Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 35
Tytus Gornick. In league with the church, serving the queen.
With a snap, Grant closed his spyglass, glancing down the road. How far could Rienne have traveled in the time it took him to identify the scientist? Assistance might be closer than he thought.
Or maybe not.
Jafran would frown in disapproval; Ez would try to kill him. That's if the church didn't beat them to it.
At least he hadn't made any promises to Rienne.
They would understand the risk he needed to take. Tytus Gornick was about to board a carriage and disappear from the inn. The crates of weapons, the Order of the Star, the campaign against the StarTouched—it all fell into place.
He had one round in his pistol after his reload, but his aim wasn't as true as Ez's. He'd need to be at point-blank range to ensure a hit. His sword and dagger were reliable, and the compound had a surplus of shields and weapons to equip him should one break.
The Order of the Star was his primary concern. He knew their lack of battlefield experience was their Achilles' heel, and he could handle a few. Dozens of the queen's guards, however, were a different matter.
If the Order managed to suppress his abilities in the midst of combat, it would be his last charge.
Grant didn't hesitate. Gornick's hands were animated as he engaged in a heated discussion with the church officials, and the priest retaliated with a slap to the scientist's face. The ensuing argument provided the perfect distraction for Grant.
He pulled his hat lower and lifted the collar of his cloak. He remained in the shadows as long as possible, his gaze locked on the altercation between the church official and Tytus Gornick.
“Apologies, sir, this area is off-limits.” A crossbow-wielding soldier raised a hand to halt Grant's progress while his companions kept a vigilant eye on the ongoing dispute. Despite the threat of the civil war, the queen’s court maintained their decorum, so they didn't brandish their weapons at a potential courtier or aristocrat.
Professional yet courteous.
Keeping his head low, Grant responded, “I have an urgent message for the general. It can't wait.”
“You don’t look like a messenger,” the soldier said. The man moved to block Grant's path, but the mercenary captain didn't break his stride. The other soldiers had their hands on their weapons but didn't unsheath them.
“It's from the rear of the column. They're under attack and need reinforcements. A unit of two dozen guards. Orders from the colonel.”
The confusion on the soldiers' faces was enough to allow Grant to close the distance. He subtly manipulated gravity, forcing the man's feet to root to the ground just as he reached for Grant. Instead of restraining the advancing mercenary, he tumbled forward with his feet rooted in position. The others rushed to his aid, and Grant slipped through their ranks.
“Stop him,” one of the soldiers shouted to their comrades near the inn.
Grant shrugged off his cloak and raised his hands, his face still shadowed by his hat's brim. His weapons were visible, but he didn't reach for his pistol or blade. The onlookers hesitated, watching his progress.
“It’s him!” Tytus Gornick yelled when Grant was within twenty paces.
Grant raised his head and smirked. “Your work has paid off, Tytus.”
“Kill him!”
Unleashing a gravity wave in a burst of arcane power, Grant sent those without Gornick’s protective shields crashing to the ground. He continued his approach toward the scientist.
“Stop this hellspawn,” the priest ordered, and the two church knights moved without hesitation. They lacked shields, but Grant saw Gornick’s swords in the wagons.
The soldiers advanced on him as a team, forcing him to split his attention between them as they expertly wielded their blades. Grant slowed his pace, waiting for them to reach him. He observed their movements, gauged their steps, and evaluated their skill.
One of them seemed familiar. Grant sighed as recognition flashed—one of Torben Anderson’s mercenaries. A master swordsman, he had trained many of Torben’s finest soldiers. The man exuded confidence as he approached, and Grant braced himself for the confrontation.
They attacked from either side, expecting him to target one or the other. Grant lightened his blade and deftly parried the incoming strikes. These members of the order were more formidable than any he had encountered.
He scolded himself for not considering that the queen would have Ismore's elite soldiers, including those from the church, at her side. At least they weren't suppressing his abilities.
Tytus Gornick scrambled into the carriage as the priest threw open the door. They yelled for the driver, and Grant realized the order’s strategy was to stall him. If they managed to escape with the scientist, the church officials, and the queen, he would lose everything.
It was time to turn the tables. Grant focused on Torben’s mercenary, unleashing a flurry of strikes. He manipulated gravity around the other man, causing him to stumble. Simultaneously, he summoned a surge of magic and directed it downwards onto the waiting carriage.
The grand carriage groaned and swayed under Grant's mystical onslaught.
Grant's powerful onslaught of strikes from his dagger and sword disoriented the mercenary from Torben's ranks. A resounding crack like a gunshot made the guards flinch and stare at the escalating conflict.
The carriage's axle gave way, and its wheels skewed sideways, sinking into the soil. Tytus Gornick tumbled out of the carriage and into Grant's gravitational snare. The scientist was brought to his knees, the gravity too intense to allow another step.
Grant sensed another attack aimed at his back as he broke off his duel with the blade master. Nearby soldiers answered the call to help, and the rattle of armor was everywhere in the courtyard. He barely caught the edge of the new attacker’s blade before it cut him down.
Turning his back to a skilled warrior like Torben’s blade master was never a good idea. Grant lightened his weight and dodged away from the flurry of attacks. He wouldn’t be fast enough against this skilled opponent.
It never came.
Bewilderment etched across the blademaster’s face as he glanced down at the gunshot wound in his chest. His grip slackened, and his blade dropped onto the soft ground. Torben’s seasoned warrior fell backward, destined never to rise again.
Ez had made it, accompanied by the other mercenaries.
He would express his gratitude to Rienne later.
64
POWERS
The queen’s guards burst into action, the resounding gunshot still echoing around the inn’s compound. The carriage's horses bucked and strained to haul the crippled vehicle, succeeding only in gouging a trench in the earth. The handlers tried to calm the terrified animals, but the swarm of mobilizing soldiers only added to their frantic energy.
Tytus Gornick tried to drag himself away from the crushing influence of Grant's gravitational field. The priest charged toward him, extending a hand to draw him clear of the unseen energy. The priest abandoned his decorum as he shouted and cursed at the scientist to move. Fearful eyes as wide as those of the skittish horses darted back to Grant.
Power coursed through Grant’s veins as he smashed the carriage and crushed guards. Part of his mind was aware of Jafran and Jakar battling alongside him as the soldiers surged forward. The queen’s troops attacked in clusters rather than en masse, some resorting to single combat to slow the Arcane Mercenaries.
These weren’t church soldiers skilled in training ground maneuvers. The queen’s guard honed their skills in the Mage Wars and the ongoing civil war. They fought competently and fearlessly, but a rush of five or six soldiers against three StarTouched heroes wielding arcane powers barely slowed the mercenaries.
The battle’s noise around the queen’s residence attracted more attention, and the off-duty guards rallied to the battle cries. They quickly donned their armor and seized the nearest weapons to charge toward the melee. New swords entered the fray as the call to arms picked up around the camp.
Grant kept a vigilant eye on Tytus Gornick and the priest. The duo labored under the crushing gravitational force as Grant maintained a steady stream of energy, pinning them to the ground. Panic seized them as they attempted to scramble away and screamed for someone to help, but the queen's guards were too preoccupied to pay them any mind.
Musket fire blasted at the queen’s bodyguards as fast as Ez could aim, squeeze, and reload. Soldiers shied away from her deadly aim, reluctant to move toward the sword-wielding mercenaries. Rienne grabbed each spent musket, spun the ramrod, and charged each weapon with a fresh round.
Fourteen bodies bled into the damp earth, and Grant's strike force lost two of Jakar’s cavalry soldiers. The mercenaries fought with renewed vigor to safeguard their non-Touched comrades. Despite the slaughter unfurling before Grant, he was no closer to his objective, and more bodies massed to thwart the assault force.
Grant couldn’t risk glances toward the inn while soldiers pressed their position, and Tytus Gornick was still desperately attempting to escape. The human barrier of soldiers before Grant thickened as they steeled their resolve to protect the queen and her closest counselors.
“We have to get Gornick,” Jakar roared. His saber carved through the air, parrying a blow before whirling back with breathtaking speed. The soldier opted to cower behind his shield rather than lose his head.
“Get the queen,” Jafran shouted back.
Stumbling across Gornick was beyond Grant’s wildest dreams, but their fight could extend for years if the queen managed to escape. Dominick might secure a victory with his troops, but the queen would muster new forces. The civil war would end with Dominick seated on the throne.
A blade grazed Grant's shoulder, slicing through his mail and staining his dark shirt with blood. He swiftly healed the wound and hurled the aggressor to the ground.
Jafran channeled immense power, drawing from the bonfires that illuminated the courtyard. A fireball materialized in his offhand, which he hurled toward a squadron of advancing soldiers. The arcane projectile detonated like a cannonball, immersing the group in an inferno. The bonfires flickered and swayed under Jafran's influence, casting a demonic glow over the area.
Grant was aware that Jafran despised using his abilities in such a way. He had weathered boiling oil in sieges and snuffed the sparks used to ignite cannons. The foreigner wielded his saber with lethal precision, reserving most of his energy for healing while battling at Grant's side.
Setting soldiers ablaze would scar Jafran's soul.
Just as their powers scarred everyone else.
The bonfires flickered once more, transitioning from a sinister red to a lively yellow. The spent fuel shimmered like embers, but the flames subsided to a level typical for dusk. Grant glanced at his friend, who appeared as perplexed as the rest.
Half a dozen knights clad in full armor were marching from the stables, their white tabards emblazoned with red stars and shields carrying the same insignia. The priest looked up at his approaching saviors, praising the heavens above.
The knights marched towards the cluster of mercenaries, and the queen's sentinels retreated from the slow, determined advance. They trudged through the smoke and haze, their shields raised and swords at the ready.
Ez aimed and fired, but sparks erupted as her bullet ricocheted off the lead knight's armored head. The man staggered two steps, then rejoined the advance.
She fired again, this time striking a different knight's shield. The bullet defaced the red star painted on the white background, leaving behind a dent. This knight also maintained the steady advance undeterred by the StarTouched.
A knight in the center of the line shouted commands. The soldiers stopped thirty feet from the mercenaries, presented their shields, and reached into their belts. Shiny objects emerged from pouches, and the group waited for the next command.
Fear pulsed through Grant’s chest as he couldn’t sense the objects. Gornick gave the knights new powers, and they hurtled the steel balls of varying sizes toward the defending Arcane Mercenaries.
Grant struggled to track the targets as his power sputtered and faded, and the familiar weight of his armor and weapons tugged on his body. Gornick didn’t just power the shields. The hundreds of balls in the courtyard suppressed their StarTouched abilities.
Rage replaced his fear as Grant shouted into the darkness looming around them. He would not let Gornick or the queen escape. Not tonight. Not ever again.
Grant charged the line of knights as they fumbled with their grips on their swords. Jakar, Jafran, and the cavalry survivors followed his lead and shouted their battle cries. Steel crashed into steel as the charging mercenaries slammed themselves into the armored fray while the knights fought off the unexpected assault.
He was a killer with or without his StarTouched abilities.
Grant slammed his pommel into the faceplate of the closest knight, rocking the soldier backward and bringing out a curse. He noticed the tiny slits for eyes and the small holes for breathing. Someone designed a helmet to thwart Ez’s unerring accuracy. It was a clever adaptation to defeat a musket but a fatal flaw at knife range.
Grant’s sword slammed into the shield again, forcing the man to duck behind its protection. The man could not see anything as they relied on thick steel to save their lives from the ferocity.
Musket blasts kept the knights from peaking over their protective shields, and Ez punished anyone who dared her with a shot into the helmet.
Grant grinned as Jafran’s curved saber slipped past the flagging defenses against foes who couldn’t see the attacks coming. The first knight fell in a heap in a fountain of blood and gore as the edge of Jafran’s blade carved the man’s vulnerable throat.
The priest regained his footing, screaming to stop the mercenaries. The knights didn’t dare turn away from the barrage of blows. Gornick hoisted himself up and edged away from the combat toward the stable.
Boom.
A wet slap followed as Gornick barked in pain. The scientist fell to the ground, clutching his shredded calf.
A second shot ended the priest’s wild gesturing and annoying voice. With or without magic, Ez was the finest sharpshooter in Ismore. The priest would never deliver another hateful sermon.
Another knight spun and fell as Grant cleaved at knees and legs. The clatter of armor hitting the dirt revitalized the remaining soldiers, and it took Grant only a moment to dispatch his previous opponent.
The order tightened their ranks and linked their shields against the formidable mercenaries, retreating towards the security of the queen's guard. Another mercenary was cut down, and Grant's chest labored with the effort of sustaining the fight.
The knights, encased in steel heavy enough to deflect Ez's gunfire, must have been exhausted, and their weapons must have further drained their strength. If the queen's guard assumed the majority of the combat, allowing the knights a brief respite, Grant and his comrades were in trouble. No one was coming to help them.
Where was the queen?
Grant seized the lull to catch his breath and survey the battlefield. The queen's guard rallied as Ez's ammunition dwindled. The knights discarded their helmets to breathe.
The shutters to the upper floor of the inn were suddenly flung open, and crossbows protruded, aiming at the mercenaries in the courtyard. They were easy targets in the courtyard and close enough that the archers couldn't miss.
The inn’s front door burst open, and a woman with streaks of grey in her dark brown hair stepped out. Her chainmail armor shone, recently oiled and polished. Her sword seemed more ceremonial than practical. Nobody fought with gemstones embedded in the pommel or silver in the crossguard. Nobody, except a queen.
“I applaud your bravery, General Gwydian,” Queen Fraunces said. “Such a magnificent display of martial prowess deserves the highest praise. I would reward you and your companions with my favor. I would be pleased to discuss the terms of your surrender.”
65
DENIAL
“Prince Dominick authorized me to accept your surrender, your highness,” Grant said between gulps of air. He recovered quickly, silently thanking Ez for forcing him to continue his lessons without relying on his StarTouched abilities. “The only terms of surrender we can discuss are yours.”
The queen threw back her head and laughed. Her guards fingered their weapons with uncertainty. Ez was a dangerous threat with or without her abilities, and they had to assume she had reloaded one or more of her weapons.
“Your death works just as well for my plans,” Queen Fraunces said. “General Gwydian defeated on the field of battle and his Arcane Mercenaries slaughtered by his side. Think of the blow that would be to your young prince and his fledgling rebellion.”
Grant hid the emotions churning inside. Someone in Dominick’s camp might have leaked the information. The mercenaries concealed their intentions in the hopes of capturing the queen.
If she knew about their plans, it would explain the exotic weaponry fueled by Gornick’s knowledge. Grant spotted the trail of blood as Gornick slithered behind water barrels near the stables' entrance. He wasn't about to challenge Ez's marksmanship a second time.
The queen had expended considerable resources to combat Grant and his comrades, and she still commanded a force formidable enough to fend off anything short of Dominick's full army. It was a more robust strategy than Grant had anticipated.
Could he fight his way out of it?
“Your majesty, I’m Rienne, bard of Nanteene, and chronicler of history.”
“We’ve heard your reputation,” the queen said with guarded curiosity.
"The Battle of the Rusty Tankard Inn lacks a certain poetic resonance," Rienne remarked, her voice warming up as she sheathed her rapier.
What was she doing? Grant looked at his companions. They all appreciated the moment to catch their breath, but none were excited about Rienne’s off-the-cuff performance.
