The Sorcerers of Infinity/15

sixteenth chapter
As Ordered by the Gods

There was a strange, almost serene moment of hesitation to when Sarati barked the command to an unseen ‘Toren’. The only sound that could be heard was a strange, heavy whistling noise from deep in the verdant shade. The leader turned—and he caught the business end of a flail directly in the face. A sickening crunch sound resonated when it happened and a heavy thud as the felled leader collapsed, unable to even gasp a dying breath.

Toren came out of the shadow, instantly making it known he was a force to be reckoned with. His back and shoulders were thick and broad, and his arms were almost like tree trunks. The grim expression on his face spoke volumes of what he could and would do with his enormous meteor flail.

Out of Garril’s group, it was none who were more surprised than the other. All of them had stunned looks gripping their faces; and Sarati, smiling almost proudly in the midst of that bloodshed. Even the footsoldiers, who were previously so keen on detaining them had suddenly fallen silent.

“Come on,” one of them said. “We can’t leave them there! Get them!” And on that command, the footsoldiers reluctantly started to move back in for the kill. Their numbers were greatly diminished though: there were for of them left, and with their ringleader down, they were not nearly as useful as a bowl of vegetable soup.

Ardray did not hesitate. As easily as she had executed the first kill, she swept a footsoldier off his feet with the blunt end and gutted him with the bladed end as he was in midair.

“Damn it,” one of the footsoldiers swore, locked in arms with Garril. That one footsoldier was far more intelligent and experienced than he could afford to pass off. But apparently, this group of simple young people could take down more than half of his faction. It was well past the time to take charge of the situation.

“What are you smiling at?” Garril said, cutting into his concentration as he prepared once more to swing. The footsoldier’s expression was grim, even as he whispered those words of an ancient tongue.

Tarja suddenly twitched. Though she was sitting sedately in her chair, relaxing at Van Mara Citadel, she was suddenly shocked in the small of her back. Whatever it was made her fall out of her chair and land on the floor.

“Tarja!” Artturi and Elinan both motioned for her at the same time. Each taking one of her shoulders, they propped her up.

“What happened, Tarja?” Matti asked her, materializing in the air between Artturi and Elinan. Tarja’s eyes were wide, and her hands shaking. Her skin had even become a slightly pallid shade.

“Garril!” she gasped. “Ardray, Solnel, Rhylor, Vankesa! They’re in danger!”

“They can handle themselves,” Artturi reminded her. “And they were going to the smith’s. They’re sure to have their weapons by now.” Tarja shook her head at that.

“They do,” she said. “But they’re surrounded. And I don’t know how good Garril is with his sword.”

“What about the rest of them?” Elinan asked. “They can afford to protect him, right?”

“I don’t know,” Artturi countered her. “We should go.” He turned his eyes toward the window. “But...where are they? And how will we get to them?”

“Garril,” Ardray asked shakily. “What is he saying?”

“I...” Garril started, but faltered. True, even he did not know what the man was saying. But surely it was sorcery—or some other kind of kind of enchantment. The words he spoke were nearly silent—so barely audible that, in fact, Solnel, Vankesa and Rhylor could not hear them as they continued braining the remaining footsoldiers. Not even Sarati, nor Toren, noticed as they simply watched on with some amusement at the footsoldier’s last defenses crumble.

“All men down!” Rhylor said victoriously as he pulled his hooked blade from a footsoldier’s gut. He turned suddenly, seeing Garril frozen in one spot and the remaining footsoldier wiggling his fingers vaguely. Quietly, he was speaking something in an alien language.

“Isn’t that in Athastrian?” Solnel was saying to Sarati.

“It is,” she said, swallowing gravely. She whirled around quickly, peering into the verdant gloom of the forest path. “Everyone. We have to start running.” She looked gravely at the footsoldier. “He’s a magician, casting a long but devastating spell. If you don’t want to die, then run!” With fluid grace, she jumped on Toren’s waiting back, and he started to run.

“Come on!” she urged them, losing her collected air. “Run, damn you, RUN!” And without turning again to wait for them, she and Toren vanished into the forest.

“We should go,” Solnel said. He turned to run—and found he could not move from his spot. He tried lifting his feet, but they were locked in a frozen stasis.

“What’s happening?” Vankesa asked, unable to even flail his arms. Looking around, he realized that everybody was also frozen. Not even their faces could move, as soon the same paralysis took over the muscles in their faces, frozen in an expression of sheer horror.

“Cades, pasilla, castido, llarme,” the magician footsoldier murmured, a cold smile dancing on his lips. Slower and slower the wiggling of his fingers went, until he suddenly stopped.

What is he doing?! Garril thought, enraged. He could not move, nor think of counter for such powerful magic. He felt all the blood drain from his face in frigid revelation: he could die there in an unknown forest beside a glimmering stronghold of marble. He could see its marble expanse peeking through the dense wood; laughing at his imminent doom.

“Satoros, tadoso—”

The footsoldier was suddenly cut off, as a glowing golden triangle of light appeared behind him. It rotated slowly, benignly floating in its fixed place. It seemed to be of no threat, nonetheless catching hold the footsoldier’s attention. And then it rotated rapidly once firing a blinding beam of pure energy. The footsoldier was thrown against a tree.

“Lord Vattiksi!” Rhylor cried when the magician’s hold on them had broken. For just a moment, he fumbled with his blade, nearly dropping it on his toe.

Artturi stepped through the golden triangle, his pale blond hair flying in all directions as it was being thrown about by the gale-force winds. Tarja followed afterward, as did Elinan and soon the Goddess Matti.