Retribution, p.11
Retribution, page 11
“Although…” Emily bit her lip hesitantly. “If the artifacts can simply be stolen…”
“Oh, there are definitely secondary means of protection,” Regis said, hopping down from the table. “Carefully manufactured ignorance is only one part of it. The threat of a horrifying death alone is enough for most. But I’d bet my horns there is some kind of ward or trap woven into all this technology for anyone who does try to steal it and use it against Agrona.”
We were all silent for a moment as we considered this thought.
Then the silence shattered as an explosion shook the walls and brought down trails of dust from the ceiling.
Regis’s fiery mane bristled as we both turned toward the door. Orange-gray smoke was filling the hall outside.
Gideon chuckled. “Don’t worry, that’s just the new experiments I’ve been trying to show you.”
Without waiting for me to acknowledge his words, Gideon headed out into the hall and toward the source of the blast. Emily shrugged and gestured for us to follow. Regis and I exchanged a look, hesitant to leave the robe and the necklace given the implications we just unlocked, but followed Emily after she locked the lab door behind us.
Not far down the hall, thick red-orange smoke was pouring out of a set of heavy stone doors. Just inside, two dwarven mages were using what looked like scorched cloaks to wave the worst of the smoke away.
They blanched when they noticed Gideon leaning against the doorframe. “Eh, sorry, sir, a spark from one of the weapons ended up in a beaker of niter spirits.”
Gideon was wearing a wide grin, and he took a deep breath of the noxious smoke that was starting to clear. “You can’t make an omelet without causing a few explosions!”
Regis gave a throaty chuckle. “You know, I’m starting to like this guy.”
Emily sagged tiredly. “Great. It’s like there are two of them…”
The old inventor waved us into the room, then practically jogged through the lab to a second set of large doors. “The prototypes aren’t completely stable, as you can no doubt see, but I really think you’ll like what we’ve been doing.”
He yanked the doors open, revealing a much larger chamber. It looked like a war zone. The bare stone walls were scorched black in a hundred places. Along one wall, a scarred metal table held a handful of strange-looking devices.
“Ta-da!” Gideon held out his arms, beaming at the arsenal.
I stepped up to the table and looked down at a series of long, tubular devices that looked vaguely like a cross between an ancient musket and a modern rocket launcher from my old world. Only these were also inscribed with mana-channeling runes. “Are these what I think they are?”
“If you think they are weapons capable of converting energy from dwarven fire salts into destructive blasts capable of incinerating even yellow-core mages, then yes, absolutely,” Gideon said, rubbing his hands together and grinning like some storybook evil genius.
“Theoretically,” Emily mumbled, eyeing the weapons with clear distaste.
“I call them rune cannons,” Gideon added, oblivious to Emily’s hostility.
“I want one,” Regis said immediately, his tongue lolling from his mouth. “No, make that two. Quick, Arthur, strap them to my back.”
“They’re not perfected yet, but when they are—”
“By ‘not perfected’ he means they’re unstable and still require the presence of mages capable of channeling both fire and wind,” Emily pointed out. “They’re difficult to use and incredibly dangerous—”
“Well that’s entirely the point, isn’t it?” Gideon snapped, glaring at his assistant. “And those bestowal robes actually gave me an idea how we could use mana crystals and focusing runes to fix the mage problem. The idea is that, with the right training, anyone could use them.”
Although I wanted to—planned to—win this war, I understood much better than Gideon the wide-ranging implications of his invention, as well as the barriers to its use. My hesitation must have shown on my face, because Gideon’s excitement faded away. “What is it?”
I’d decided a long time ago not to be the filter through which Dicathian technology was either held back or escalated, but I couldn’t hold my tongue. “I was just thinking of the Dicatheous.”
Emily crossed her arms and shot Gideon a vindicated look. “See?”
He pouted and kicked the floor with his toe. “Like I didn’t consider that myself? With the appropriate safeguards—”
“What about training?” I asked, cutting him off. “Manufacturing? Distribution? You’re talking about entirely changing the way Dicathen approaches warfare.”
Gideon leaned against the table and began to tap his fingers on its surface. “Yes, yes, but to balance the power dynamic between Dicathen and Alacrya, as well as mages and non-mages, a large-scale change is both necessary and warranted, isn’t it?”
“It does seem a little hypocritical to worry about putting weapons into the hands of non-mages in a world where single beings are capable of wiping out entire countries,” Regis added.
“Exactly,” Gideon said, rapping hard on the tabletop.
I regarded the rune cannons, considering both Regis’s and Gideon’s words. Perhaps there was a way to utilize Gideon’s discoveries without handing untrained soldiers weapons that might literally blow up in their—our—faces.
“Tell me more,” I said. “Especially about the fire salts.”
The eccentric inventor launched into a rapid-fire explanation of his many discoveries and many, many experiments that led him to this invention, and as he talked, an idea grew in my mind.
Gideon was right, though. We did need a way to make our non-mage soldiers more effective.
As I opened my mouth to explain the idea, another explosion shook the underground tunnels—this one larger and farther away. I shot Gideon a questioning look.
He turned from me to Emily and then back. His face had gone pale. “That wasn’t me.”
388
DEFENDING VILDORIAL
VARAY AURAE
The shifting earth of the battle map rotated around under the careful control of three dwarven mages working in concert. The three-dimensional blueprint showed the tunnels and egress points in and around Vildorial in detail, the image of it held in the dwarven tacticians’ minds. In the short time since our arrival and ouster of the Alacryan forces, most of the tunnels had already been diverted or capped off, isolating the Darvish capital from the larger underground network that connected it with other dwarven cities.
“Just a handful of tunnels remain open to the north of the city, here.” Carnelian Earthborn, Mica’s father, pointed to a section of small tunnels that laced into several much larger thoroughfares. “But they’ll be closed off in the next of couple hours. All mining and farming operations outside of the city have been halted, and all civilians have been brought into the city.”
“Fast work,” I said appreciatively. “And the city gates?” I asked, turning to Daglun Silvershale, who had been given charge of the work within the great cavern itself.
“The city’s sealed up tighter than a rockworm’s sphincter,” he confirmed, nodding grimly. “And Lodenhold has been opened up to provide shelter for a few thousand, at least.”
I bit my tongue. This had been a part of the plan I hadn’t agreed with, but the dwarvish lords had insisted that the highest-ranking dwarves—themselves, in other words—and their families be evacuated to Lodenhold. Carnelian himself had wheedled a promise out of Mica that she would stand guard over the estate.
Despite this frustrating waste of resources, I had been forced to acknowledge that the Lances were not in charge of the dwarves and had no right, other than that provided by our power and prowess, to give orders or make proclamations. We had already agreed that the Lances would not force control away from the lords in some kind of authoritarian military coup.
There had been enough infighting already, and we needed to focus on the Alacryans. The dwarven people had a lot of soul-searching to do when this war was over. Again and again, their leaders had failed them. If the people wanted the Lances’ help to rectify that after the war, I would be more than happy to acquiesce, but we had to survive the oncoming storm before we could begin to clean up the mess that was our own house.
However, I didn’t try to hide my contempt for their plan as I met Lord Silvershale’s eye. “And fortifications to the other city structures, as I requested?”
He cleared his throat. “Ongoing, Lance.”
Carnelian stepped in with a grim smile. “A squad of mages from the Earthmovers Guild can be reassigned from the tunnels into the city to strengthen fortifications.”
Silvershale tugged at the braids of his beard, and he looked like he wanted to argue, but eventually seemed to think better of it, deflating slightly. “Aye, we could use the assistance.”
If the Alacryans attacked the city, they would have to blast their way in. This placed the many dwarves whose homes were built into the walls of the cavern directly in harm’s way, and stones dislodged from the cave’s ceiling would have the velocity of catapult stones by the time they reached the lower levels, easily demolishing unfortified structures. Simply instructing people to shelter in place wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
“There is no telling how long we’ll have to prepare,” I reminded the two lords. “We’ve bitten the Alacryans’ hand, but somewhere, that hand is curling into a fist to strike back.”
As if conjured into reality by the weight of my words, an ominous rumbling shook the foundations of the Earthborn Institute, sending tremors up through the soles of my boots.
Carnelian rushed to the door of the chamber and looked out into the hall. Panicked voices echoed through the school. The three-dimensional map crumbled back into dust as the mages turned to their lords for direction.
“Defensive positions,” I said immediately. “Get a squad of mages to those northern tunnels to finish closing them off.”
“They’ll be right in the line of fire if the Alacryans come from the north,” Carnelian said, his tone hesitant and lightly questioning, as if asking for confirmation.
“And our defenses are breached before the battle even begins if those tunnels are not sealed,” I replied, fully understanding the risks. This was hardly the first time I had sent soldiers to what could very well be their deaths. “And send up the alarm. People need to take shelter wherever they can.”
Waiting only long enough to see the two lords’ sharp nods of understanding, I wheeled around and flew out of the room, along a series of square tunnels, and out through the front gates of the Earthborn Institute.
Mica flew up from some lower level, the black gem in her eye socket giving her a menacing look as she glared through the stone walls in the direction of the rumbling. “Someone is opening the blocked tunnels…or trying to. They must have set off one of the stone-sheath traps.”
The dwarves were, unsurprisingly, quite adept at hiding all manner of devious traps within the tunnels of their home. Even if the Alacryans had dwarves among their forces, they would find it difficult to brute-force their way through the many obstacles the people of Vildorial had erected around the city.
The approach of a powerful aura made Mica and me turn in unison, but it was only Arthur appearing from the Earthborn Institute’s gates. As he strode purposefully toward us, I couldn’t help but stare at him, my eyes traveling slowly across his features as I tried, again, to match this man to the sixteen-year-old boy he had once been.
His wheat-blond hair was set waving by the speed of his own movement, hanging down around a face that could have been chiseled from stone, any youthful softness erased by the trials of this war. The most startling, though, were his eyes. Those golden orbs burned like the sun, his gaze carrying a physical warmth, a raw and indefinable power, whenever it fell on me. His sudden presence conjured goosebumps along the backs of my arms and neck, uncomfortably reminding me of how I’d felt in the presence of General Aldir.
Small. Insubstantial. Without purpose.
“What’s the situation?” Arthur asked, stopping next to me.
I gave myself a mental shake before answering. “Movement in the tunnels. No word from the scouts yet, but some of our traps have been set off. The Alacryans are coming.”
“Then let’s get ready for them,” Arthur answered, his tone unwavering.
After the hurried rush of preparation, Vildorial fell into a tense, quivering stillness. I had ensured the defensive forces were moving into position as directed, then fallen back to a remote curve of the highway that ringed the city so that I could see the entire cavern at once. Watching. Waiting. But there was no sign of the Alacryans. Not yet.
An approaching mana signature drew my gaze upward, and I watched as Mica flew across the open expanse to land next to me.
“The lords and their families, as well as a few select…important residents, have been seen safely to the palace,” Mica said, her cheeks red with clear embarrassment. “Mica…I mean, I’ll be, um, guarding the palace. Is there anything you need before I…?”
I shook my head, trying not to target my irritation at her. “The dwarven forces have been posted around the city at the most likely points of entry should the Alacryans breach the cavern. Bairon and I will rotate between these forces.”
“Has the scouting party returned?”
Again, I shook my head. We’d sent a dozen elite mages, all highly capable of earth-attribute manipulation, out into the eastern tunnels to investigate the source of the original disturbance, but they’d been missing for hours.
Almost as if he had heard our wondering, the air thrummed, and Bairon appeared, flying at speed. A cloud of dust burst from the ground at the force of his landing. “A handful of mages just returned from the northern tunnels,” he was saying before the dust had cleared. “Less than a quarter of the mages sent to close them.”
“What happened?” Mica said, her agitation setting the stones beneath my feet vibrating.
“They claim they were attacked by shadows.” Bairon’s voice was low and cut through with an edge of superstition. “And then the corpses of their own dead.”
This proclamation was met with a moment of silence.
Then, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What kind of magic could do such a thing?” I asked, ignoring Mica’s foul language.
“None that I’ve ever encountered before,” Bairon said ominously.
I clenched my ice-fist and let soothing mana flow through me, cooling my nerves. “Did they succeed in closing off the tunnels before the attack?”
Bairon floated up into the air, a gust of wind rippling across him as electricity arced over his armor. “They did, though not as thoroughly as should have been done. It may not hold, especially if the enemy is already there.”
“Bairon, see that the wards are in place over the last two entrances. Mica, to your duties.”
The other Lances both gave me grim solutes, then they were off, leaving me alone. Dwarves scurried like ants below, hurrying to whatever safe haven they’d arranged for themselves. Most of the elven refugees had been taken to the Earthborn Institute, while our strongest mages—the Glayders, Twin Horns, and surviving guards—had joined in the defense throughout the cavern.
I wondered idly where Virion was holed up. He had been absent from most of the preparatory meetings, and I hadn’t seen him at all in the last day. Though my blood oath had been sworn to the Glayders, Virion had been our commander during the peak of the war, and I had great respect for the man. Watching him fade away caused a slow-moving, glacial ache that I wasn’t prepared to navigate at the moment.
A flash of purple light cut through my thoughts, and I took a quick step back before realizing that it was Arthur. “I will never get used to that,” I muttered, chagrined.
Arthur’s stoic features were carved down into a slight frown. “Have you seen my mother or sister?” he asked without preamble. “They aren’t with the refugees at the Earthborn Institute.” Then, looking slightly embarrassed as he rubbed the back of his neck, he added, “I just wanted to make sure they were someplace safe before—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I said, saving him from explaining further. “And yes, to set your mind at ease, I did see your sister and the bear leading your mother to the highest level earlier, toward the palace. And”—a tiny smirk forced its way across my lips despite myself—“I may have overheard Eleanor berating Alice about how the palace would be the safest place for her, considering Lance Mica will be guarding it.”
The hardness of Arthur’s features relaxed, and he let out a sigh of relief. “Oh. Good. I was…worried she might run off into battle again.”
I cleared my throat, then turned my attention back to the movement below. “I hate this waiting.”
Arthur flashed me a smirk that very much reminded me of the boy he’d once been. “Is the unflappable General Varay, perhaps, slightly flapped?”
I laughed, caught off guard by his teasing. “I shouldn’t be. After all, we have the mighty Lance Godspell present to protect us.”
Arthur’s smile faltered, twitching into something more wry and, I thought, even slightly bitter. “A title I’m not sure I ever earned, Lance Zero.”
I hadn’t expected such self-deprecation and had to take a moment to consider a response. It was easy to forget that Arthur was still just a boy, really, no older than perhaps nineteen or twenty. Although he had tremendous power—more than I could safely wrap my head around—he had been subjected to horrible trials and great pain both before and during this war.
But then, perhaps that is what makes a Lance, I thought before immediately cutting myself off and returning my mind to the conversation at hand.
“If not that one, then maybe another? I’ve heard some of the sanctuary survivors calling you Godkiller…”
Arthur snorted in disbelief. “I wouldn’t exactly—”
