Odyssey

CHAPTER 16

Once more Kamahl ran to a city, his legs pumping. But unlike the roads to city, Cabal people were everywhere, packing the trail to capacity. He threaded the crowds as he once threaded razor shards in the mountains during his training. The travelers were refugees from the western border's violence. Ever since he left the giant gecko, Emerald, he had run through despairing crowds. As he approached the Citadel, there were expressions of hope in the faces about him. However, the crush in front of the gates seemed to press out the travelers' optimism. The low wall surrounding the town was unguarded except for a frustrated soldier trying to direct the incoming traffic. He never saw the metal-hued barbarian with the great sword, his eyes nearly blind from staring at the constant flow of refugees.

Running was impossible now, but Kamahl persevered. He shoved his way through the masses, aiming for the great castle on the hill. If there were guards in the city, they were lost in the crying crowds. It seemed the entire world tried to reach a place to eat or sleep. Large men with clubs stood before every inn.

"There is no room, move on. Move on," they called to those trying to enter. The staves were not used except to prod the persistent away. Kamahl wondered how much longer that would be true.

The road up the side of the hill was thick with people. A steady stream of Order uniforms came down to the town to help with the crowds. A few refugees struggled up the path, pressing on to the greater safety of the castle walls. Despite all their martial posturing, the Order compromised their defenses, so those on the road would not fail to find shelter.

Kamahl continued through the multitudes, confident that he finally had his bearings in the narrow streets. He arrived at the bottom of the road and there tasted the ambassador's duplicity.

"Hold!" a sentry cried. More guards converged on the mountain mage.

"It is the barbarian!" yelled the corporal commanding the lower detachment. "Take no chances with him!"

The people around Kamahl tried to retreat as the soldiers formed up, their spears still in the air as they jockeyed for room to maneuver. On the walls of the fortress above, the barbarian could see other soldiers drawing weapons. Should he try to lose himself in the crowd?

He was sick of retreat, and if the prize were truly his, then he would fight for it. He threw his cloak back and revealed the armor and bracers on his wrists. Before he could give formal challenge, a guard raised a crossbow from behind the spear wall and discharged it.

His hand threw out a line of fire, and he turned during the split second of the missile's flight. The flame ate through the bolt, withering the shaft and melting away the head. What was left of the cowardly attack shattered on his armored side. He looked at the detachment, his rage radiating in all directions. The refugees continued to retreat as far as they were able, the Order tensing for his response. He took gobs of wax from a pouch at his side and stuffed them in his ears. The cries of the crowd and whatever commands issued from the corporal were cut off.

Knowing that false accusations might be made against him, Kamahl was prepared to batter his opponents into submission. Tiny black globes flew from his hands and began to detonate. The explosions occurred well in front of the spearmen, but the concussions spilled them back with each throw. The barbarian quickly glanced up the road. No reinforcements coming yet.

Another bolt came at him, but his magic was fully energized, and it seemed to dissipate in midair. Kamahl threw more globes, and these exploded inside the enemy ranks. Soldiers tumbled to the sides, deafened by the noise. The crossbowman lay on the ground, his entire body bruised from the close detonation.

Kamahl watched his back, but the tight press of refugees prevented guards from getting through. Signs of panic were everywhere as civilians tried to flee, and the mass of onlookers crippled the Order's response as surely as it manacled Kamahl's own actions. The barbarian started up the road.

He jogged, his footfalls thudding in his ears as he passed people cowering on the road's surface. A man bellowed, and Kamahl thought he heard, "The forest, the forest," but he swept by before he could be sure. If the town believed there was an attack from the west, the mountain mage was in no hurry to correct them.

Even through the wax he could hear cries, but none seemed to mention him. He slowed and twitched his trailing cloak back over his gear. The hilt of his sword peeking over his shoulder proclaimed to all that he was no helpless refugee, but perhaps the guards at the gate were as confused as those in the town. He spared a look behind him. A wave of people was coming up from the city. The jostling masses had no idea what was going on, and he realized they sought the safety of the castle.

Even at his reduced pace he reached the gates well before the refugees from below. The passageway through the defenses was unbarred, and he carefully walked through. He dug the wax from one ear, the cries of the crowd behind him echoing off the stone walls. He moved farther into the Citadel, ready to wrap himself in flame, but there was no one. He turned a blind corner into the courtyard.

There he found the Order. They fought among themselves. Bands of knights and men-at-arms squared off. A few bird warriors stood before the combatants, wrapped in magical armor. Glowing like the sun, they called for peace, but appeals for discipline were useless. The bands of soldiers met in hand-to-hand combat. Flesh and fists reinforced by mystic will assailed foes wearing a shared livery. Bones shattered, and the fallen were dragged free without regard for allegiance by the Order's healers.

The combatants bludgeoned each other but abstained from plying their blades. Only their open hands were enhanced. The Citadel made war upon itself, but a brotherhood of centuries could not be overturned in a single day.

Individual soldiers began to come at Kamahl. He drew his sword and slapped the fighters away. He advanced along the courtyard's edge, careful to use the flat of his blade. The roar of explosives would unite the fighters and would surely bring them against him. He circled, aiming for the central keep. He knew in his bones that Kirtar would be at the center of this struggle.

Magic assaulted his senses. The spell should have been lost among the contesting mages, but Kamahl felt it, like a cold stone lodged in his gut. The power was muted, but it grew. What he felt was surely only the first stirrings. He knew not what magic pealed forth, but he knew that the orb must be involved. The purity and purpose of the spell lifted it far above the crude castings in the yard. He needed to reach Kirtar and the prize.

Disdaining the low profile he had kept so far, he ran for the keep door, black pellets flying before him. The explosions wiped the guards away, leaving only the gate to oppose him. The great door had a smaller entry in one panel.

His sword arced high and then cleaved its way into the iron-reinforced wood, cutting through latches. Through his one clear ear he heard the cries of the crowds coming through the gates only to be confronted by a civil war within the walls. Another blow sliced the final latch, and he jumped through.

The orb's spell grew louder and more strident in his mind. He looked for Kirtar, but the main hall was empty. His peripheral vision caught a shadow of movement, and he raised his arm. Claws shrieked on the iron bracer, and he half-spun at the impact. Another strike fell on his back, ripping through his cloak and scoring the studded leather over his shoulder. He swept his sword in a circle, slicing through the air. The scrabble of feet led his eyes to his foe.

Turg crouched just out of reach. Kamahl lunged forward, his sword a ribbon of flame, but the frog jumped to the side, seeming to vanish as the blade curved to skewer him. The amphibian was gone, hidden, and Kamahl dug the other gob of wax from his ear. He listened but could hear nothing besides the noise of the crowd outside.

A movement close by registered on his senses, and he darted toward the foe. But the signs faded away, and his boots suddenly lost traction. Feet flying from under him, he fetched up against a wall. Turg flickered into view right over him, the amphibian's hands reaching for his calf. Kamahl's dagger punched into the frog's thigh even as the claws started to shred his muscles. He tried to extend the thrust, aiming for arteries, but the amphibian vanished, a trail of blood leading to tables of food. A loaf vanished from sight, and the spatters stopped. The barbarian's own leg bled freely. He sent fingers of flame crawling over the gashes, sealing the injury as he screamed in pain.

The hall was huge, and the frog might be anywhere inside it. Kamahl threw showers of flame into the upper reaches, burning brighter until the barbarian's eyes stung.

A cluster of odd shadows appeared, and Kamahl knew where Turg was. The barbarian charged an axe and let it fly, trailing magic as it sank into the stone floor. It vanished in a globe of destruction. Turg leaped, an arc of lightning streaming toward the barbarian. The power grounded against the wall and charred an arc to the floor as Kamahl threw himself away. He rolled several times and came up with his sword ready. A crater showed where his axe had detonated. There was no sign of the frog.

The mountain warrior looked for shadows, but the flares above the floor were dying out, his magic leaking power. A bank of clouds seemed to extinguish them, and Kamahl saw the illusion of rain sweeping across the hall. He tried to detect the frog's energy but the orb's spell still shrilled behind him. Fighting the mer champion was not his goal, and he moved into a corridor toward the source of the magic and Kirtar.

A barrage of metal plates rang against the sides of the corridor. They skipped off the floor and glanced off his wounded leg. He sent fireballs arcing up the corridor in response.

"Dinnerware," he snorted, the amusement breaking his concentration, as pain had not. More projectiles flew, and he knelt, holding his sword before him. Kamahl created an intense shield of flame to devour the iron plates that might be launched against him. Instead he smelled charred fish, and a stream of bodies vaporized in his protection. He looked to the side. A sea creature with long limbs flopped on the floor. The flying fish expired as the shield's heat dried it out.

"Find Kirtar," Kamahl growled to himself. The shield broke into shards, and he sent them flowing up the corridor slowly, blocking the amphibian's advance. The barbarian hurried, remembering the orb and listening to the spell's strength. He reached a cross- corridor and at last spotted the lieutenant.

Kirtar looked nearly dead, his pale skin somehow appearing transparent. The bird warrior was being carried by other aven, and his eyes swept over the barbarian without recognition. His hands cupped the prize. Kirtar, once so arrogant and proud, was dying before the barbarian's eyes.

"It's still spreading!" called a soldier looking back the way they had come. "We need to get out the postern gate before it cuts us off!"

The soldiers started forward again, carrying the warrior's destiny away.

"Kirtar!" Kamahl bellowed. A door opened onto a stairway, and a gaggle of servants surged into the corridor. The leaders screamed as the barbarian thundered forward, forcing him to slow lest he crush the innocents in his rage. A circle of lightning flared, stopping him in his tracks.

The servants stood frozen. In the corridor beyond, Turg flickered back into sight, the frog laughing at Kamahl through the screen of dead civilians. He vanished from sight as illusion surged over him, and the servants collapsed to the floor.

"The frog must have raced past under the cover of the fish," Kamahl swore. He drew power, grounding it to his sword. The steel danced with flame, and he prepared to send it streaking up the corridor to flush the amphibian out.

"Murderer!" came the cry from behind him. Members of the Order stood, fury evident as they looked at the barbarian and the circle of dead innocents. All were armored, and Kamahl could hear more soldiers crowding behind them. The front rank raised maces, their heads wrapped in deadly golden light.

The barbarian threw an exploding pellet of flame, the concussion echoing off the walls and sending him tumbling back. The narrow corridor acted to concentrate the blast toward him. His ears ringing, he got to his feet. The explosion had spun him around, and he could see Turg bent over in amusement, his wide mouth a gigantic smile. A shaft of flame sped toward the amphibian only to shatter in mid-air. A wave of magic seeping through the wall had already cut off the corridor. It resonated with the orb's magical signature, and Kamahl knew he had found the source of the magical call swamping his senses.

The frog blew him a kiss and vanished from sight. Shards of fire impacted uselessly against the magic as the mountain mage realized himself cut off from the amphibian and Lieutenant Kirtar. Trapped, he turned to the coming soldiers. They were not dazed by his concussions. Completely armored in light, they only shouted with derision at his explosions. He could not hear them, but he could see their faces and knew they were beyond reason.

Pillars of fire rose up to char the plaster, cutting off his sight of the Order knights. He turned to the crystal wall, wondering if he might somehow tunnel through. A shoe had come off one of the dead servants, and he kicked it toward the barrier. It struck the border and stuck there, becoming frozen even as he watched.

He could feel his spells dying, and he saw the enhanced swords and maces smashing through the curtain of fire. Contempt was in every figure stepping into the hall, and he acknowledged his defeat. He must kill and escape the Citadel before being slain by the massed opposition of the Order.

Kamahl lifted his sword and once again the brilliant fire that could devour iron shimmered off the blade. But instead of attacking the knights, he sent the pulse of flame into the walls. Rock ran like water, and wood vanished in explosions of gas as fire gutted the Citadel's structure. Supporting walls were cut, and timbers burnt away leaving nothing to support the walls and ceiling over the men coming to kill Kamahl.

Rubble cascaded over the soldiers, burying them in a sea of dust and stone. The barbarian held his cloak over his face, unable to retreat because of the crystal wall at his back. The dust started to clear, and Kamahl could see a sloping ramp of rock leading to the upper floors. He started forward only to be caught short as his cloak held him in place. The tattered train of his garment was already frozen in the crystal wall. He cut himself free with a knife, leaving the cloak to be preserved in the crystal. He scrambled up the ramp, the stones settling as he neared the upper floors. Suddenly reality quivered, and Kamahl froze. The orb, its echo familiar to the barbarian, was active, but its ambiance had changed. The new tone set his teeth on edge. The orb was different, and Kamahl started up the ramp again, determined to find out what had happened.