Book 8: Chapter 81: Scattered plans
Once the survivors had satisfied the worst of their needs and composed themselves, they gathered for a council together with the Triumvirate, each relating their experiences. In the valley, everything had been well for a moment. The undead fell to pieces by themselves suddenly, caused by the death of Karolos, presumably.
The next moment, a great circle on the ground began to glow, and from it emerged terrible nightmares. At first, shining with such light it was hard to look at, but then they assumed monstrous, hideous shapes. Some twice the size of a man with blades as limbs, cutting through armour. Others small as a child, but with terrible speed and fingertips like knives to cut throats in the blink of an eye.
And a few had not engaged in physical combat nor taken a recognisable form. They hovered in the air, a blur, unleashing magic of unbelievable nature. Firestorms erupted, the earth was rendered asunder, and spikes of ice pierced through helmet and head.
Worst of all, they seemed impervious to all attacks, whether by steel or spell. Terrified, the Archeans and their remaining allies had fled; fortunately, the fiends had chosen not to pursue and run them all down.
“She’s cautious,” Nebo said, interrupting the tale. “As I said. She’ll want to be certain nothing threatens the portal before she turns her eye on your city.”
“Who is ‘she’? And where exactly did you come across this fellow you decided to bring home?” asked Maximilian, narrowing his eyes at the old mage. “You left to kill a lich and return with a living wizard?”
“Nebo is an expert on the fiends of the Nether. His enemies are ours, and he’s the most worthwhile ally we could hope for, given our present foe,” Martel declared.
“I really prefer if we call it the Beyond.”
“How do we kill them?” asked Atreus, aiming the question at the mage of Phoenik.
“They are as close to beings of pure magic as possible. Now, this fades as the magic leaks out of them, so to say.” Nebo looked around the infirmary, all eyes on him. “Regardless, gold is your best bet. Ordinary weapons won’t do much. Spells? Possibly, if you’re able to pack a punch into them.” “We have the iron-capped clubs – well, a few left. If we replace the iron with gold, that’s our fastest way of creating new weaponry,” Valerius suggested.
“Gold-tipped arrows,” Embla interjected. “Many of my people are skilled archers.”
“You are staying for the fight?” asked Martel. He would not blame the Tyrians if they left; they had already sacrificed more than could be expected.
“We have fallen to avenge,” the skáld simply replied.
“Tell the people to gather all items of gold and the smiths to get to work,” Eleanor commanded. “Fetch all jewellery, all coins, everything. Melt it down and turn it into weapons.” Sparrow, Mouse, Badger, and Squirrel all hurried out of the room to carry the message.
“How do we defend a city of this size? Even if we equip everyone, we will barely have enough to man the walls. Perhaps we should withdraw to the centre of the city and make our stand there,” Atreus suggested.
“Given what we faced in the valley, I cannot advise that. Their spellcraft will decimate us if we are close together,” Valerius argued. “We must spread out along the walls.”
“Easily done, considering their length and our few numbers,” Maximilian muttered.
“You need not kill them all, I dare say,” Nebo spoke, and as before, all eyes became fixed on him. “I doubt you could, frankly. You should really do it the easier way.”
Martel took a deep breath. “Which is…?”
“They have all bowed to Moloch. The Beyond is nothing like here. It is a place of pure will, and hers is the strongest. She has chained them to her will, shackled them with it. The rest are nothing without her. You need only break her,” he explained.
“Like a lich and its army,” Atreus remarked.
“Can we break her?” asked Eleanor. “Will she not simply stay behind and throw her minions into the battle?”
“If so, I suppose she’ll be my task,” the spellbreaker declared. “I’ve killed one fiend before. It can be done.”
“I’d really prefer if we didn’t call –”
“Yes,” Martel said. “Let’s remember that we have a fiend-slayer in our midst. Our enemy can bleed. They can be killed. No doubt, they underestimate us. Yet look at all we have achieved.”
The battlemage let his eyes wander over them. Atreus, the legendary spellbreaker. Eleanor, who had shared in all his own deeds. Valerius, the best prefect in the legions. Maximilian, a healer and a mageknight, as adept at causing wounds as curing them. Henry, the stonemage, whose skill had kept their legion alive for two decades. Cornelia, a frostmage tempered in battles with Tyrians. Embla, of that same people, barely known to them but ready to stand with them nonetheless.
And there were others, absent from the room. Padmani, the sole Khivan mage in the world, having embraced magic in spite of his people. Sparrow, not only Martel’s first apprentice, but the first student in Archen since its fall. And every member of their militia, man or woman, who had braved the unknown to settle in lands considered cursed.
“This city is ours,” Martel declared. “We fought a gruelling battle throughout the night against an enemy considered beyond us, and we emerged victorious. We defended its borders against our southern neighbour, teaching them to respect us. I swear by the Stars, we shall do so again. If this is to be a battle of wills, to see who breaks first, I can think of no hardier band made from stronger mettle.”
“Martel is right,” Eleanor added. “Archen is strong. Not only its walls, but its people. We already won our first battle against all odds. Now, we shall win another.”
“All well and good,” Maximilian growled, “but I should feel better if we had a strategy to go with those words. How precisely are we going to win this fight?”
“As our friend said, we must deal with their leader, Moloch. We must hold fast and draw her into battle and defeat her,” Martel said.
“Hold fast. I have heard that before recently,” Maximilian grumbled.
“To that end, we must spread out our forces wisely, magical and physical warriors fighting, covering each other’s weaknesses and attacking the fiends with all powers at our disposal,” Martel explained. “Henry? Could you show us the city?”
“Oh, right.” The stonemage raised the stones from the floor to recreate Archen and its walls.
“Alright. So if we place Valerius here, and Cornelia here… Henry with a detachment of Tyrian archers here, Embla and the others here…”