Overmage, page 7
Her expression smoothed into a smile.
Beastmaster found it even scarier than her scowl.
Khashair snarled his psyche back to his body. He’d been searching for hours, trying in vain to find the second overseer and the knowledge it held. Nothing filled with so much corruption should be able to hide from him. Of course, he’d had no luck finding the female vampire either, though given her magical ability, that came as less of a surprise.
He stood and turned his attention to his new troops. The cultists were starting to come out of their transformations. Another hour or so should have them on their feet. He’d hoped to add another hundred to his force before attacking Tiber, but without the overseer’s knowledge, he had no way to find them. Unless you knew who they were, the cultists all appeared to be nothing but ordinary people.
“No luck?” Gomo asked.
He growled a little then shook his head. “No.”
“She probably ordered the creature into hiding after you destroyed the last one. The woman isn’t stupid.”
“Pity you’re right. Stupid opponents are so much easier to deal with. I’ll just have to send a few more golems than I first intended. Combined with our magic, it should still be plenty to get the job done.”
Gomo looked at him, head slightly cocked. “Don’t misunderstand, I love a bit of random destruction as much as the next demon, but is there a greater point to attacking the capital when you have no hope of administering it?”
“It’s a demonstration of my power as well as a way to decapitate the empire’s leadership. Without a central command, the provinces will be reduced to following the orders of their lord governors. The generals of each legion will be forced to act on their own. It will be chaos.”
If you need more soldiers, there are rebels among the dwarves that might join you even if you don’t pretend to be the archbishop. They just want the leaders in Dwarfhome dead. Also, why don’t you seek out the cultists with amulets? You could probably find a few new recruits that way.
Finally, some useful suggestions. “I’m going to try a few more things. Keep an eye on the troops and tap my shoulder when they’re awake.”
“As you wish.”
Khashair returned to his spot on the floor and sent his psychic body flying again. He pictured the amulets the cultists carried and soon found himself in the barn where they met. Studying their magical signature told him all he needed to know to locate the rest.
Soon he found himself flying east toward the coast. When he finally stopped, he cursed the universe. A pile of six amulets sat in a heap on a soggy island in the middle of a swamp. She must have figured he’d come looking and ordered the cultists to discard them.
This archbishop was starting to get on his nerves.
Try the dwarves. She might not have warned them yet.
Khashair seriously doubted that, but it never hurt to be thorough.
Turning his focus north he sensed only a single, weak signature. Quick as thought, he flew to it. The amulet rested in the pocket of a fat dwarf who stood in front of a closed door. Beyond it sat a tired-looking man.
Titus! How did he end up here?
“You know that human?”
He’s my only friend. Someone must have learned he was helping me and locked him up. We need to free him.
“There is no ‘we.’ I have no intention of wasting my time rescuing a single, useless man. Your friend can sit here until the end of time for all I care.”
No!
Samaritan’s consciousness surged up, trying to wrestle control of his psychic form. It was such a powerful effort that Khashair nearly didn’t react in time.
Nearly.
With an effort of will, he pushed Samaritan back down into the background. Perhaps he had underestimated the strength of his partner. Destroying him might be more difficult than he first believed.
“I’ll make you a bargain. Don’t do that again and after we finish with Tiber, we’ll deal with Dwarfhome next. We can free your friend in the process. Deal?”
The silence in his mind lingered far too long, but finally Samaritan responded. Deal.
A final psychic sweep of the area confirmed that the amulet held by the fat dwarf was the only one around. It seemed the vampire was more thorough than he’d hoped.
But no matter. He had sufficient forces to slaughter the imperial family and every churchman in Tiber.
Yes. They must suffer for what they did to my soulmate.
“I didn’t forget. Slaying the pope and his subordinates is almost as important as eliminating the emperor and his family. Soon you will have your revenge and I will begin my conquest of this continent.”
Chapter 13
The flight ended up taking less time than Joran feared. Only a week after leaving the capital, they were beginning the descent toward the empire’s northwestern-most border fort. Not that they were going to land. The border forts didn’t have nearly enough room in their courtyards for a dragon ship to set down.
No, when they got low enough it was a ride down in the gondola for Joran and his team. The prospect didn’t even unnerve him anymore. What they may or may not find at the end of this mission, on the other hand, unnerved him a great deal. He’d been trying and failing to figure out how to confirm the dragon’s presence without actually waking it up. Tiptoeing seemed an overly simplistic idea, but it was the only realistic one he’d had so far.
At least he’d gotten some magical practice in. Turned out, telekinesis was his best skill. After just five days, he’d gotten good enough to pull Mia’s sword to his hand without feeling like passing out or throwing up afterwards. He also managed a tiny flame and a spark of lightning. Not exactly the most overwhelming of successes, but he already felt his power growing and, assuming they survived and made it back to Tiber, a future as a wizard seemed within his reach.
“Copper for your thoughts,” Mia said as the pair made their way to the hold and waiting gondola.
Joran smiled at his soulmate. “Just thinking about everything that’s happened on this flight and what the future might hold. Speaking of which, did Stoneheart ever get a win?”
“No, but he got close a couple times and showed me a few tendencies I have that need correcting. Fighting a skilled opponent able to match my speed could get me into trouble.”
Joran’s smile broadened. “If we find someone as fast and skilled as you, we’ll all be in trouble. Hopefully such a person doesn’t live in the Land of the Blood Drinkers.”
“Why do they call it that anyway?”
“I never researched it. Since I doubt it’s a nation of vampires, I have to assume there was some sort of religious or magical ritual involving drinking blood or something that looked like blood. Of course, if you wanted to demonize a potential invasion target before making your ultimate move, a name like that would make a good start.”
At the bottom of the final flight of steps they turned toward the gondola. Stoneheart and Grub were waiting. Grub wore his usual brown robe with a heavy cloak thrown over it for good measure. Stoneheart had his full suit of armor and axe along with a matching fur-lined cloak. Joran wished he had enough magic cloaks for everyone, but when he mentioned it Stoneheart shrugged and pointed out that dwarves were used to the cold.
That didn’t make it pleasant for them, but Joran hadn’t said anything more on the subject.
The dragon ship leveled out and the captain’s voice came through the speaking tubes. “We’re in position. Prepare to lower the gondola.”
Joran slung his enchanted cloak over his shoulders and Mia followed his example. The four of them loaded up into the open-air gondola. As soon as they were aboard, it rocked free of the holding clamps and the crew lowered them.
As they descended, Joran took a moment to study the fort. It looked about like Fort Adana only on a smaller scale. In fact, everything was smaller. The courtyard, the main keep, and all the outbuildings were about half the size and the repair hangar was missing altogether. Soldiers manned the walls and towers, so at least he didn’t need to worry about running into an army of bile zombies.
A gust of wind rocked the gondola and sent a chill up Joran’s spine despite the cloak’s magic. Why couldn’t all this mess have happened in the summer? Looking for a sleeping dragon was bad enough without having to freeze at the same time.
The gondola settled on the ground with a thunk and a soldier wrapped head to toe in a heavy crimson and gold cloak hastened to open the door for them. “Lord Den Cade? Commander Ramirus is waiting for you inside.”
“Smart of him,” Joran said. “Lead on.”
The soldier slammed the gondola door and hurried back toward the keep. They fell in behind him; no one wanting to linger outside longer than they had to. The dragon ship had already begun pulling up the gondola. The plan was for the ship to withdraw to the nearest fort capable of holding it to await word for pickup. No timeline was given and the captain made it clear that he had no intention of returning to Tiber without Joran before summer. If he hadn’t returned in five months, even the Iron Princess would understand he wasn’t going to.
That seemed fair enough to Joran, so he offered no complaint. In fact, he very much hoped to be done in a month, six weeks at the most. Of course, what he hoped for and what reality might slap him with were often two different things.
Just inside the keep stood a man wearing an imperial dress uniform complete with a golden imperial eagle badge on the chest of his crimson tunic. He stood half a head taller than Joran; probably outweighed him by forty pounds, all of it muscle; and his chiseled face had a perfectly trimmed goatee covering the chin. He reminded Joran a little of Ventor, but he wouldn’t hold that against him. All in all, Ramirus looked more like one of the officers you’d find in Tiber not at a border fort.
He offered a smart salute, bringing his fist to his heart. “Welcome, Lord Den Cade, Lady Den Cade. It’s a great honor to host you at my modest command.”
“Thank you, Commander.” Joran couldn’t decide if Ramirus was nervous or naturally formal. Either way, as long as he could tell Joran about the area, his personality was irrelevant. “Is there somewhere we can talk? I want to get the details sorted out as soon as possible so we’ll be ready to set out at first light.”
“Absolutely. My office, crude though it might be, does have chairs enough for all of us. That is, for you and your sister. Your other companions…” Ramirus trailed off as though not entirely certain of Stoneheart and Grub’s status.
“My other companions need to know everything I need to know and I’d prefer not to have to repeat it to them. Centurion Stoneheart is an expert in mountain survival and Grub is my personal advisor. I trust you’ll treat them with the respect their positions deserve.”
Ramirus licked his lips and gave an eager nod. “Of course, my lord. I meant no disrespect to you or your esteemed associates. It’s just that we’ve never had dwarven visitors. I’ve never even met a dwarf before today. It’s come as a surprise. You understand?”
The last sentence came out almost pleading.
Joran understood alright. Ramirus no doubt came from a noble family and immediately dismissed Stoneheart and Grub. They were provincials as well as nonhumans, a combination that, for most of the nobility, reduced their status to somewhere above slaves and below human provincials. The stupidity of that attitude had always bothered Joran, but this was hardly the time to correct a wayward noble.
“I understand that you’ll need to find two more chairs, rapidly.”
Ramirus looked past Joran at the soldier that stood a pace behind them waiting to be dismissed. “You heard his lordship, two more chairs, right now.”
The legionnaire scurried away. Having visited a couple of these forts, Joran wondered if there were two more chairs to be found. Usually the soldiers sat on benches in the mess hall. He hadn’t visited the barracks, but doubted that they had much in the way of furniture.
“Shall we head to your office while we wait?” Joran asked.
“Of course, my lord, this way.” Ramirus led them toward the rear of the keep.
Only a few strides brought them to a closed door beyond which waited an office. The only reason Joran knew it was an office was the standard desk with a chair behind it with two others facing the first. There were no books or even shelves. Not that there was room for them.
The commander seemed reluctant to sit while Joran stood so he settled in the right-hand chair while Mia moved to stand behind him.
He grinned and glanced at Grub. “Take a seat.”
When the dwarf had gotten comfortable, Ramirus gingerly sat in his own chair.
“You may begin your report,” Joran said.
“Yes, my lord. The thing is, other than the fact of your arrival, the message gave me no details about your mission.”
“We’re headed into the mountains to explore the site of a volcanic eruption perhaps seven hundred years ago. We fear enemies of the empire might find powerful magic there to use against us. My task is to confirm what’s there and whether a legion will be needed to guard it. It lies approximately one hundred miles into the Land of the Blood Drinkers. I need to know anything you can tell us about the locals and any dangers we’re likely to encounter in the mountains.”
As he listened, Ramirus’s expression grew bleaker by the word. Whatever he’d expected to hear, this wasn’t it.
“Problem, Commander?” Mia asked.
“No… Well, sort of. The thing is, I know nothing about the people across the border. I’ve never seen them and they’ve never approached, much less attacked the fort. As to the mountains, we don’t patrol that deep into them. I’ve seen goats, and great, soaring eagles of some sort, but that’s it. What you’ll find further in, I can’t say.”
So much for local intelligence. Joran scrubbed a hand across his face.
Looked like they’d have to figure it out as they went.
Chapter 14
Khashair smiled as his troops lined up in front of the ruined tower, ready and eager for battle. Each of the cultists now stood a good six inches taller. Muscles bulged under their armor and their eyes…
His smile widened. Their eyes now stared straight ahead, as cold and devoid of emotion as a veteran assassin’s. Those eyes belonged to creatures who would cut down a fleeing mother before running her baby through. They were ready.
Behind them waited half of his black iron golems. Invulnerable, unstoppable, and unfeeling, they would crush anything that stood between Khashair and victory. The rest would remain behind with his automaton and protect the tower, or more specifically the storeroom beneath it. Not that he imagined anyone breaking through the scrying wards to even find the place.
If you’re going to attack, let’s go already. My revenge has waited long enough.
“I’m savoring the moment.” Golems and men both shifted to look at him when he spoke, clearly expecting an order. “Fine, enough savoring. I already marked a spot not terribly far from the palace for us to appear.”
Khashair drew power from the bile pipes running under the tower and opened a portal to Tiber. “Forward. Kill anyone you encounter.”
They marched through without hesitation this time. Whatever they’d been before had been washed away and replaced with power and certainty. Far better attributes for warriors.
Bringing up the rear, Gomo paused beside him. “There are a lot of soldiers in Tiber. You sure this is a good idea?”
“Mortal men and second-rate alchemists. Nothing that can stand against them and our magic. Surely you don’t fear them.”
“Hardly. Then again, I can teleport away if things go badly.” The demon shrugged, setting his quills to quivering.
“Your boundless loyalty fills me with joy. Come on.”
Gomo strode through and Khashair followed.
On the other side they ended up exactly where he wanted them, in the clearing where the flying ships landed. Only one hovered nearby, though it had a huge golden eagle on the side of the balloon that held it aloft. Must be the emperor’s personal transport.
Khashair grinned and pointed at the balloon. A streak of black flames shot from his finger and lanced through the balloon.
A moment later an explosion forced him back a step.
That had been a more energetic response than he expected. He glanced around in time to watch some of his soldiers picking themselves off the ground seeming no worse for wear. As he expected, the potion had increased their durability as well as their strength.
Shouts from the palace drew his gaze away from the flaming wreck that used to be a flying ship.
Hundreds of soldiers were rushing their way from the palace.
Time to see what his new warriors could do.
“Form up! Kill all of them.”
The cultists hurried to make a double line fifty people long. They drew their black iron swords and set themselves.
To someone with no idea what they could do, they certainly looked woefully inadequate given the numbers coming against them.
A hundred yards from the field, the soldiers approaching slowed and formed their own ranks. The legionnaires locked their shields in front and the row behind raised their spears to stab over them.
“Golems, charge! Break their formation!” Khashair pointed at the neat square and his black iron golems marched forward, gathering speed as they went.
The imperial soldiers braced themselves for impact as if it would make any difference. No one tried to break and run at least. That showed courage if not brains.
“Want me to lob a few fireballs in?” Gomo asked.
“Not yet. This is their first challenge. I want to see how the enhanced cultists handle it. You’ll have a chance to burn plenty of humans later.”
Gomo shrugged as if utterly indifferent. Which, to be fair, he probably was. Demons lived on a scale humans, even wizards like Khashair, could hardly fathom. The lives of the humans before Gomo amounted to no more than a blink to him.
The first golem struck the shield wall, helping Khashair refocus.
