Tythonnia cursed; it was a hidden spell, layered within the first.
“S-stop-aku colang keawetan,” Berthal cried, his own mouth revolting against him as it shifted between his words and the hidden spell. “St-stop-me, aku mencelik mati.”
Tythonnia struggled to act, to move, but the trap gripped her too and bled the magic from her. She felt one spell evaporate from her thoughts then another.
“Break the circle!” Shasee shouted. “Break the circle!”
“What’s happening?” Migress asked, watching as the sorcerers in the circle struggled against themselves, it seemed. The mercenaries lay near a small thatch of pine trees, hidden in the shadows of their boughs. Migress’s men fidgeted with bow or sword, nervous with such open displays of magic. Before them was the circle of sorcerers and beyond that the second group of fifteen watching the camp.
“Something’s wrong,” Hort said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dumas said. “Attack!”
“This isn’t right!” Hort said.
“It’s our only chance!” Dumas replied. She stared at Migress and Hort, but when they seemed too scared to move, she snarled a small curse. “Fine, but if you won’t attack-”
Before Hort could stop her, she pointed her blade at the group of sorcerers standing immediately outside the ritual circle.
“Halilintar,” she cried. Electricity traveled along one chain of her book and up her sword arm. A bolt of lightning crackled outward from the sword tip, the edge of its fan catching three renegades in the back as it spread. They screamed in pain and fell to the ground in spasms. The remaining renegades seemed caught off guard, putting out the ignited robes on their three injured companions, and slowly turning to face their attackers. Two were reaching into their pouches and preparing spells, however.
“-then defend yourselves!” Dumas concluded, an absolutely wicked leer carved into her face, a woman possessed by the madness that would stay dormant no longer.
In that moment, Hort realized how insane Dumas had actually grown.
At that moment, the kaleidoscopic flash and thunder of spells erupted.
At that moment, the sky above the ritual circle tore open like an iris.
At that moment, a legion of bone-chilling wails filled the air.
A peal of thunder and cries most dreadful rolled around the tongues of the mountains. Ladonna and Par-Salian had just entered the narrow line of trees when they heard the world itself becoming undone.
“It’s happening!” Ladonna shouted, running past the trees.
Ahead of them was a group of sorcerers, some running to help those trapped in the ritual circle and some retreating to the camp. Berthal had carved the circle into the earth, its borders set with rocks and the ground stained with runes. The markings and small trench seemed to glisten with a crimson sheen, as though filling with blood. In the circle, Berthal and Tythonnia, among others, stared helplessly at the red gash in the sky. Wails and howls erupted from its depths.
Beyond the circle, a group of sorcerers fired spells of fire and darts of light at another thatch of trees. Armed men emerged from the small grove and charged the sorcerers with swords and arrows. Dumas led the charge, her blade deflecting the darts of light aimed at her. Two sorcerers fell dead as arrows plunged into their necks and chests.
To Tythonnia’s far left was the encampment, the men, women, and children there frozen between fear and curiosity.
“Par-Salian, over there.” Ladonna pointed to the camp. “Help them escape; they’re too close! I’ll save Tythonnia!”
Par-Salian didn’t argue. He ran straight for the camp, waving his arms to get everyone to run. Nobody moved. They were all too dumbfounded to uproot themselves.
Ladonna ran toward the ritual circle, praying she could reach it in time. As if in terrible response, the first of the blight shades dropped to the ground.
They had been alien to Ansalon … until that moment.
The heavens were uncorked, the evil unleashed. Tythonnia watched in frozen horror as the first creature fell through the iris above them and landed nimbly on the ground. It appeared humanoid, with a tattered hood for a head, and a black cloak covering its otherwise naked body. Shadows wreathed its emaciated limbs and sometimes, when they parted, the creature’s skin vanished as well to reveal an oily bundle of exposed muscles. Tentacles of shadow rose from its body. A terrible and bitter chill emanated from the aperture above Tythonnia, an aperture into a world where a ruined keep stood on mud-cracked earth and the orange skies smelled of sulfur.
What frightened Tythonnia even more than the gleaming embers for eyes that glowed inside the creature’s cowl, or the hint of a puckered orifice for a mouth, was the dozens-or perhaps hundreds-more creatures that ran-no galloped- for the gate. And try as she might to move, to run, to seal the doorway, the ritual circle held her tight and continued to drain her magic. Another spell formed and dissipated.
One of the sorcerers outside the circle saw the creature and cried a warning. Those who could turned to look, but they all had bigger problems. Dumas was almost upon them, the men accompanying her not two seconds behind.
The creature remained low to the ground on arms and legs bent at unnatural angles. It seemed more wolf than human as it turned about and examined its surroundings. Then ignoring her and the four others in the ritual’s confines, it bounded out of the circle and barreled into the first sorcerer it saw, a woman.
Tythonnia watched in horror, helpless, as the creature swiped at anyone near it and tore terrible gashes into two sorcerers. The poor woman it attacked directly writhed in pain as the shadows surrounding its body seemed to drill into her flesh. She cried out, her skin graying and cracking, her body succumbing to a living putrefaction.
Then suddenly, the creature leaped onto another sorcerer and started a new attack. It hadn’t killed the first woman, but neither was she in any condition to defend herself.
More creatures dropped through the threshold, and the men with Dumas hesitated then stopped in their tracks.
Ladonna was about to cast a spell to smite the blight shade when it lunged and attacked a renegade outside the circle. She realized those in the circle were being bypassed. They fueled the gate; they would die last.
That suited Ladonna just fine. She had returned to save only Tythonnia, everyone else be damned. Par-Salian saving the children was merely a ruse to get him out of the way, protect him against his more noble nature. Anyone near the gate right then had little chance of survival.
Ladonna was close to the circle when five more blight shades dropped to the ground. They glanced around, searching for prey, and immediately bounded off in different directions. Two attacked the nearest sorcerers. Another passed by the closest wizards and headed straight for the men with Dumas. The last one headed right for her. She quickly prepared a spell and prayed Dumas would stop to fight the creatures.
Dumas, however, ignored the blight shades, and instead cut down the first sorcerer in her path.
What is she thinking? Ladonna wondered, but the only words that emerged from her lips were, “Sihir anak!” Four daggers of light blossomed and shot for the blight shade.
Look at the depths of their evil, Dumas thought as she reached the first sorcerer. See how they consort with those … things.
Her blade danced of its own accord to deflect another barrage of arcane darts. The sorcerer, a young man of farmer stock, backpedaled, trying desperately to prepare another spell.
This is all their doing, she thought. The three renegades summoned these monsters! Dumas’s blade seemed possessed, though the huntress knew it was the magical tome that honed her skills and protected her. Her blade found the sorcerer’s throat, cutting through it and the spell that he stuttered to unleash. She went for the next renegade.