Chapter seventy-eight

Ortia under Siege

 

For the next few days after the Lady’s rainstorm the Tlaxacans tried repeated assaults using their makeshift ladders. Each attack was repelled by the same mixture of elven archers and magical deluges. One by one the ladders were destroyed and the final attack was with two half-wrecked ladders and it was greeted with more derision than fear. After that the Tlaxacans were less adventurous, and they clustered further away from the city walls. They kept up the siege, but now they seemed to be waiting for something. Aurelian sent out occasional raiding parties, but these were mostly to keep the enemy on its toes and did no real damage to either side.

Every now and then there were unexplained movements among the mass of the Tlaxacans, as if they were suddenly under attack from the rear, but none of these movements lasted more than a few hours. A raiding party had caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a squabble or skirmish within the Tlaxacan ranks, involving some green-clad Tlaxacan troops of a kind that the Ortians had never seen before, but the raiding party never got close enough to make out what was happening.

Overall, they seemed to have entered a period of phoney war, and morale rose, as thoughts returned to the previous siege and its eventual relaxation. 

Perclivius was still locked away devising strategy and neither Aurelian nor Marthian had seen him for several days. It wasn’t something that they minded at all. They went back to dealing with their own areas of expertise and everything worked passably well. 

Julia continued her twice-daily visits to the three city leaders, but her trips became shorter and shorter because, at present, there was nothing much to say.  She was a popular figure because of the actions of the Lady and was feted wherever she went.  Marthian continued to work quietly behind the scenes and was rarely noticed at all.

 

***

Three days later the atmosphere within the besiegers changed. There was a great commotion and it was clear that another army, more than fifty thousand strong, was marching towards them. Eventually the smaller army, the one camped in front of the city, parted and through the middle of it came Whitecloak and his acolytes, all dressed in long white robes. So came The God and all his coterie – priests, priestess, warriors and slaves.  They all came to witness his victory and rejoice.

The City was completely silent and dread grew in the hearts of all the defenders. Something of much greater evil and power than they had fought before had come. Most were certain that they would be defeated.

As Whitecloak approached the sky above the city began to fill up with clouds again. This time they were thicker and darker and the air crackled with static electricity. The archers on the top of the wall crouched down, expecting a huge storm; everyone else froze and breathed in the dark, dry, smell of ozone. 

A tall black cloud formed over the new army, centred over Whitecloak, following him as he rode on. He looked up and then  galloped a few hundred yards into the empty space in front of the city walls. A dozen or so arrows fizzled and disappeared as they hit his cloak but he really didn’t notice them. Instead he stared up intently into the cloud.

The rain began to fall, but this time it was not particularly heavy. Instead, a tunnel instantaneously opened up within the storm cloud. Through it fell a shard of lightning so bright that none could look at it directly. It struck Whitecloak on the top of his cowled hood and threw his head back so violently that for a second the watching elves thought it must have broken his neck. But no, Whitecloak absorbed the energy easily and with a flick of his head he sent it flying in a great circular shock wave around him. When it hit the wall it died away harmlessly, but across the Tlaxacan army it felled thousands of soldiers, who sizzled briefly and then burnt like candles.   It didn’t smell like candles though, it smelled of burning hog. Everyone on the battlements retched uncontrollably.   

The cloud reformed immediately and the lightning fell again, again and again. But each time it struck weaker than the last, and each time Whitecloak absorbed and deflected it easily. Finally, after six of these deadly strikes, Whitecloak shrugged, as if he were finally bored of the one-sided contest. He lifted his right hand and pointed his index finger up to the sky.

‘No more’ he said, in loud and clear Visneorian.

A blue light sprung out of his hand and slowly grew to spread out over the cloud, covering it in an azure halo. There was a slow struggle as the daylight blue fought the twilight grey, but the result was never in doubt. The clouds withered beneath the onslaught and disappeared. A great cry of despair went up from across the battlements. Julia, who was standing in a guard tower nearby, gave out a piercing shriek and rent her cloak.   

Whitecloak urged his mount forward. He stopped on his white charger just in front of the main gates of the City and had his heralds proclaim him. Thirty humans sounded the triumph with their curly southern horns.  The senior herald stepped forward and proclaimed the Words of The God in a loud voice:

‘Bow down to the Lord of Visneoria and Tlaxaca, Ruler of all the southern lands, God Incarnate. He has come to claim his rightful spiritual domain…’

Absolutely no sound could be heard from within the city or from among the invading troops. 

‘…he has come to claim the keys to the City’ the Herald continued, ‘from whoever ruled here formerly. Come forward, conquered leader’

Whitecloak waited patiently for his reward.

 

***

 

Inside the city the four candidates for conquered leader were searching for each other. They converged by the eastern gate. For several seconds they stood there, with faces as pale as death, and then Marthian spoke.

‘Who will face the enemy?’ she demanded. She turned to Julia.

‘You, cousin?’  

Julia looked at Marthian and struggled with her conflicting desires. Eventually the city lost.  

‘I’m sorry – the Lady is in pain. I must go to her’.

She ran off with her tattered cloak streaming behind her.

Marthian gestured to Aurelian.

‘You, general?’

 Aurelian looked back at her with terror and uncertainty in his eyes. Eventually he forced himself to speak.

‘I’m sorry Proconsul’ he whispered, ‘but I have no idea what I would say or do’

Marthian sighed.

‘And you, Dictator?’ 

Perclivius seemed to be frozen to the spot, muttering, ‘strategy not diplomacy’ apparently to himself, and ‘not my area’ over and over again.

Marthian took a step back and considered them. Her expression was composed but withering.

 ‘None of you are much good for anything, clearly’ she said, ‘and none of you will act when you are needed most. Now I know what my father meant –that eventually the Proconsul must act alone. And that time has come’

Then the elves of the city heard the Visneorian heralds sounding their trumpets. The Proconsul of Ortia had gone to confront their most mortal enemy. 

The gates swung open and Marthian stepped out into the blazing sunshine. Her shadow was very short and Whitecloak’s was very long. He towered above her on his magnificent steed.

He looked down and laughed.

‘Who is this elf girl? How can this be your leader?’

Marthian made no attempt to stand upright or project her voice. She spoke simply and clearly and a hush grew around her words. 

‘I am the Proconsul of Ortia, appointed by the Emperor to protect and defend this City. I care not what you think of me as it as nothing compared with the contempt in which I hold you’

 ‘Brave words from the defeated’ said Whitecloak still laughing

Marthian ignored this.

‘Just answer me this – what business do you have with us? We have done you no harm, we have never provoked you, and your attack is utterly malevolent’

‘Not provoked!’ roared Whitecloak, ‘your very existence is a provocation. You refuse to worship me and you squat on my land’

‘This was our land long before you appeared in our world, evil creature. We will not yield it to you willingly or ever give you our allegiance. We have more resources than you could ever imagine’

Whitecloak steadied his mount and began to move closer.

‘Resources? I think not. All you have is thin air and water; and now that is running dry’

Marthian stood stock still even though the monstrous creature was now within twenty feet of her.

‘You think that Quiena would leave us undefended? Then you are even more foolhardy than I imagined.’

The mention of Quiena forced Whitecloak backwards, almost as if it had struck him a physical blow.

‘Do not speak of her,’ he said sharply, ‘anyway, she has abandoned you’

Marthian shook her head.

‘No – you are wrong and she will be your doom’

Whitecloak hesitated for just a second and then, without any obvious reason, glanced to his left, away towards the south. Marthian guessed immediately what was in Whitecloak’s mind. She was briefly unsure whether to try to buy time here or in Melloreis.

‘What are you looking for?’ she asked, ‘do you fear something to the south? Is there something there that you should attend to?’

Whitecloak stared at her suspiciously.

‘What do you mean? There is nothing there but the ruins of my earlier devastation’

‘Then stay and fight us here…’ Marthian said, looking purposefully southwards, ‘…and take the risk’

Whitecloak shook his head and laughed again, but Marthian wondered whether the laugh was perhaps a little more hollow than before.

‘You are brave, elf child. You will make a worthy blood sacrifice at the my Temple of the Sun’

‘You clearly make far too many assumptions’ said Marthian, trying to hide the extraordinary mixture of terror and stress that were building up inside her. All she wanted to do was run away; to flee forever.

‘This conversation is over’ she barked, and turned as slowly as she could bear. She began to walk steadily back to the gates.

‘Seize her!’ Whitecloak commanded. All of his human acolytes ran forward in a tidal wave of white robes to grab their enemy. They were greeted instantaneously by an answering wave of arrows that dropped like hail. The front two rows of the humans fell and the rows behind hesitated momentarily. A hundred elven foot soldiers came pouring out of the city and swarmed past Marthian. Behind them rode twelve riders with Aurelian at their head; they formed a phalanx around the Proconsul. Aurelian bent low, swept Marthian up and carried her back to the City. He then sounded the retreat. His troops fled back as rapidly as they had raced out.

Marthian struggled out of Aurelian’s arms only to pull him down from his horse and hug him again.

‘You saved my life’ she said, panting, ‘that was not only brave but also clever!’

Aurelian looked at her, relieved and proud.

‘I am good for one thing, Proconsul, you see, after all’ 

 

Outside the walls Whitecloak was beside himself with rage, but his eyes still flickered southwards.

‘Let the old and the new come together to crush this foul city’ he commanded

He gestured for the kinaam to attack and then shouted up in his own language to the flying creatures circling above him. The rays began to descend and the defenders stared at them wondering if there was any way that they could be hurt, let alone defeated. They were huge and pulsed weirdly with some alien magic. There were so many of them.

Whitecloak turned to a group of his human soldiers.

‘Ensure that you capture the Proconsul alive, acolytes’ he commanded, very loudly, ‘there will be great spiritual rewards for he who enslaves her’  

Whitecloak turned his horse and shouted orders to the other horsemen in the army. More than a thousand of them peeled off to join him. They rode as fast as they could towards Melloreis, with Whitecloak’s pale charger streaking out in front of them.

Chapter seventy-nine

The Autelephas at Melloreis

 

Hardacre was still ringing the bell when he saw Kath leading John up the stairs. A huge grin appeared on his face and he let go of the bell rope. He took a few steps forwards with his arms outstretched. For a very odd second or two Kath had the distinct impression that Hardacre wanted to embrace his master, but then his smile faded to imperceptible and his arms fell back to his sides.  Kath was deeply impressed by the speed at which he could shake off the bell’s effect; but she was also disappointed. After all, a hug really wouldn’t have hurt. 

‘Sir’ said Hardacre, ‘I’m wondering what happened to you’

John grinned.  The symmetry of the universe had been restored.

‘I was delayed, in another world’

‘Well, that explains the strange message I received from you’

Hardacre examined John carefully. He still appeared very tired and pale.

‘You look very thin, sir’ he said, ‘have you been eating and sleeping properly?’

John shook his head.

‘It’s not just that. I had some problems getting home’

‘You mentioned another world…’

‘Yes – Helios – I was trapped there and I had to find my way back’

‘Where is that, sir?’

John proceeded to tell him, and the others, what had happened in the Deep Vault, about the Outer Void, and about Helios. He told them about the Basilieus and the Archon and some of the things that he had learned in the other realm. Finally he told them about the Folds and explained what had happened. He didn’t mention Jones, however, as he was very unsure of those memories.

They all listened intently, except for Potentilla, who was still guarding the Autelephas Vault, and Viola, who had taken the opportunity to ring the Bell again.

‘So, when you got to other side of the Folds,’ asked Hardacre, ‘did you teleport home?’

John nodded.

‘I was very ill, and almost completely out of it. Someone put me to bed and the next thing that I knew, Glynn was looking after me’

Hardacre’s eyebrows twitched just a little.

‘Really – Captain Eistedd – of course; I should have known that he’d turn up’

John made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

‘Anyway…’ he continued. ‘…Celia and Owen were there along with Glynn. It seems that my activities in the vault had caused some form of space-time anomaly and they were sorting it out’

Hardacre looked worried.

‘Where were they all staying? There was barely a room in the house that was in a suitable state for guests’

John’s eyes widened slightly. He pressed on.

‘They seem to have to have sorted it out now, or at least they have it under control. It looks like Kinspit won’t be pulled into the Outer Void after all, I don’t remember them mentioning whether the beds in the guest rooms had been aired, however, but next time you see them you can ask them yourself’

Hardacre blanched slightly.

‘I’m sorry sir’ he said a little bashfully, ‘old habits do die hard’

Regardless of what he’d just said, however, there was a part of his mind that had a vision of cold rooms with unmade beds and, inevitably, of piles of unwashed and unsorted laundry.

‘You were telling me about Captain Eistedd, the nurse’ he said, instantly recovering.

‘I was half unconscious and delirious when I arrived at home, apparently, and he looked after me all the time for several days. It really was awfully kind and considerate’

‘Delirious, you say, sir?’

‘I suppose so’

John stopped abruptly, realising that he’d fallen into a trap, not only now but also then.

‘Oh dear’ he muttered.

Hardacre probed further.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, sir, but when one is delirious one tends to speak uncontrollably about many subjects, is that not so?’

John sighed and folded his arms. Hardacre was unstoppable.

‘I wonder what sorts of things you blurted out to the glamorous captain, during the time he was so solicitous towards you. I would be really interested to know – perhaps we might ask the Ethian consul, Mr Ridgeway, who is, of course, the Captain’s superior, or perhaps even his superior – Lady Anne’

John admitted defeat.

‘It’s in the mahogany wardrobe in the dressing room’ he said wearily.

‘I know’ said Hardacre, ‘I will take it to the tailors as soon as we get back’

Kath had watched this exchange with astonishment.

‘Excuse me. What are you two talking about?’

‘A wager’ explained Hardacre, ‘and a long story’

‘Have you finished?’ she asked.

Both of the two men nodded.

‘Good’ she said, shaking her head. She walked up to John.

‘I need that scroll – as soon as possible. I have an elephant to activate’

 

***

There were whirlwind introductions and explanations that John only partially followed. He was particularly baffled by Rem, but had no time to ask anything yet. Also, that western elf in the vault, where had she come from? And why was there a bell ringing? He gave up trying to understand fully, for the time being, and allowed himself to be pulled along by events. He’d have to pick up the necessary details as he went along. 

They left Viola and Fred to share the bell duties and made their way back to Potentilla in the Vault. Kath kept up an extraordinary pace and the others struggled behind, particularly John who was weak from his Helios tribulations and from his recent teleport. Hardacre was at hand to help him across the worst of the rubble.

Kath excitedly showed the Autelephas to John. He walked round it several times, studying it very closely. After a moment’s thought, he took Quiena’s scroll out of his cloak, where he had kept it hidden for so long, and rolled it out onto the wooden floor of the Vault. The others crowded round to look at it.

‘The likeness is remarkable’ murmured Hardacre

A low hum of agreement filled the vault.

John turned to Kath. He picked the scroll up and handed it to her.

‘Please feel free to use it, Dr Fielding’

Kath needed no encouragement. She carried the scroll very carefully up on to the back of the Autelephas. She slotted the scroll into the shallow tray. It fitted perfectly. She waited.

At first nothing happened. The beautifully illuminated scroll sat in its niche staring up at Kath, but refusing to change in any way. Then it began to glow, first with a red light and then a deep green one. The light flickered in the enormous vault and then it was as if the radiance emitted by the scroll was liquefying, so that a green phosphorescence started to accumulate in the tray. The liquid looked strange, powerful and dangerous. Kath wriggled backward awat from it but still had her eyes glued to what was happening.. The other watchers below were craning their necks, desperately trying to see what was going on.

‘Are you making progress, Dr Fielding?’ shouted up John.

Kath said nothing but just gestured for him to stay exactly where he was.

The green liquid began to seep down into the elephant, apparently through a network of small conduits that radiated through its body. The green glowed through the silver metal so that the inside of the automaton was visible. The way that the network formed in the automaton’s centre looked like an ever enlarging bushy plant growing downwards.  As the plant grew the Autelephas began to twitch, so alarmingly that Kath was too scared to stay on top of it.

She jumped down among the others and they scattered, slightly panicked. They ran uncertainly across to the entrance to the Vault and looked back. The elephant was now apparently full of the green liquid, from tusk to toe and it was shivering, almost as if it were cold. Everyone looked at Kath.

 ‘Dr Fielding’ said Hardacre softly, ‘I think you’ll have to go back to try to operate it’

Kath tiptoed back into the Vault, sweat breaking out on her forehead and with a sick feeling in her stomach. She knew what she had to do – the dwarves’ technical papers had made it clear where a rider had to sit and even how they might move the thing, although the controls that were illustrated in the manuals had never been visible to her.

She approached the Autelephas very carefully. She held her hand up against the green glow of the creature’s plant branches that now looked more and more like a visible blood system. She noticed that internal glow was beginning to fade, except at the joints where the green was very clearly visible.

‘That’s just like Boris!’ said John.

‘What?’ said Kath, annoyed to be distracted by such an apparently irrelevant comment.

‘Sorry’ said John, lifting up his hand, up rather sheepishly, ‘It’s very like another Dwarven Magic automaton I saw recently – please carry on…’

Kath very gingerly placed her hand against the body of the elephant. It seemed to vibrate slightly more, almost as if it welcomed, in some strange way, a humanoid touch.

 climbed up very carefully, all her senses working at their highest pitch; excitement and terror mixing exhaustingly in her stomach. She got to the top and looked down on the scroll. The elephant illustration had now disappeared to be replaced by the patterns shown on the technical manual. There were the controls, and so – now the beast should move.

She sat on the small projection which acted as a seat and she placed her hands on the scroll. She pressed down on the symbol that controlled the tusks. The Autelephas’s head reared upwards and the tusks scraped briefly against the ceiling. The vault shook; it felt like a small earthquake. Then the head stopped abruptly and there was a terrible screeching sound.

She pressed the symbol to make the legs move and a similar thing happened. The front left leg moved a few inches forward and then stopped, with the same horrible sound of metal scraping against metal. Kath lifted her hands from the scroll. She felt an awful sense of disappointment. After all their struggles, the bloody thing still didn’t work.

She clambered down again and walked over to the left foot. She inspected it and then got out her tool bag. The others crowded round her. For a good ten minutes she said nothing and no-one said anything to her as she prodded with tools and the rod. Eventually it all got too much for Potentilla.

‘Can you fix it Kath?’ she asked, ‘say that you can, please!’

Kath looked up and for a moment they waited anxiously for her answer. Then she smiled.

‘Yes’ she said, ‘I think that I can’

‘What’s wrong with it?’ asked John

‘All of its joints are seized up, and I’ll have to fix one at a time. It’s not difficult; it just requires me to take out the central pinions, re-grease them and then re-prime them’

‘How long will it take to fix each one?’ asked Hardacre

‘Ten minutes, perhaps’ Kath said, visibly relaxing.

‘And how many joints are there to mend?’

‘About twenty’ she said

‘That’s not too bad’ said John, ‘It sounds doable’

She nodded happily.

‘We’ll be fine’ she said confidently, ‘I’ll start straightaway’

They all breathed a little more easily for the first time in weeks. Quiena’s weapon would surely be unstoppable once it was finally working again.

A moment later the bell above them slowed and then stopped momentarily. In the ensuing silence they heard southern horns sounding clear and loud, through the open vault door. Then the bell started up again. Everyone ran helter-skelter out of the Vault to meet this new danger, except Kath who, fumbling with her tools, began to fix the automaton joint by joint.  The others all knew that now they had to buy her enough time.

Chapter eighty

Ortia under siege

 

Aurelian got all of his elves back behind the walls and waited.  As the rays spiralled downwards the defenders finally got a close-up view of them. They were at least thirty feet long and had a strange deep blue interior with a greyish translucent skin. Their bodies changed very little but their wings were constantly shifting, sometimes short and stubby and sometimes long and pointed. Everything that they touched crumbled away, but they appeared to suffer no damage at all.

Once they had reached the level of the wall the rays began to batter them. Each swoop produced a collision that caused a green flash which erupted on the stonework of the wall. Any elves that were close to the coruscation died instantly, burned up in a vivid green-blue spark. There was a smell like fireworks, which was horribly disconcerting. The impacts were also clearly weakening the walls, even though they were protected by Quiena’s Magic.  The kinaam crowded round, waiting for a hole large enough to crawl through. There were so many of them that they could replace each body that they lost with three more. The defending elves were increasingly tired and desperate.

Marthian was up on the thickest part of the wall with Aurelian. They no longer paid any heed to Perclivius, who wandered the streets giving garbled orders to soldiers who ignored him. The proconsul and the general huddled together, shivering with fear in the bright sunlight under the cloudless blue sky. Every now and then Aurelian would stagger up and give orders. His voice had become hoarse and cracked, but he kept going, trying to rally his forces against their apparently invulnerable foes. He distributed his dwindling regular forces to the parts of the wall which seemed most likely to fall first.

‘What’s happening to the Lady?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure – I’m getting very unclear reports, but they’re not good. It seems that the lake may be shrinking away. We may be losing her’

‘How can we have a city without the Lady?’

‘We can’t’ she said, emotion welling up in her voice, ‘however that might all soon be irrelevant, anyway’.

‘I have no idea what to do about those flying abominations’ he muttered, expecting no reply.

Marthian sighed and shook her head. She could hear the relentless bangs of the wall being gradually worn down.  The seeds of panic had already been sown among the elves and she was fearful that soon many of them would give up the will to carry on. Her mind raced with possible actions, but all of them seemed pointless. Pointless or not, however, she knew that she had to do something.

 

With no clear idea of what else to do, Marthian went to the worst affected part of the wall. There four rays were battering repeatedly against a single section. She forced himself to watch for an hour, hoping to spot some weakness in the fabric of the creatures, but she could see none.  She began to feel increasingly desperate. They didn’t seem affected by boiling oil, fire, stone or metal. Every time that they came close an intense volley of arrows would strike them, but they seemed to have no effect. Perhaps one in a hundred of the arrows would pierce the skin of a ray. When that happened the wooden part of the arrow would wither inside it, and a small puff, like a tiny blue cloud, would be expelled out of the monster, while the metal tip simply dissolved away. However, it seemed to slow the ray down only very slightly, if at all.  Marthian watched a complete cycle of the four rays attacking and concluded that, like everything else, the arrows were almost a complete waste of time. 

She retreated from the battlements and went down into the city to find something more useful to do. She had only once in her life felt worse, and that was very recently, but this time she was determined to carry on; to do something useful, until the very end. As she made her way down she had, on the edge of her conscious mind, the repeated image of an arrow withering in the blue of a ray.

 

Aurelian had conducted a chaotic, and entirely dispiriting, tour of the city’s defences. Now he was crouched down inside the outer ring of buildings closest to the wall. There were fires everywhere and the smell of soot and charred flesh filled the city. All around him people were running; either desperately trying to mend things or put fires out, or scarpering to find places to hide in the centre of the city.  Aurelian racked his brains. What else did he have to throw at the rays? Perhaps Marthian had some magical weapons that he didn’t know about.  He went to look for her.

He found her organising a bucket line to put out some of the fires that the wall collisions were causing, and where the pumping stations had been obliterated. She had got together a motely group of children and pensioners in a ragged column slowly passing large buckets from hand to hand.   Her robes were wet and muddy and her face was streaked with soot. She greeted him eagerly but without embracing him.

‘That’s my job’ he said, smiling, despite himself.

‘I’d rather you did your new job properly’ said Marthian sharply, ‘then I could do something a little more proconsular’

Aurelian’s smile died on his lips. He felt totally unable to help her and still ashamed of his earlier cowardice.

‘Sorry, darling’ said Marthian, stroking his arm discreetly, ‘this is dreadful for everyone. Do you have some news?’

His face darkened further as he recounted a series of failures against the rays. The only way to distract them temporarily was to send a raiding party out to attack the kinaam– this would defelct a ray or two for a few minutes as they came and dealt with the threat. However, this achieved nothing except more deaths and more food for the kinaam. 

Marthian screwed up her face.

 ‘Have you noticed that occasionally an arrow gets stuck in inside a ray?’ she asked

Aurelian shook his head.

‘No – does it matter?’

‘Probably not – but that’s all we have…’ she said, ‘…a few arrows get inside the rays, everything else has no effect. It looks like we’ll have to try something stupid.’

Aurelian looked at her, uncomprehending. 

Marthian left the bucket line and walked up to a small cherry tree growing nearby. She gestured to Aurelian to join her.

‘Lop a big branch off that tree, General’ she commanded.

Aurelian was perplexed.

‘Why?’

‘So far only wood seems to affect them – let’s throw a branch at one’

Aurelian stood for a second staring at the tree.

‘This is stupid, Marth…’

She growled at him.

‘Nonetheless, please do it, General’

Aurelian drew his heavy sword and hacked of the side branch of the cherry tree. It was much larger than she had originally intended and they both struggled to carry it towards the wall. After a few steps Marthian let go of her end and Aurelian fell over with the branch on top of him. He was about to complain when he saw Marthian’s expression – she was scowling.

‘Get some strong men over here with good throwing arms’ she demanded, ‘tell them we need them to do an experiment’

 

Marthian returned to the bucket line briefly, until Aurelian had found three burly elves to pick up the branch. One of them would have done as it turned out.  They were big elves.

Marthian ordered them to climb up on to the battlements close to where the four monsters were still flying. Then they waited, briefly, until one came into view.

‘I want you to fling it into the ray as hard as you can’ Marthian said, ‘and then duck down. I want to see what will happen’

Two of the elves held the branch at either end and prepared to throw it. The ray approached rapidly on its collision course with the wall. When it was about ten feet away the throwers swung the branch back and then pitched it into the centre of the beast. The branch struck close to one of its wings and seemed to stick on. The ray, distracted, fell rather harmlessly against the wall and then flew off slowly, twisting and turning, clearly trying to rid itself of the branch. It seemed that a few of twigs and leaves had penetrated the inside of the ray and that they were irritating it. A few puffs of blue smoke came out of its side but then it managed to shake off the branch, fly off and resume its previous flight pattern.

All around them they could hear the cracking and popping of the walls, as Quiena’s defences shuddered and crumbled. It was only a matter of time before the kinaam would flood the city and devour everyone and everything.  Aurelian’s head bowed and he began, for the first time, to think seriously of his death and the death of everyone and everything that he loved.

He wondered why they had done that with the branch, given that it hadn’t achieved anything; maybe it was just to be able to say that they were still trying, even at the end. He looked over at Marthian, certain that she’d be just as devastated as he. He was astonished to see that instead she seemed unaccountably excited, her eyes unbelievably bright.

‘General’ she commanded, ‘get some military carpenters to cut down enough trees to make pointed stakes as large as they can manage.’

‘Why?’ asked Aurelian, flabbergasted.  

 ‘Because I think I know how to destroy them’

She waited for a second, listening to the noises building up everywhere around her and smelling the city burning. 

‘That’s if we’re quick enough’

Chapter eighty-one

White Cloak at Melloreis

 

The God rode through the northern gates into the ruined city. The sound of the hateful bell was almost unbearable in his ears, but he would soon silence that. It had taken a little time to cajole his white army into the city; they were craven cowards but they would share in his triumph, whether they liked it or not.  The kinaam who cowered outside the walls could stay where they were, as far as he was concerned, until the time came to complete the final destruction of the city and the expurgation of all traces of that foul elf-maiden spirit and her cronies.

He saw no sign of life, which was disappointing. He had expected at least some sort of fight. He no longer believed that there were any hidden secrets in the city. And what if there were? He was the God – what could possibly stand in his way? Was he not beyond the mortal and so beyond mortal fears? Ophia’s mechanical toys were as nothing compared to his control of the very fabric of the universe.  He now had the cloak that the Archwitch Bea had fashioned for him, guaranteed to withstand all of the serpent goddess’s feeble magic. A final victory against her would be so sweet. And after that, why not the great wall to the west? It would surely be equally flimsy.  His rule of sun and sky would spread everywhere.

For now he could imagine the sure destruction of his foes here and then a return to Ortia, to pick up the survivors. He thought of the exquisite pleasure of that young elf maiden and a thousand of her subjects sacrificed in his Sun Temple, the sky blue knives of his priests bleeding each elf dry and then He would drop his mask and cloak and feed from their arteries uncloaked, and grow ever stronger on the blood of the dying. He anticipated the moment with passionate intensity.  

So, first snuff out the bell and then destroy everyone who dared to oppose his hegemony. It was all so simple and then all of this was His. He should have dared this deed centuries ago, but now it was the right time. The Triumph of the Sun God was rising upon the World.

 

***

 

John issued some instructions. He sent Hardacre back to the Bell Tower to help the ringers.  Potentilla he ordered back to the Vault to guard Kath, as best she could, and with a command to warn her when the rest of them had fallen, so that she could try to activate the automaton as a last resort. That left Rem and him.

‘You’re a tracker, yes, Rem?’

Rem nodded.

‘I’m not as good as Captain Viola, but good enough’

‘Let’s see what’s going on’ said John

They scouted north with Rem leading until they came across the advanced guard of human warriors. They were fanning out through the city very slowly, with expressions of pain on their face and many with their hands covering their ears. Most of them stumbled every few steps as if walking were suddenly unaccountably difficult.

John and Rem hid from them behind a ruined wall.

‘They really don’t like the bell, do they’ whispered John.

‘Bell acts against all those not hurt by tainted curse’ Rem whispered back, ‘it turns death magic back on itself. Quiena cruel elf god, but clever’ 

John looked up and down Rem.

‘Does it affect you at all?’ John asked, without any trace of accusation in his voice.

Rem considered this for a moment, puzzled. But then John’s meaning became clear. 

‘Curse on my kind gone many ages ago…’ he explained. ‘But yes bell does affect me. I fear its power, but do not feel it’

John considered this.

‘Yes, I see exactly what you mean’ he said, ‘it is beyond what most would deem acceptable, but I think that we may yet be very thankful for it’

They hid very easily behind a boulder that sat between the white warriors and the Tower. No-one would come anywhere near them.

‘I think I should give them a fright’ said John, with his voice still very quiet, ‘what do you think?’

‘Do no unnecessary hurt, even to these… things,’ insisted Rem.

‘I don’t plan to hurt them – they’re far more useful alive and spooked’

John mumbled under his breath and then traced out a rectangle with his index finger in the air, as if drawing on an invisible map. Then he shouted ‘fferra’ very loudly.

Across an oblong area of rubble, which covered where almost all of the white warriors were standing, the air began to crystallise and the ground froze solid. The acolytes, already terrified, found that their boots were suddenly stuck to the ground. General panic ensued – about half of the soldiers pulled their boots free of the ice and ran, slipping and sliding back to the city walls. The other half, far more foolish, struggled out of their boots and tried to escape with no footwear. These ones immediately stuck to the ice again, but this time it was their flesh that they had to lose to escape. Howls of pain echoed across the city as they fled, their feet torn and bleeding.

Rem smiled grimly. John shrugged.

‘Well, I should have promised that I’d only spare the clever ones. As you can see, there’s not much you can do about the congenitally stupid’

John gestured for Rem to wait and after a minute or so the ground warmed up enough for them to walk across it. It was then they saw Whitecloak, on his horse, angrily addressing the retreating acolytes.  He looked unbelievably tall and strong.

Rem gave out an involuntary hiss.

‘It is him’ he said, ‘now he thinks that his moment has come. We must stop him’

John gulped and his flesh crawled horribly. He had experienced this before – the taint of Tlaxacan death magic emanated a palpable aura, like an unbearably fetid smell that would never leave one’s nose.  Rem’s request sounded like an exceptionally tall order.  

‘I don’t think I can do that, sadly’ he whispered, ‘but I’m sure that I can slow him down’

Rem nodded grimly.

‘Between us we may achieve something’

John thought about this for a moment.

‘No, this is my job – you need to go to the vault and help in any way you can there’

Rem shook his head.

‘I will not flinch from this confrontation. My lord would want me to stand firm’

‘No – that makes little sense. If he can crush me then he can probably crush you at the same time. Better to give him his flies to swat one at a time’

Rem thought about this and then nodded.

‘Hardacre right to trust you – you seem a wise man’

 John grinned, despite his rising anxiety.

‘Do I? Well, what I’m about to do may well make you change your mind… ’

Rem stood up and began to creep back towards the vault. He spoke no more to John but looked back at him with his judging slate grey eyes. He had given his approval.

John took a deep breath and stepped out into the scorching sunlight.  He walked slowly but without hesitation to where Whitecloak was still haranguing his troops. He wondered how many times in the past he had been at this point, the sickening point of final confrontation, and whether he would live to do it again.

‘Are you in charge of these fools?’ he shouted

Whitecloak wheeled on his steed and immediately saw him. He stopped for a second and then his voice boomed out.

‘I know you, Ismay of Kinspit – you are a witch and an apostate!’

‘That’s flattering’ said John, ‘I never realised that I was quite so famous’

Whitecloak spurred his horse on towards him. John waited as long as he could and then clicked his fingers, murmuring ‘adfeilia’. The mighty white stallion, far too big to withstand a tipping spell, lurched forward and Whitecloak fell over its bucking head. He landed with a thump.

‘No applause?’ sighed John, ‘it scarcely seemed worth performing without an audience ’

He stared down at Whitecloak who was struggling on the floor. The God’s horse galloped off wildly. 

‘I’m amazed that you didn’t see that coming’ he said, ‘you might well be a deity but your horse, although admittedly very grand, clearly isn’t as holy as you are’

Whitecloak jumped to his feet. His pure white cloak was sullied with dust and soot from the rubble. He brushed his hands briefly over the garment – it instantly cleaned itself.

 ‘So, this is the behaviour of the renowned leader of our most powerful coven’ he snarled, ‘it is no wonder that you rule nothing and have achieved nothing.’

John made no reply. Instead he leant backwards, dropped his hands palm outwards towards Whitecloak and shouted ‘chwthwm’ in an extraordinarily loud voice. A mighty gale rushed forward from his hands.

 Loose debris all around John began to fly out towards his foe. A barrage of bricks, stones and metal caromed into the god.  He doubled over as he absorbed the energy from the collisions – it was clear that he was discomfited but not really hurt.

That’s a few more seconds, though thought John. 

Whitecloak waved his hand back and forth to clear a way through to his enemy. John had a good look at him for the first time. He appeared to be nothing more than a mask and a vast cloak, but both pulsed with a white light that blanched every surface that it touched.

‘Why are you in disguise, oh mighty god of twisted slaves?’ he asked

Whitecloak approached him.

‘This is no disguise, witch lord’ he replied, ‘this is my shield. Nothing can penetrate it, not even this magical trickery. I and my artificer have worked on the design for almost a millennium; it is now immune to anything created by that… female. I am totally invulnerable!’

John looked carefully at the cloak. Every time the bell clanged a small number of threads pinged loose. He was certain that his enemy had not yet noticed it. Such clever stuff this Dwarven Magic.

‘And the mask is to hide your hideous face from us, the more handsome races, I’m guessing. I have heard rumours of the terrible ugliness of your true appearance’

Whitecloak put his hand up to his mask.

‘The God is beautiful. He is woven pure from the energy of sunlight and sky’

Whitecloak pointed at John and gestured with his hand for him to him to walk towards him. John felt an almost uncontrollable compulsion to do as he was bidden. He stood ostentatiously stock still.

‘Oh, did you want me to come closer?’ he asked innocently, knowing though that the magical cost of resisting was immense, ‘it’s usually considered a bit more polite to say ‘please’

Whitecloak gestured more powerfully with his hand but still John didn’t move. Whitecloak tried the command one more time and then lowered his hand. John could have sworn that he shook his head.

‘How did you do that?’

‘I’m stubborn’ 

John took two rapid steps backwards and whispered ‘chymyla’. Then he breathed out for as long as he could bear. A cloud of very thick, dark, smoky, mist enveloped Whitecloak.

John ran as fast as he could towards the Bell Tower, stopping only when he had got past the ring of old and new corpses. He fully realised that he couldn’t keep expending so much energy indefinitely. Soon he’d be reduced to party magic.

‘Stupid trickery’ roared Whitecloak, appearing rapidly out of the mist, ‘what do you hope to achieve?’

John waved and shouted.

‘Come over here – you can hear the bell far more clearly from this spot’ 

 Whitecloak began to move stiffly in John’s direction. Every movement forward seemed to make him wince.

‘Don’t you like the Bell, oh totally invulnerable and extraordinarily powerful one?’

‘How dare you mock your God!’ screamed Whitecloak, ‘you are nothing but a barbarous witchling’.

His cloak pulsed and John was instantly lifted a hundred feet into the air. He balanced on the empty space for an agonising second and then began his plummet to the ground.    

‘Shit!’ thought John. He lifted his arms out and yelped, ‘lithra’. A thick furry skin grew between the fingers of both hands and his hips. He’d never mastered this spell. He half fell and half glided down to ground level, smashing his face against a rock as he landed.

Whitecloak laughed.

‘I can taste it already. Witch blood! How I crave it!’

John was winded and for a few seconds was unable to either speak or stand up. ‘One more thing to try’ he thought, groggily. He croaked an almost soundless ‘gwrthladd’ and then fell back down on to side, completely spent. He looked out blearily at Whitecloak.

‘I shall take you to Huatlacan and you will be the greatest of all my sacrifices: you, the proconsul and all of her subjects! And I shall grow yet more majestic, bathed in the blood of all my bested enemies ’

Whitecloak lifted his hand and this time John seemed unable to resist.

‘First, I shall blind you, as you are so concerned about my appearance’

A thin white shaft of light sped across the rubble and bathed John’s eyes. He blinked, moaned, and then closed them.

‘Second, I shall lame you, as you seem so intent on running away from me’

Another shaft of light struck John’s legs below the knees. He lay still.

‘Third I shall deprive you of the gift of speech, as you say so much and know so little’

The white light played on John’s lips and his half-completed scream died in his mouth.

‘Excellent’ gloated Whitecloak, ‘you turned out to be just as weak as any other mortal. I shall get my followers to pick you up later’

John lay completely still, indistinguishable from one of the dead. 

Whitecloak stepped just inside the dead zone, raised his hand, and began to fire pure white bolts of light against the side of the Tower. Every bolt caused a green-blue explosion. But equally, every remaining peal stripped away more threads from his withering cloak.

 

Fred pulled hard at the bell as Hardacre and Viola watched what was going on below. They hadn’t been able to work out exactly what has happened to John, because he was out of their line of sight, but they knew that it was very bad.

All around them the bell tower was lighting up with giant green-blue sparks. Each spark made the tower shudder. It was clear that the tower would not last very much longer, but it was also clear that Whitecloak hated the sound of the bell.

‘We must keep the bell ringing as long as we can’ Hardacre said, forcing his fears about John temporarily into the depths of his mind.

Both Viola and Fred nodded in emphatic agreement.

Hardacre sighed loudly; for once not trying to hide his feelings. He walked over to where Fred stood pulling on the bell. He was no longer smiling as he rang it, a strange desperate need had replaced the euphoria. It was if the bell knew that every peal might be its last and that it still had a job to do. 

‘Dr Eccles’ said Hardacre quietly, just audible above the shaking stonework and the sound of the bell, ’I  agreed to lead this expedition, so the ultimate responsibility lies with me. You two should go and try to help Mr Ismay, and you should go now’

He gestured to Fred to hand him the rope. Fred glared at him.

‘I’m not bloody moving’

Hardacre stared at him, astonished.

‘You’ll be killed’ insisted Hardacre, ‘it is certain’

Fred shrugged.

‘I’ll do it anyway’ he said, ‘it’s the best possible use of your resources. This is the most helpful thing I’ve done on this trip so far – I won’t let you take it away from me’

Hardacre shook his head.

‘No, Dr Eccles, this is not your war’

‘Right then’ boomed Fred, ‘I’ll just go home then’

 ‘Fred, don’t…’ began Viola, but then had no idea what to say next.

Fred laughed sourly.

‘I won’t last five minutes out there anyway – so, best you both leave now’

The tower was shaking terribly, rocking back and forth and holes had begun to widen in the masonry. In some places it was only Quiena’s green magic that held the structure in place.

Hardacre knew that they had to go, but was finding it hard to tear his eyes away from Fred. Viola grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the crumbling stairs.  

‘Ring the Bell hard, Fred’ shouted back Viola, tears forming in her eyes, ‘ring it for as long as you can, for Ophia’s sake’

Fred smiled at her and nodded. 

‘Sod Ophia’ he said.

Neither Hardacre nor Viola could bear to look back as they hurried down the stairwell. The bell rang on, louder than ever before, but the tower was now dissolving, layer after layer of green peeling off from the walls. Only the staircase remained entirely whole.

They spilled out on to the space in front of the tower and raced out beyond the dead zone.  As they looked back they could see Whitecloak sending bolt after bolt of white energy into the failing structure, but still the bell rang on.

As they watched Whitecloak bring all of his power to bear on the destruction of the Tower they realised that now they could see though large expanses of his cloak. Behind the frayed strips of material they saw the God’s true form, a humanoid silhouette in deep sky blue, and behind it an unbearable brightness, like the most implacably scorching August day. They could not look for very long.

Time seemed to slow and still the bell clanged on. Whitecloak appeared desperate; flinging his power at the walls again and again and again. Finally all that was left was a bronze bell sounding high up in empty space. And then the bell began to fall, glacially slowly at first and then increasingly rapidly. At just above human head height it exploded, sending shards of green shrapnel across the cityscape. Both Viola and Hardacre could have sworn that as the bell shattered they could hear a sharp cry of ‘bugger!’ Then the tower was gone. The green embers flew through the air and sliced through Whitecloak, stripping him completely. All that the watchers could see now was a blue shifting phantom illuminated from inside by a horribly cold white light. It still seemed to retain something of its approximately humanoid shape, but now it was impossible to stare at it directly, so great was the power of its radiance.

‘You are vanquished!’ said the phantom as it fell to the floor. There was a moment’s stillness. Then, wordlessly, it slowly pulled itself up, no longer with the pretence that it needed any limbs or body. For a very short while the light that emanated from it dimmed a little, but then it soon returned even brighter and even less bearable than before. Then the revealed Whitecloak was up and sniffing, in search of the machine in the Vault.