Page 91 of Valdemar

The Magekiller was already charging the three Hawkbrothers in a display of unnerving acceleration, throwing a rooster tail of bones, body parts, and muck behind it. The Adept snickered when the effluvia spattered her shields and streaked downward—and they had been her own forces. Silvermoon and the two other Adepts reacted by hardening their shields into ramps to deflect the monster’s imminent impact away from them, but that was not to be. The monster hadn’t even reached them by half, and their shields visibly shattered.

It—ate the shields. Magekiller, of course, it’s a perfect name. It consumes what mages would use to defend themselves, even the shields of Adepts.

They couldn’t attack the thing magically without making it stronger. They couldn’t attack it physically at all, because it was just out of range, and the Adept was shielding it. Kordas wracked his brain for something he could do, Lythe sent swarms of insects it just ignored, and Rothas uttered an inarticulate howl that only made it shake its head with irritation.

The Magekiller leapt the last distance to the trio in two bounds, and simply overran the three Hawkbrothers, not bothering to bite or claw at them. It clearly enjoyed what it was doing. Once the Adepts’ shields were consumed, the creature played with them, stepping on the nearest Adept until distinct legbone and knee snaps were audible, then stood on the fallen Adept’s legs, batting at the other two. Only one of the swats was meant to actually disable, and when it connected, the Hawkbrother didn’t make a sound, and didn’t move at all when his body landed. That left Silvermoon alone on his back, shakily and painfully levering himself up. It wasn’t just the physical pain—which looked considerable—but simple proximity to the creature cost him his grace and coherence.

“I can feel zat warrm Heartssztone already,” the Adept quipped, closing the distance toward the fallen Adepts. She turned to speak to the Valdemarans as she walked. “And you! You walked into sszomebody else’ssz war. You were jusszt the bait, you clueleszs yokelssz.” She stepped up to Silvermoon. “Thissz isz what I wanted!” she shrieked down at him, before jabbing at him with a barbed ring. “Draw you in, crussh you, and play with you later, after I’ve usszed your own Portal to get into k’Vesszla, you sszweet-hearted relic. I’ll kill thessze sszimpletonssz assz a warning.”

“Hell you will, bitch,” Jonaton muttered quietly, restarting the Gate-circle now that it was cool enough to handle again. He glanced at Kordas, who understood what the mage intended, and hefted his Spitter. “I can set this up once,” Jonaton said directly to Kordas. “Are they here yet?”

Kordas deduced what Jonaton meant. “Moments away. You should hear them soon. The entry tunnel’s almost cleared.”

“All right. Hold them back until we’re done, then I’ll toss the ring over the side, toward the Palace. That thing’s appetite can’t be sated yet, I’ll bet, so it will pull mage-energy from us through the aperture as soon as we’re lined up, but I’m counting on this Gate hole being so minor compared to what else is down there that the Magekiller won’t even react,” Jonaton instructed. “Don’t charge your bolt, sharpen it—and overcharge the Spitter for velocity. It needs to punch as hard as it possibly can, even if it’s its last shot ever.”

Kordas released the bolt stay and passed the bolt to Isla, who rubbed her fingers and thumb together on its metal tip. A sound much like two fine swords sliding edge to edge came from her handiwork, while Kordas opened the slide breach and drew out his final charge sphere from the piston assembly built into the handle for coup de grâce. He’d used every charge sphere he’d had, like nearly all of the troops had, but his Spitter’s custom mercy-killer sported its own charge. He recalled grimly how he’d used it on the previous bearer of that Crown.

Isla handed the gleaming bolt back to Kordas once he’d snapped the weapon’s breaches closed, and he fit the bolt into place. He caught her eye, and smiled a little despite the tension of the moment. “If this works, will you marry me?”

She kissed him chastely on the forehead and replied, “Only if you treat me like a Queen.”

Jonaton cracked a smile for an instant, then said seriously, “With that thing alive, we can’t throw any magic at the situation. I got a good look at it, and its mouth is made for ordinary meat eating. It isn’t armored like the rest of it, and it doesn’t do that creepy oily light thing like its skin does. It’s just flesh and teeth. You can do this, Kordas, you’re the best marksman I know. I’ll get you within a few arm’s-lengths of its mouth.”

Kordas braced himself with the Spitter resting atop his opposite forearm, and answered, “Ready.” Lythe, Rothas, Isla, the attending captain, and a runner looked on hopefully as Jonaton set the metal device on the walkway and dialed its view in. The Magekiller’s head came closer in the view from above, and the smells of charred earth and worse came up through the ring’s aperture. Fortunately, everyone was holding their breath from sheer tenseness.

Suddenly, Jonaton whistled, and the Magekiller looked straight up, its tongue lolling.

Kordas’s Spitter bucked back like a horse kick in Kordas’s hand. It would never fire again, but it served to provide the very last thing that the Magekiller would ever feel. Jonaton yanked the aperture back, and through the clearing frost cloud from the shot, they saw the monster stagger—thankfully not onto the incapacitated Hawkbrothers—and spasm violently. It didn’t scream or roar—its only sounds were those of a huge, dying beast, its hindbrain shot through and its thrashing body unaware it was dead.

• • •

:Restil, we’re throwing something down to you. Watch out, it’s hot. It needs to be near the Tayledras Portal. It’s best if it’s under an arm’s-length away,: Restil heard relayed through Darshay. :It’s one of Jonaton’s toys.:

:Right. I’ll stay alert for explosions, then.:

Restil unnecessarily gave hand signals for the Heralds and Companions to hold position. Cavalry training was hard to let go of. Darshay carried him over to retrieve the ring, which thunked down into the mud as she arrived.

:If I were a dyheli, I could pick that up for you on one horn,:Darshay commented just before Restil remounted.

:And you could stab the Adept with your face,:Restil replied.

:I’d enjoy that. We should have been dyheli.:

Restil rejoined the Heralds and took the colonel position as charge leader. One of the knights rode up and asked for orders, and Restil gave the command to stay within the walls, patrolling and hunting rogue monsters—two troops, one in middle ground, one close by the Palace, and two knights per hunting team. Now came the decision about the Heralds’ deployment.

Darshay relayed his orders to the other Companions in the formation.

:The Magekiller is dead. The Adept is furious about it, which means she won’t have a mind for subtlety. Let’s use that. Make our entry three wide through the gatehouse, form a crescent six horselengths from the wall, and make our presence known. Soldiers on the wall are spent, so rejuvenate them as part of the show. Then split into two troops; Beltran, you take right, and I’ll take left. Sweeping flank, closing to ten horselengths between us and the Adept, with two horselengths between each Companion—you want to be far enough apart that only one can be targeted, but still be perceived by the Adept as a group. We want her attacks to spread the energy and be less of a hit on any one of us. Keep moving. Reverse the flank and close to six horselengths. Use your magework and Gifts. Probe and pick at her. Keep her distracted. Make her bleed. Flank again to three horselengths, maintaining pressure. Close to engage. Loose Companions, close in a second crescent, and weave to confuse, two horselengths’ gap from the Herald wave. Our objectives are to get this item close by the Tayledras Gate, rescue the downed Hawkbrothers, and keep the Adept raging, while appearing as if our goal is to thwart her getting through her own Gate. What we really want is for her to flee through it.:

Every Herald, and every Companion, nodded twice in unison.

The moment was here.

:Match tempo with Darshay,:Restil ordered, and called out loud, “Let’s go. For Valdemar!”

Darshay stepped onto the gore-strewn hallway through the gatehouse, and within seconds, the ringing sound of Companions’ silver hooves matched hers, step for step, echoing loudly enough that every defender could hear them, even after the previous chaos. Thunder rumbled and boomed as the Heralds and Companions exited the gatehouse, but with them they brought a kind of stillness against the background of the invaders’ carnage. On the wall, soldiers hesitantly looked out at them, joined by more as moments passed. In Mindspeech, Restil heard the coordination of the formation; the Companions not only matched each other in position, they were in time, stepping at the same pace as when they’d come through the gatehouse.

The Companions began to glow once their crescent was formed. In a moment they were incandescent, and a wave of renewal and rejuvenation flooded outward from them, enveloping the weary Valdemarans, the fallen Hawkbrothers, and the battlefield—and, conspicuously, not the Adept. Celebratory shouts and a few cheers came from somewhere behind and above Restil. All over this part of the wall, the defenders straightened up, fatigue wiped out, depleted magic restored.