Blademage Adept (The Blademage Saga Book 3) (12 page)

“You could run,” Carlo called out to the two remaining attackers as he stepped to the front of the formation. He swatted down a launched fireball with his shield, the impact softer than a lobbed sack of bread as the magic nullified on contact. His sword flicked out to cut through a blast of flame directed at one of the men behind him, and the magic faltered. A second Mage fell, struck by an arrow from the troops on the palace wall. “Or, I’ll be with you in a moment.” Carlo sprinted toward the remaining Mage, shield half-extended before him, ready to block or ram as needed.

Carlo was almost to the backpedaling Mage when the screaming started. He’d already slapped aside two more fireballs, and blocked the signboard that had ripped itself from the front of the nearby apothecary’s shop to hurtle at him.

Concern about the rest of the battle only magnified the mild contempt the Blademaster felt for the Mage before him. As Carlo turned his head to see what was happening, the retreating Mage spun around to flee down the alleyway.

“Blast it! If you can’t handle a few of those Leapers…” Carlo abandoned the chase and turned back to see what was happening in front of the palace gates. Over half of his escort lay dead or dying. The remaining three were backed into the corner of the gate and palace wall. The creature they faced was similar in size to a leaper, but that was where the similarities ended.

The lower half of the summoned beast was that of a twisted, demonic grasshopper, backward jointed legs flanking a shiny ebony segmented abdomen. The insectoid body flared upward into a broad, triangular chest that terminated in what appeared to be a glittering onyx helmet. Segmented upper arms with sickle-blade ends scythed at the cornered men, deflecting off of swords and shield as the soldiers mounted a valiant defense.

Eyes open for other potential dangers, Carlo circled around behind the nightmarish creature, and began looking for a weakness. The shinier carapace segments looked like they would be more difficult to pierce than leaper armor. The rough leathery splotches around its joints seemed to stretch and flex as it moved, suggesting a possible vulnerability.

Another of Carlo’s men fell, one of the beast’s sickle-tipped forelegs speared through his thigh. Sensing his chance, the Blademaster leaned forward to strike at one of the demon’s lower leg joints.

The demon’s leg twitched, and using a fraction of its potential, spun itself to the left. Its left sickle stabbed into Carlo’s shield and flicked it from the Blademaster’s grasp, across the street, and through a shuttered window. It continued its spin, and bludgeoned Carlo in the side with his screaming comrade, still skewered on its other forearm. The creature’s mouth, that Carlo had been unable to see from behind, screeched and snapped near the top of its thorax.

Following their commander’s lead, the remaining two men sprang at the flailing menace. One of the guardsmen’s swords bit into a lower leg joint, and the monster’s stance shifted. The other soldier slammed into the creature’s back with his shield, and it tottered forward.

Carlo rolled aside, and the carapace sickle meant for him cracked against the cobblestone. Another twist, and he was back on his feet, whirling his broadsword to sever the beast’s head from its shoulders.

The demon convulsed, throwing the stricken soldier free, and keening in pain. It leapt over Carlo, nearly to the alleyway the Mage had fled down, and turned back toward the gate again. It rocked back and forth, favoring its injured joint only slightly. Its sickle-arms traced opposing circles as it swayed in a slowing rhythm.

“It’s blinded…” Carlo kicked the faceted bud that had been atop the demon moments ago.

The creature squared off, focusing on Carlo as he spoke, taking a halting step forward.

“It can hear us well enough. Spread out, move slowly. It’s still dangerous,” Carlo rumbled. “But it’s time we sent it back where it came from, our way.” He pulled a second sword from the hand of one of his fallen men, and began advancing. “Focus on the left, it’s weakened-”

The demon crouched and sprang in one fluid movement. Trusting that it knew what it was doing, Carlo leapt forward into a roll, and slipped under the beast’s lunge.

Something clattered near the gate. As Carlo rolled to his feet and turned, he saw a hand poking from the top of the wall, dropping rocks to the street below. The Blademaster started running as soon as the creature turned to face the new noise.

The demon’s next leap was stopped short by the solid stone wall that surrounded the palace grounds. Shaken, stunned, it rolled backward, screeching.

Carlo rushed forward, swinging his sword down and reversing his grip. He leapt the last few feet, casting aside the second blade to use both hands to ram the broadsword dead center, straight into the thing’s mouth. He scrambled clear before it could react, flailing at the offending weapon with sickled forearms.

One of the beast’s swipes caught the crosspiece of Carlo’s sword, prying the weapon loose and flinging it aside. Its legs scrabbled against the stones for purchase, and it pushed down with its right arm to roll toward an upright position. Its angry shrieks faded to a weak mewling, and it slumped back down onto its back.

Carlo recovered his sword as the demon twitched its last. “Open up!” he called up to the figures poking their heads over the wall. “Form a burial detail! Go get my shield!” He found his crossbow near the body of the soldier he’d thrown it to, and picked it up after closing the man’s eyes.

“A handful of Magi, striking from behind buildings. Just fire though. We haven’t heard anything in the last few minutes,” one of the soldiers from inside the wall reported.

The Blademaster stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. His horse peeked around the corner of a building down the street to the east, and trotted over. “Still more sense than most men,” he scratched the stallion’s forehead, and picked the reins up to hand to one of the milling guardsmen. “Take him to the stables. Get the hands to come move these bodies out of the street. Tell them to be ready for a wagon team and two more saddle horses.” He patted the stallion’s nose once more before turning toward the opened gates. “Send the others directly to the prince.”

A dozen mounted guards met the wagon before it was even halfway from the market square to the palace gate.

“Look alive, there’s been an attack!” the detail split and flanked the wagon. Martin let the team speed up to match the escort’s pace, his teeth rattling as the sturdy transport jounced along the darkened cobble street. The gates spread wide open to receive them. Martin almost did not see the single-horse cart off to the side of the street, and the crowd of men gathered around something that glinted darkly in the torchlight next to it. He shifted his attention back to the slowing troop complement before him.

Four guardsmen peeled off as they entered the compound and the gates began to close. The remaining newcomers guided the wagon to the front steps of the palace.

“Welcome to Navlia,” the guard leading the half dozen servants offered Alma a hand down from the wagon while the dwarves piled out of the back end. Their belongings and supplies were offloaded in seconds, and hustled into the palace alongside them. “It’s not safe here,” the guard cautioned, leading the way toward the residences. “But it’s safer than out there. Come. The others are waiting.”

“Sister of the Hero,” Alacrit clasped Alma’s hands as she entered the room. “Yes, I can see it clearly. Please, be at ease here. Anything you require is yours.”

“Thank you,” Alma frowned, extricating her fingers from the unexpected grasp. “And how do you know Kevon?”

“He and his friends saved my kingdom, and continue to work toward that end.”

“Oh!” Alma noticed the jeweled circlet that was mostly concealed by the prince’s hair, and backed into a curtsey.

Alacrit waved the gesture off. “Nonsense. Civility is sufficient. Certainly from citizens of the outer provinces. To you, I am little more than an occasional tax, and someone to curse at.”

“Well, you can’t be expected to travel just everywhere…”

“Correct. Few understand, and fewer still appreciate that fact. I wish more would…” The prince chuckled. “But I forget myself. This is Martin, I assume, and the Dwarven delegation?”

“Sire,” Martin shook the monarch’s outstretched hand and nodded. “Commander Carlo has delivered our message, then?”

Alacrit shook his head. “It has been only minutes since he arrived, and the assault on the walls has been foremost in our conversation.”

“Walls?” Alma peered at the prince. “Who is attacking the walls?”

“We think it is some of the same forces that infiltrated the palace a season ago,” Alacrit explained. “Increased security has prevented them from gaining entrance, but the attacks all seem to be connected, similar. They’re mostly magical, almost exclusively using fire and darkness.”

“Why have they not used magic to get in?” Martin asked. “A few Magi sent Bertus across the realm to us, getting across a wall should be easier than that.”

“Though far removed from the War of the Magi, my ancestors built the palace grounds carefully, fearfully.” Alacrit smiled. “Every brick, every cobble, are ensorcelled to resist manipulation by the forces of Earth and Movement. We now have other measures in place to assure that no portals can be made in or out of the palace grounds.”

“I shall rest easy tonight, knowing my Alma is safe,” Martin said, nodding to Alacrit. “Such peace is a luxury since our departure from home.”

“Extra guards will patrol for the duration of your stay,” Alacrit announced. “Barring a second War of the Magi, or unfathomable treason, you are safe within these halls. Now, to business.”

We are safe here?
The guard’s warning replayed through Alma’s mind, in blatant opposition to the prince’s reassurances. Her mind raced as the Dwarven translator introduced himself and the others in his group.
Perhaps I should speak more with that guard, learn more about…

“What brings such a formidable group of your people to my home?” Alacrit asked after the introductions were completed.

“A prophecy of their people, involving my brother-in-law,” Martin began. “They seem-”

“A truth we were not prepared to reveal before,” Carlo interrupted, “Must now come to light.”

“Your secret?” Alacrit asked, grinning. “The one I was
not ready
to hear a season ago? Let us think. A secret kept from me by a handful of heroes. Whisperings of heresy from Eastport. A Dwarven prophecy, the focus of which… one of those very same heroes?”

“Sire…”

“Commander,” Alacrit interrupted Carlo. “I’ve had my suspicions for weeks, tonight has done nothing but point toward the verification of those suspicions. Should they be proven correct, I may have to stand against the Guilds, or against my Heroes. But please, by all means, continue.”

“I thought it was bad when I found out,” Carlo muttered. “All I had to do was try and kill him.”

“You?!” Alma’s hand moved to the skinning knife at her belt. Martin wrapped his arm around her, staying her hand on the weapon’s hilt.

“Do not blame Carlo,” Alacrit reassured Alma. “Things are changing, power is shifting as never before in recorded history.”

Minutes passed in silence.

“Kevon is…” Carlo continued, “A Mage.”

Prince Alacrit exhaled, nodding. “As I suspected. First, he shows up here with Bertus, and now this. Portents abound…”

“Bertus?” Carlo’s face scrunched in disbelief as he questioned the monarch. “What does the boy have to do with any of this? Portents? What are you…”

“You believe you are the only ones allowed secrets?” Alacrit countered. “What you know of the world is but a shadow,
Hero
. Perhaps, in time, you will glimpse a portion of the knowledge my family has collected throughout the ages.” The prince glowered a few moments longer at the Blademaster before speaking again. “For now, I must consult with my advisors, decide the best stand to take on this matter. Personally, I will not forsake any of my Heroes. Publically…” Alacrit sighed. “I shall try my best. Lady Alma?”

“Hmm?” Alma startled at the mention of her name amid the tense revelations.

“Would you humor me by speaking with the Court Historian tomorrow?” Alacrit asked. “I would ask Kevon…”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Thank you all.” Alacrit turned to the dwarves, who waited in silence in a corner of the room. “I shall speak with you at length, in the following days. For now, eat, drink, refresh yourselves, and relax.”

Chapter 21

Light spilled into the room and pooled on the blanket covering Kevon. He arched his back against the new warmth, neck popping as he stretched.

“Promising,” Alanna remarked from a shadowed corner of the room. “The first morning in a week you haven’t whimpered yourself awake.”

“The ache is still there, but it’s not the only thing I feel, or even the first thing,” Kevon answered. “I haven’t hurt this good since Elburg.”

Alanna said nothing, leaning further back into her darkened corner.

“I’m sorry.” Kevon sat up, pushing aside the blankets and retrieving his clothes from the bedside table. “I’m still not quite myself.”

“Who of us is?” Alanna asked. “The dwarves are all out of their element, even more so since more of their countrymen have gathered. Yusa and his pet Mage have been acting more strangely since we arrived. Mirsa’s ‘situation’, your sickness. Bertus is the only one who seems all right, but he’s only been here half a day.”

“Mirsa? She’s been sick from the voyage… Keeping the pull of the sea at bay is a strain at the very least.” Kevon pulled his tunic on, and glanced at the sword that leaned against the table.

“She’s been sick since we left Eastport, and before that, if my guess is right. The herbs she’s been taking to hide it are obvious. You… really don’t know, do you?”

Realization stabbed through Kevon’s being, and he cursed himself for not spotting it sooner. “But whose? Waine?”

Alanna tightened the straps on her braces of daggers, and shrugged. “Not my business. Her pet dwarves and the returning hero seem to have matters well in hand.”