcing it to operate a little while longer.
“How’d it go out there?” asked Catavolcus, dreading the answer.
His fear was confirmed when the other wizard just shook his head slowly. “I’ve already told Vento,” he said. “They’re making preparations now. You know, I never really thought it would come to this. Not really. I mean, I knew it in my head. You know?”
Catavolcus nodded. “It’s basic human nature to cling to hope, no matter what the hard facts may be. You and I will get out, the Gods willing, and we’ll make them pay. We’ll make them pay with interest!”
“That day will come,” agreed Lamaniss, his eyes hard with determination.
He looked out the door and saw the queue of sobbing, grief stricken women and children moving forward a few steps, shepherded by soldiers who watched with envy. Every one of them was thinking of family that they would, in the absence of a miracle, never see again. Perhaps some of them were thinking of pushing through to the head of the queue and jumping into the teleportation cubicle. For those who weren’t stopped by their sense of honour, though, the knowledge that they would be executed as deserters upon arrival on Pargonn was a sufficient deterrent, but that didn’t stop them glancing at the two wizards with an open hostility that tore at his heart. Both of the two wizards could teleport, if they could fight their way clear of the interference surrounding the city, and the plan was for them to do so, each of them taking with them half a dozen of the people considered to be most needed in the war ahead. That didn’t include these soldiers here, who were nevertheless expected to do their duty without hesitation or complaint. One of them lifted his head, though, his eyes shining with pride, perhaps seeing this expectation as the greatest compliment possible. The thought just made Lamaniss feel even worse, though.
“Go get some rest,” he told the other wizard. “You’ll need it when we break out.”
Catavolcus nodded and left. He’d spent twelve hours having the same thoughts that had crushed his colleague within five minutes of his arrival, and he almost fled the building, his head hanging with weariness and pre-emptive survivor’s guilt.
☆ ☆ ☆
A few minutes later, Resalintas found himself thinking very similar thoughts from his position on top of the city’s inner wall, from where he could see the rubble of what had been the outer circle of the city and the invaders who had brought this curse upon it. He could also see the approaching Shadow. It was now only a few miles away, and its influence could be felt all over the city. Crushing mens’ spirits, making experienced veterans sweat and tremble like the greenest conscripts. Everyone was on edge, with people snapping at friends and colleagues. Panic attacks and outbreaks of random, senseless violence were becoming more and more common, eroding whatever meagre scraps of the city’s morale still remained.
The best estimates were that the city would be engulfed over the course of the next day, and Resalintas knew from first hand experience what that would do to any living men remaining here. How much further the Shadow would spread after that, no-one could say. Reports from their few remaining griffin riders said that it was spreading in their direction only, reaching out like the dark pseudopod of some monstrous amoeba, suggesting that the power being channeled through from the Pit wasn’t yet enough for a general increase in its size, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t be able to extend a good way past Fort Battleaxe. Perhaps all the way to Tatria itself.
A raging fury welled up inside him like magma in the heart of a volcano. “One day we will return,” he swore through gritted teeth, his voice rigidly controlled by a lifetime of discipline. “One day we will return to reclaim this land from the sinners who have defiled it, and we will erase them from the face of the world.”
A hail of arrows, shot up by the crowd of shologs, goblins and humans gathered below, bounced harmlessly off the shield of holy power he’d raised around himself, and the old priest wished with all his heart that he could strike back at them now with a few well placed Holy Words. They thought they could strike at will against those under the protection of Samnos, the Warrior God! One day, they would be taught the magnitude of their folly! Not yet, though. The anti-magic shell that surrounded the city, generated by the Orb of Proofing in the tower, formed an impenetrable barrier to all forms of magic, both enemy magic coming in and friendly magic going out, so all he could do was grind his teeth helplessly and march back down the stairs to the street, where he was met by another priest, Robert Drake.
“The evacuation is over, Sir,” said the younger priest, a Corporal. There was fatigue visible in every line of his body. Just standing steady required an effort, and a blood soaked bandage covered a wound to the head that he currently lacked the energy to heal. “The wizard Lamaniss says the globe just shattered in his hands. Thirty or so civilians were still waiting to leave.”
Resalintas nodded grimly. “See to them,” he said. “Make it quick and painless. Then destroy the teleportation chamber. It’ll be within the circle of denial, and we can’t risk the enemy using it to get in.”
“I thought no teleportation was possible into a shielded city, not even using cubicles,” said the younger priest.
“So we believe. Our enemies may believe differently.” He turned to his younger colleague. “You can’t teleport, can you, Corporal?”
“No, Sir,” replied Drake calmly, his voice betraying no hint of what he thought about the imminence of his death.
“Have you ever flown a flying carpet?”
“No, Sir. A flying carpet? But surely the flying carpet squadron was wiped out weeks ago.”
“It was, but a couple of carpets were kept out of service for flying erratically. When you’ve seen to the cubicle’s destruction I want you to take one. It may crash a mile outside the wall, but at least it’s a chance. You’ll find it in cubicle fourteen of the artifact storeroom.”
“But Sir, there are many more deserving to be saved than I...”
“I will decide who deserves to be saved! You are one of the best fighters in the city, you’ll be needed in the days ahead. Go to Tatria, we’ll make our next stand there.”
“Yes, Sir. When will we be leaving?”
“Noon. We daren’t stay longer than that. Every second we delay brings the Shadow closer, and its effects become stronger. There are just a few arrangements to make first. Spread the word.” He then marched off without waiting for a reply, returning to the tower at the centre of the city.
After a security check at the entrance, he went straight up to the map room, where Colonel Vento was making the final preparations for the break out, in which the city’s gates would open and the city’s defenders would pour out in an attempt to sell their lives as dearly as possible. Officially, their orders were to fight their way through the enemy lines and win their way through to Tatria, but Resalintas wondered how many of them really believed they had any chance of making it.