Book 8: Chapter 8: A tomb below
Martel did not hesitate. “Stay back!” He stepped forward to stand in front of his allies, who knew to follow his command. Raising a hand, the spell came swiftly to him. Fire roared out in a wave to fill the rest of the chamber, scorching every enemy.
Several of them collapsed. The remainder turned their flaming eyes, illuminating the hollow of their skulls, to gaze at Martel. The stench of sinister magic permeated the room as they unleashed their own spells on the battlemage. He felt Atreus’s necklace heating up against his skin, shielding him from some of the attacks. But not all.
Pain seared his soul. Martel fell to his knees, dropping his staff, and he clenched his eyes together before an agonising scream fled his mouth. His soul was on fire, and not the sort that he knew to resist; he had no defence against this.
Power came from Atreus, and a skeleton disintegrated into a pile of bones. The torment ended, letting Martel catch his breath. He looked to see Atreus repeat his spell against another enemy, but to no avail; they had their own defences as well. To his other side, Eleanor leapt forward to engage the nearest foe.
Stumbling back onto his feet, picking up his staff, Martel tried to assess the situation. Six enemies left, maleficars and spellbreakers alike. With his allies fighting in the thick of it, he could not unleash another inferno. He went for his second-strongest spell instead and released a bolt of lightning against an enemy furthest in the back. Once it struck, it could jump to the other undead nearby without hurting Eleanor or Atreus.
The lightning struck – and nothing happened. The magic dissipated. Fear punched through the instincts that ruled Martel’s mind in battle, clutching his heart. If a spell of such power achieved nothing, his lesser magic would surely be useless.
“The spellbreakers have strong defences!” Atreus yelled, using Gregory’s dagger against his risen corpse. “Go for the others!”
“How do I know?” Martel shouted, dodging a frost ray by throwing himself on the ground. “They look the same!”
“Figure it out!”
He watched Eleanor strike her flaming sword against her enemy’s exposed ribcage; the flames burnt some of the already worn rags away, but the undead creature seemed indifferent. Suddenly, she seized up. Martel recognised the expression of agony on her face; the same spell that had struck him earlier. Worse, it left her vulnerable, and already, the undead in front of her raised a serrated dagger to stab her in the throat. Swiftly, Martel blasted air to push the enemy away and buy Eleanor time. Looking around frantically, he saw another undead whose flaming eyes were trained on the mageknight. Releasing a ray of flames from his staff, Martel watched his target stagger backwards before looking at him; to the side, Eleanor recovered and raised her shield in defence.
Keeping his ray going, Martel poured more spellpower into the connection. Unlike his previous target, the flames seemed to work; the bones turned black, and ribs began falling away. Yet it did not stop the undead maleficar from retaliating. The terrible spell was turned on Martel again, and as before, he fell down in agony. His skull felt like it was on fire, his mind burning with pain. While no physical trace of the magic appeared on him, Martel thought he might die, that his heart would burst or his head explode.
A wave of the hand from Atreus, and the undead maleficar, weakened by Martel’s attack, fell apart. Distracted from his fight with his own enemy, the spellbreaker was punished by a blade of glittering green magic that struck him through armour and clothing without rending either, yet Martel could see from Atreus’s expression that the attack landed.
Lending aid in return, Martel released another ray against Atreus’s adversary, and it struck; teeth chattering, the undead pushed the spellbreaker back and ran towards Martel, still wielding the sickening green blade made of magic. Steeling himself, Martel waited until the right moment and struck out with his staff, empowering his strength. He knocked the skull from the spine in a clean move, and the skeleton collapsed.
Once more, Martel looked to his allies. Eleanor had destroyed one enemy and advanced on the next; only two remained. Atreus was kneeling, clutching the wound from the phantom blade, but still alive. Finish the fight quickly and render aid to the spellbreaker after, Martel decided, knowing that Eleanor could not be expected to fight alone against two enemies of such power.
The enemy in the far back, who had shrugged off Martel’s lightning, released his own elemental magic. Broken tiles, rocks, and stones rose into the air and flew forward to strike the living.
But Martel reacted immediately. Elemental magic was his domain. His counterspell roared, and air pushed the projectiles back, protecting him and his allies to leave them unharmed.
Martel caught the attention of his counterpart, and the battlemage released a firebolt in response. A weak spell chosen to conserve his spellpower – Martel had precious little left – but with the aim to see how well the undead creature resisted fire magic. The spell did barely any damage, but Martel released another simply as a distraction; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eleanor destroy her enemy and move forward. If elemental magic would not suffice, a blade would do instead.
The last foe raised both skeletal hands. A release of power could be felt, stronger than any spell cast by the undead beforehand. From the roof, large rocks came crashing down. Immediately, Martel counter-spelled, and air blew them away as before, protecting his allies, but that was not all.
Whether made unstable by the first spell or Martel’s retaliation, part of the roof crashed down. It fell upon the remaining undead, crushing it to pieces and ending the fight. But Martel felt no relief. On the contrary, to his horror, he realised that the tunnel leading out had just collapsed, entombing them below.