Silent Requiem (Tales of Ashkar Book 3) Page 12

  Graeme looked to the east. Luckily, the Arcadian forces led by Cad had managed to make some ground and push the front lines further east, though it appeared that the two forces were now in a stalemate. At the very least, it was far enough that the long-ranged bombardments from Liberty's forces did not reach this far back often.

  The Grand Arcanist made his way over to Wu, who had been standing not too far from the gates of the fort. The Grand Master Magus was surrounded by a few key officers and a handful of senior elementalists, some of who were from the Council of Eight.

  Together, they developed a strategy and modified it based on the current situation. Whether it be mobilizing their forces at the rear or countering one of Liberty's strategies, they did so swiftly and relayed that information to Guy’s and Laralen's forces—the latter now joining with Cad's regiment in his absence and had since taken command.

  By the time that Graeme reached the group of leaders, they had already dispersed to deliver the updates to the rest of the army leaving only Wu to greet him. “How do we fare?”

  “Decently, at best,” Wu answered. His eyes shifted to the east, to where the chaos and toil was happening. “We are holding them back despite their superior numbers, though I do believe that our presence is required to continue that effort. It seems that a significant portion of Liberty's numbers are merely fodder. Take that away, and our numbers even out in regards to properly skilled and armed soldiers.”

  Wu looked at Graeme with a hard face. “I heard of Cad’s clash with Liberty.”

  The Grand Arcanist nodded solemnly.

  “He did not make it, did he?” Wu asked.

  “No, but he did what he knew what had to be done,” Graeme answered, looking across the battlefield raging beyond. It was quieter here, the clash of steel and shouts of men and women off in the distance just a soft whisper to his ears. “He held the line.”

  “But the war is far from over,” Wu said.

  “Our presences alone will not turn the tide,” Gaeme said. “We still do not have a strategy for Liberty, and he is on the front lines. It is unlikely that Laralen has found any insight, but if he has, we must reach him as soon as possible.”

  “We can both release our weapons to the second stage,” Wu said a fire lit up in his eyes. “Combined, we could easily take out half this army.”

  “We would be vulnerable,” Graeme said as she shook his head. “That, and our might would take Arcadian lives along with the lives of our enemies. That isn’t an option here. We need a different trump card.”

  “This isn’t just a war between Arcadia and Lenas,” Wu commented.

  Graeme’s thoughts immediately turned to the few rogue fighters who had offered aid for some unknown reason. He had yet to see any of them in battle, and he wondered if it had been by their hands that Arcadia was able to hold.

  “We can’t count on them,” Graeme said. “We cannot allow Raxxil near our forces either.”

  Wu nodded. “Even so, I believe that they will be our way to turn the tide. Aside from that, we must take our powers nearer to the front lines before Liberty breaks through.”

  Graeme nodded. “Where do they want us?”

  “The Master Ranger and his men and women are heading to support Ohrl'han now,” Wu explained. “We will join them and focus all our efforts into pushing—”

  Wu's eyes opened wide in shock at something Graeme, who had his back turned to the south, could not see. The Grand Master Magus reached for the white, moldable substance floating near him and as he held it in his hand it changed in color to an earthy brown.

  The first thing that Graeme felt was the rumbling of earth behind him as Wu's power took effect. The second thing he felt was the shattering of rock as something exploded just above him, sending him hurtling to the ground.

  Graeme struck his head hard as he fell, and instantly his senses were thrown off course. He felt a ringing in his ears, most likely a result of the blast that had occurred next to his head. His head spun in circles, and his vision was blurred. He tried to move, but he was far too disoriented to find his footing; he stood up slightly and collapsed each time, and he resorted to crawling in a direction that he knew not.

  Large figures flew overhead, casting shadows on the ground as they blocked out the sun. He felt hands grasping his arms and pulling him up. No, they weren't hands, but an invisible force that propped him upright and steadied him. It took some time for his vision to refocus, but Wu's form came into view. Deep concern flashed across the Grand Master Magus's face.

  “Are you with me, Graeme?” he asked worriedly.

  Graeme shook off the disorientation and looked up without answering. It had all happened so quickly that he couldn't have possibly conceived what had occurred until he saw it for what is was. High in the air flew hundreds and hundreds of flying creatures that many would call dragons, but Graeme knew that they were not.

  Dragon's had six limbs: two forelimbs, two hind legs, and two wings. These only had a pair of wings and hind legs, like birds, but were several times the size of humans. Most of the skin of these creatures was a leathery dark green, with a wingspan that was several times the length of the body from head-to-tail. They had sharp, beaklike maws and their heads culminated in a sharp point, with a tuft of what seemed like feathers on their upper chests near the neck. Their legs ended in sharp talons, while their tails were long and quilled. If anything, they seemed to be something like a mix between dragons and birds.

  He didn't know exactly what they were, but he did not have the time to figure it out. Their initial attack had passed, and they turned around to continue their assault. They would be upon Arcadia's forces again very soon, and as they came closer, Graeme noticed small silhouettes atop their backs, which must have been the riders who had attacked.

  “Graeme!” shouted Wu, capturing the Grand Arcanist's attention.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Your head,” Wu said.

  For the first time, Graeme felt hot liquid making its way down the side of his face. He reached up to his temple and retracted his hand when he felt a sting as his fingers touched the wound. He did not have the time to consider its severity.

  “We have to stop their advances or our defenses will—”

  Graeme stopped to look around at the devastation before him. So concentrated on their enemy had he been that it wasn't until now that he assessed their surroundings and realized that the damage was much more than he thought.

  It was chaos. Fort Bellford lay in ruin, its stone walls and towers crumbled to the ground. Fires raged around him from the burning tents as the able-bodied scrambled to move those in danger and stop the flames from spreading further. The majority of their siege weaponry had been dismantled or destroyed, and worst of all, the number of casualties increased tenfold; no longer were the maimed or deceased ferried from the front lines for aid.

  Now, their rear lines had all but been obliterated. What was left would not survive another onslaught, after which their forces at the front would be sandwiched—struck from both the air and the ground mercilessly. In fact, several of the riders were already flying to the east.

  If it had not been for Wu, then Graeme would have probably been blown to bits just then. But he was still standing, and he was not going to let them have another successful attack from the air.

  “You may have to call me out,” said Samsara.

  “No,” returned Graeme hastily as he looked at Wu. Even without words, he could tell that the Grand Master Magus felt the same. “We have no time left. They are already upon us.” The sky was already darkening as the hundreds of flying creatures blotted out the sun.

  Perhaps he should have listened to Wu. If they lost the war entirely, the loss of Arcadian life would not compare to the one that would have occurred if they had called out their elementals.

  And even if they did manage to call out their elementals to fight alongside them now—a feat that only Graeme and Wu knew how to do in all of Arcadia, perhaps ev
en in all of the Ashkar—it might have been too late to stop the impending attack.

  Graeme tapped his left pinky and right thumb together, and heard the satisfying clink as the two rings touched. He then lifted his hands up toward the scouring beasts above—whose riders had already begun raining down elemental attacks on top of them—and focused his efforts not where they were, but followed their trajectory and placed his concentration on the space that they would soon occupy. “I'm going to summon a gravity vortex, Wu. Can you do the rest?”

  “Of course, my friend,” answered the other elementalist. He reached for his floating source of power, though Graeme did not have a chance to see what kind attack he was preparing; the Grand Arcanist was too busy watching the riders carefully to ensure that his ability was successful.

  Beads of sweat, aside from the already crimson liquid that flowed from his temple, rolled down his face. A sweeping feeling of dizziness washed over him, and he stumbled slightly but willed himself to remain stoic. He had chosen to use only space element for his defense, and he was glad that he had. Any other element on top of manipulating space, and he might have collapsed then and there.

  A few others had also recovered from the attack and were returning fire, and while they were able to take down a few of the flyers, the overall effect was insignificant compared to the swarm. Shouts of panic and incoherent orders filled the air, but he drowned them out.

  As the winged beasts soared up above where Graeme had set his eyes upon, he brought his left hand down, and with the movement the fabric of space distorted. Just as he willed, the large vortex caught the majority of the flyers and pushed them violently down. They whipped about chaotically on their descent, colliding with each other and throwing off many riders off their mounts. And as they fell to the ground, they were met by a host of jagged stones jutting upward where there once was flat ground.

  The area just below the vortex had been transformed into a death trap, and leathery creature and human alike were impaled as they fell to meet their ends. Those who survived were quickly taken out by nearby Arcadian forces.

  Graeme slumped to the floor in exhaustion, barely able to keep himself upright.

  “Graeme!” shouted Wu as he rushed up to the Grand Arcanist to offer aid.

  With the help of another healer, a young woman who had bravely rushed out into the field to offer aid, Wu wrapped Graeme's left arm around his neck while the woman took Graeme's right. Together, they hauled in the direction of one of the newly pitched medical tents.

  “Don't… worry about me,” Graeme said weakly in between heavy breaths. In the moment, he had brushed aside the injury to his head. Now, the pain rushed to him, and in addition to the heavy stress to the brain that came from using space magic, his head throbbed overwhelmingly. The wound must have been worse than he had initially thought.

  “Nonsense, Graeme,” asserted Wu. “We must get you to proper care.”

  “But there are still more,” Graeme insisted, referring to the flying riders above. The vortex had been large, but it had not captured all of them. Some were already barraging the front lines, and others still wrought havoc around them. “We can't let… we can't… can't…” The words did not come out. He was far too weak to even utter a proper sentence, and he stared at the ground as they trudged on.

  Lifeless faces came into view, faces of those who had bravely given their lives for Arcadia. Now, their unmoving bodies littered the path that Graeme walked. Others still breathed, writhing from excruciating pain and gushing blood from critical wounds as those who were able scrambled across the battlefield to take the wounded to care just as the young woman next to him had done.

  As they neared the tent, Graeme's vision blurred once again as he struggled to maintain consciousness. The last thing that he saw were the lips parting of those next to him as others wearing bloodied clothes, gloves, and protective masks rushed out of the tent toward Graeme.

  Chapter 9

  Unknown day

  What is this power?

  The question had been on Quinn's mind since leaving Vaikar's Heartrend, the source of the odd, dark substance that had solidified in the shape of an arm and covered half of his face. While it did not speak to him verbally, it seemed to have a presence far more than any pool of liquid that he had ever touched.

  It was viscous in its liquid state, like thick blood. Its other form seemed as solid as rock yet stretchy and malleable, a property that he had not come across in any object on Ashkar. Most befuddling was how it elongated and shot forth from his arm at the demons, killing them instantly. All from just thinking about it happening. Wanting it.

  He looked down at his hand again for what seemed like the hundredth time. He held out his hand palm up, running his eyes from the tip of his fingers all the way up to his upper arm near the shoulder. His eyes moved back down as he turned his palm to face down. It was smooth and shiny, and when he touched it with his left hand it felt almost like flesh. His own flesh.

  It wasn't his arm, yet at the same time it was. It moved at his will. The same went for his face. The right side was horribly scarred, he knew that much. It could have been scorched to the bone, though he could not tell. The partial mask took its place instead.

  “We're here,” said Gilbel as the two of them stopped, though Quinn's eyes remained locked to the wonder before him. “Hey, did you hear—come on, stop the self-admiration, will you? You're making us look divine here.”

  “Sorry, it's just that…” Quinn began, but his voice trailed off as he looked up to regard a marvelous yet intimidating sight.

  They had finally left the barren wastelands of Hell and arrived at what seemed like the best attempt of demons to create a city. It was a grand one, that was for certain, but it was not inviting at the least. Massive walls of metal were expertly constructed on top of a massive lake of lava and flame, garnished with spikes and chains all over. The metal seemed like iron to Quinn and the spikes looked like bones, but he did not know for sure; he had yet to see any earthen metals or remains on his stay in this most inhospitable of places.

  Perhaps the bones were the remnants of titanai. Quinn would not be surprised in the least if it was, for it was more than apparent that demons did not care one bit for civilization or morals. And that was what irked Quinn the most as the two of them set foot across the thin, arching bridge that served as the entrance to wherever it was they were going.

  If demons were who he had thought that they were all along, then why did they create a place that was fortified? Why have demons congregate in an area given their malicious natures? Zavalin, Xai'jet, Garjuun, and even Gilbel seemed to be exceptions to the rule, and Quinn wondered if he had been mistaken all along.

  The arch was thick, and made of the same bony remnants that seemed to inundate the city, if one could call it that. To the right and left of Quinn, on the edges of the bridge, rose large bony spikes that curved inward, hailing all those who entered with what Quinn thought was an appropriate image of what to expect.

  “So, uh… is this supposed to be inviting or something?” asked Quinn.

  “What's that?” responded the demon.

  Quinn pointed at the spikes and chains that were overly abundant around them. “Are you trying to scare people off or something?”

  “You know, humans are really inconsiderate,” Gilbel said. “Have you ever thought of that? This took a lot of effort. We tried a lot of things, but this is what looked best.”

  “You tried other things?” Quinn asked in wonder, images forming in his head that were too bizarre to even say aloud. He tried to think of what kind of architecture a demon would want to show off with, but was unable to come up with anything that made sense. Not to his mind, at least.

  Gilbel shook his head. “Doesn't matter. These are the ornaments that we found. This is…” the demon paused for dramatic effect, opening his eyes wide at Quinn and waving both hands up, “Bastion Return!”

  “Ornaments, huh?” Quinn said to himself, the word taking
him back to his younger years. “The Firebloom Festival had a lot of ornaments.”

  “Never heard of it,” Gilbel said, his words minced with disappointment—probably from Quinn's lack of reaction to the demon's announcement.

  “It happens in the hottest days of the summer, when the current year ends and the new one begins,” explained Quinn. “Balloons, paper puppets, and most of all, Firebloom toys. The toys conjure flame and light, launched from lighting one end of the toy which caused it to fly high into the sky and explode. The color theme was always a mixture of red, purple, and orange, like the colors in the sky that the sun created on its leave after a long day.”

  Arcadia was alight every year during the festival, and the happy cheers of children and adult alike filled the air as the streets crowded in decoration and the sky was filled with echoing boom. Quinn had never been one of those cheering. Not as a child, not since the last time that he was around for the festival.

  His family abandoned him. He had no friends. He had nothing. Now, he could live with it. Then, it was a nightmare that he had never thought would cease. He spent his days during the festival inside closed doors at the School of Eight as a young child, with barely a smile exchanged to another human being.

  Even though classes were temporarily closed during a portion of the festival, Quinn had had nowhere to go. Even though he loved a Firebloom toy as much as the next kid, he could not help but frown when it was that time of year.