In desperation, Bannier shouted a word that directed a lance of pure violet energy at Gaelin. But Gaelin anticipated the move and deflected Bannier’s aim by stepping under his guard and knocking the wizard’s arm skyward. With his hand clenched around his sword hilt, he found a perfect opportunity to deliver a deep uppercut to the wizard’s jaw, a solid punch that cracked bone and sent Bannier reeling backward – into Seriene’s barrier.
Silver light flared and battled with purple fire, transfixing the wizard on an arcing bolt of energy. Bannier shrieked and danced, pinned where he was by the uncontrollable lashing of his limbs and the bright, burning magic. Gaelin paused a moment, looking on in astonishment, and then he took his bastard sword in both hands and hammered the wide, keen blade through the center of Bannier’s chest. The wizard howled in inhuman agony, coughing a gout of black blood from his mouth, his hands scrabbling at the impaling sword.
Gaelin wrenched the blade from Bannier’s chest and watched him sprawl to the ground, cursing weakly.
Gaelin looked up and discovered that only a few of the Iron Guards still stood. Bull was flailing away with his great hamme r, holding them at bay as he guarded Gaelin’s back. From the shadows of the hillside, a crossbow sang, and one of the Ghoerans fell with a bolt wedged in the visor of his helmet. That decided the matter for the surviving guards. They took to their heels to escape the clearing, fleeing into the darkness. Briefly, Gaelin wondered where they thought they were going – without Bannier’s guidance, they wouldn’t get very far.
Erin emerged from the woods on the lip of the hollow, carrying a crossbow on one hip, her slender rapier in the other hand. One shoulder bled freely from a stab wound, but a fierce light burned in her eyes. There was no sign of the illusory wolf – she must have released the spell after chasing off most of the Ghoerans. Her eyes flicked over Gaelin, and relief flooded her face when she saw that he hadn’t been hurt. “Is that all of them?” she asked, nodding at the retreating Iron Guards.
“I think so. Are you all right? You’ve been wounded.”
Erin sheathed her rapier, but kept her crossbow handy. She tore a strip of cloth from her cloak hem and held it to her shoulder. “I’ll be fine, although I’ll have you know I went years between stabbings or puncturings before I met you.”
Her lighthearted banter sank. “I’m afraid the other guardsmen weren’t as lucky.”
“Boeric, too?” Gaelin scowled and turned away.
“Not quite, Mhor Gaelin.” Boeric appeared at the edge of the clearing, limping, his sword dripping red for nearly half its length. “Orel and Ciele fell in the fighting under the trees, but I’ll live to see another day.” He nodded at Erin. “Your spell gave us the victory, Lady Erin.”
Erin inclined her head in thanks, and turned to Gaelin. “I thought I saw you cut down Bannier.”
“I did. I suspect he’ll trouble us no more.” Gaelin turned and glanced at where the wizard had fallen. He started to turn away, and then looked back again, with an oath.
Bannier was gone. Only his black cloak remained, soaked with dark blood. Gaelin kneeled beside the spot, studying the ground. There were no footprints. It was as if Bannier had faded into the earth exactly where he had fallen. The others scattered and looked for some sign of the sorcerer, but they soon gave up – with only four of them left, it was too dangerous to remain. “I’d like to be certain that we’ve defeated him, but we can’t wait,” Gaelin said. “We’ve got to get Ilwyn out of this place.”
“Could he have escaped somehow?” Erin asked quietly.
“If he did, I don’t know how,” Gaelin replied. They commandeered several of the Ghoeran horses, lifting the fallen guardsmen over the saddles, and set out for the place where they’d left Seriene and Ilwyn. I hope she’s found the doorway again, Gaelin thought. I’ve seen enough of this place for now.
He took one last look at the black circle of ancient, leaning stones, and shuddered. Whatever this place had once been, it had been bathed in blood this day. He resolved to return and raze the place, even if it meant another journey into the Shadow. He didn’t like the idea of a place like Caer Duirga left to itself in the gloom and darkness.
Chapter Seventeen
In a dark chamber of hollowed stone, Bannier awoke from a nightmare of pain and confusion. He was alone, lying on a cold floor, stripped of power and defenses. It had taken every reserve of his strength to survive his encounter with Gaelin – in fact, it had taken more strength than he possessed. That could only mean one thing: his patron had intervened to spare his life, for some purpose Bannier did not understand and feared to face.
Opening his eyes, Bannier examined his surroundings, like a drowning man who notices the quality and color of the water that ends his life. The chamber was vast, illuminated only by a pair of dim tapers set at his head and feet, and the feeble light was not strong enough to illuminate the walls or ceiling of the place. Abreath of musty air, old and dry, swirled around Bannier’s tattered robes.
He recognized this place. It was the heart of his master’s power, a place of bargains and ancient compacts, redolent with the odor of dust and betrayal. Bannier fought to control his terror. He rose, contemplating flight, but his reason won out over his fear. He’d been brought to this place for a specific purpose, as a deliberate act, and it would show a lack of character if he attempted to escape now. Escape was, after all, impossible at this point. He waited.
Hours passed in the darkness before he heard the sounds he knew would come. An iron door creaked open, admitting a gust of dank air, and then a footfall echoed through the room. It was a heavy sound, the scraping of stone on stone.
The footsteps were just a heartbeat too far apart to be human; their ringing impact suggested the approach of unstoppable power. Bannier quailed, but held his ground.
“Bannier, I am disappointed in you.” The voice was close to human pitch, although deeper and stronger than normal, and possessed of a certain coldness. “You performed admirably in the beginning, but you failed to bring the Mhoried blood to me and failed to bring Mhoried to ruin. Imagine my displeasure.”
“Yes, my lord.” Bannier dared no other response. He felt a vast presence in the shadows, a hulking power that now edged closer to the light. In the darkness before him, he saw two baleful red eyes appear, half again his own height above the floor. He flinched, averting his gaze.
There was a snort of derisive laughter. “You do not care to look upon my countenance? Do you not trust me, Bannier? I trusted you. I went to great lengths to retrieve you from your precarious position and bring you here to my Battlewaite.”
Raesene – the creature men knew as the Gorgon – stepped into the candlelight. He was massive, with a deep chest and long, powerful arms. His legs were doubled back like a satyr’s, and his feet were obsidian hooves; his flesh was a dusky gray that had the quality and feel of stone. The Gorgon’s face was awful, a bestial visage crowned by sharp spikes or horns, but buried beneath the hideous features there could still be seen the outlines of the face of a man. He wore fine black breeches, and a matching tunic embroidered with gold designs. The garments were regal, befitting a lord, but they left the wide expanse of his chest and the rippling power of his arms bared, a veneer of civilization covering an ele- mental force of destruction.
Resisting the urge to throw himself to the ground and grovel for mercy, Bannier held his ground. Five hundred years ago, the Gorgon had finally brought down the empire by destroying Michael Roele, the last of the line. But his ambitions did not end there. With Anuire reeling in chaos and civil war, the Gorgon’s domain grew in strength. Bannier suspected that the awnshegh lord desired nothing less than the complete subjugation of the scattered Anuirean successorstates;