39. SNEAK ATTACK
Battle broke out on the plains in front of the outpost as arrows fell on our small knot of men. At first, I was too exhausted to react.
Jame transformed himself into a whirling master of wind and air. Before I could react, he swept his arms across the plains in front of us and the majority of the blunt-nosed arrows dropped from the sky as if some large hand and simply gathered them all up and swiped them away. A couple of the blunt-nosed arrows made it through and detonated just in front of us, small explosions lighting the plains to our right and left.
The volley was followed by dozens of men in heavy armor bearing crossbows, rifles, launchers, and other motorized weapons moving quickly toward us, as another squad of men behind them bore longer range weapons, firing off additional volleys of arrows and spears and other projectiles.
At first glance, I saw no sign of Uof or his man The Grinder.
Jame ran toward them leading a charge of sorts as other mages and soldiers followed behind him.
Ehren ran with his sword held in his right hand, growling with a fury as he sprinted beside Jame, as determined as he was the day he woke up after I'd rescued him.
I recalled the young, innocent boy Ehren had been when he first joined us what seemed like a year ago—though it hadn't been anywhere near that long. As ever, he was a fierce presence now—all seriousness, not more youthful smiles.
Ehren immediately battled the soldiers who approached first—sending spells into groups of men tripping a half dozen of them as if they'd fallen over a trip wire, and then attacking them once they'd fallen. There was no mercy in his fighting style, but could you blame him?
Greer was close behind, running with a large battle axe Willow had charmed to alight with fire when used in battle—except because it was Greer's fire spell, the axe kicked up more than just a flame. The axe was a veritable bonfire on the front lines.
Jame's half-finished staff became his focus as he spun, avoiding fire from the closest Vale soldiers, slamming the staff into the first man he met, knocking him down quickly. He sent several spells toward the Vale soldiers in that first charge, quick volleys of wind as powerful as the arrows heading toward us.
He jumped and spun, and drove his staff into one man’s stomach, then spun to hammer the butt of his staff into the face of another. Other mages from The Factory joined Jame, Greer, and Ehren in the attack, holding off the charge.
I watched closely as Jame quickly drained matter from something I couldn’t see, then planted his legs in a strong stance, and PUSH toward the next man with his right arm without ever touching him. The man immediately flipped backward through the air twelve feet as if struck by an invisible giant’s fist. A dozen other men nearby flipped back or fell back as a result of the same spell.
What power Jame had!
He’s going to have to teach us that one, I thought, my eyes widening.
The remaining Spellcasters joined Jame and The Factory Mages on the plains and began weaving spells to counter the volleys falling toward us.
The Factory Mages stayed behind during our bloody defeat on the streets of Vale the day before, but now they sprang into action. It turned out they were fantastically gifted in various ways, and though they’d been chained up for years, some for decades, somehow in their imprisonment they’d learned some stunning battle spells—or remembered spells they'd known before.
Dirk’s men rallied and took up arms, charging toward the battle as well, while Dirk and Bend still held each other out on the plains in front of the house.
Bend continued to cry. Our men had seen what had just happened. They knew Bend had betrayed our position to the enemy, they knew he'd likely been tortured, and they were angry.
The Mages of the Way fought as they never had before, whirling staffs and deploying spells to distract, blind, injure, explode, or kill, while The Motorized fought to aim their angry steam-powered weapons on our mages and warriors alike. The battlefield came alive awash in explosions, torrents of wind, the clash of swords and crossbows, with steam-powered rifles causing puffs of dirtied steam to blossom up into the sky.
Though I still felt light-headed, exhausted, and beat to a pulp, I looked around for matter.
I tried to draw on the eagle head on my staff, it was empty. I knelt down and grabbed a couple of rocks from the ground, and drained their matter immediately, my mind foggy. I sent the matter into the head of my staff and then drained a dozen more rocks, though it was common matter, slowly they added to my store.
I drained one more rock. I sought out the hum in the air around this piece of granite, finding that synergy that existed inside and around all matter, and felt my body attune to the hum. As I did, I felt the source of all magic itself, The Well.
As I'd always done, I focused my breathing and carefully drained the rock, moving my hands through the air as the rock’s form changed. The rock itself snapped out of existence.
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I sent its matter to join the rest of the matter in my staff, and then I drew all of it out so that it was spinning and swirling before me. I only had a few seconds now before it dissipated. I focused entirely, despite the explosions and clashes happening all around me now. I moved forward and spread the matter over the field of battle and gave it form and shaped it and added to its properties as I neared the battle itself.
Then I flicked both wrists to complete the spell.
A golden-tinted shield wall as tall as two men buzzed into existence between our battling armies. This was a one-sided shield that would protect us from their attacks, while still allowing us to attack from our side of the wall.
“Get behind the wall! Their attacks can’t reach us—but our attacks can still reach them!” I shouted with all the voice I had within me. Our men and mages moved back behind the shield wall, and those fighting in the ranks of The Motorized retreated a few steps.
A large volley of explosive arrows fell toward us, hit the shield wall and dropped to the ground. The Motorized quickly formed up into ranks and marched toward the shield wall. They fired their rifles at the golden-tinted barrier, and yet, every shot exploded on their side of the shield. The Motorized had to reload their weapons after a few shots deflected against the shield.
That’s when our men struck.
Perhaps The Motorized had underestimated the fury in the mages they’d imprisoned for years. Maybe they’d assumed that we were on our last legs after the battle yesterday.
Maybe we just fought back like an animal on its last legs.
Seeing the volleys of The Motorized turned back, our Spellcasters began to throw explosion spells of varying size and type into the ranks of soldiers from Vale, knocking men down all over the field. The Factory Mages struck out at The Motorized with unique spells I’d never seen before. One of The Factory Mages simply lift a motorized thug straight up into the air, higher and higher, until he grew small, and then he dropped from a great height and fell.
Several of Dirk’s fighters deployed a simple bow and arrow to deadly effect, firing volley after volley straight into the oncoming attackers. Rank after rank of Vale’s soldiers fell to the ground, so much so, that when our men finally started to move beyond the shield minutes later, nearly the entire force of The Motorized lay on the ground, dead or unconscious and the battle had turned entirely.
We took no prisoners that day.
This surprise attack could have been the end. Our resistance might have been over in that single attack, and the world would have been lost. I thought about how much I’d wanted to just run away from Vale entirely a few minutes earlier.
Instead, the surprise attack of The Motorized galvanized us and brought out an anger we all shared from years of persecution and beatings and imprisonment, and the losses of numerous family and friends. A gripping fury lit inside me, a fire I'd known was there all along, though for years I'd ignored it and given a louder voice to the fears in my mind.
That evening, I instructed the men to cart the bodies of The Motorized to the city during the dead of night. When the sun lit the horizon the next morning, we lit a bonfire of the Motorized that burned all day in front of the city gates.
We'd stripped The Motorized of all their weapons and gear, and any matter that we could use for future spells. Our men destroyed every steam-powered weapon or tool we found on the thugs and transformed them into more usable matter. Our archers took all the leftover blunt-nosed, exploding arrows so we could use them in whatever fight was to come.
I hobbled into the house the next day, and Dirk followed me. I leaned heavy on my walking stick as I walked, and my head aching with pain that was more than just age or pure exhaustion. My body was not healing well.
We still had to deal with Bend.
I’d been putting it off, because I dreaded the conversation and I’m sure Dirk felt the same way. But it was time. Now that they knew the location of our outpost, Uof would mount another attack, perhaps soon. We needed to know what Bend knew, if anything, about their plans.
Also, what had happened to him?
Bend sat on the bed in the room I’d been sleeping in the day before—Jame still sat in the corner, keeping his eye on the troubled young mage.
Jame nodded to us as Dirk and I entered the room.
“Bend,” I said, standing before him, putting all my weight on my staff. James stood and gestured to his chair, encouraging me to sit.
“Mage, what is your name anyway?” Bend replied abruptly. "Silly to keep calling you Mage, isn't it?"
“I have gone by Mage for many years, as there have been so few mages about,” I replied. “It will suffice.”
“Where did you come from anyway?” Bend asked me this time, sounding almost angry. “You are like something out of the legends.”
“Flattery won’t help you, Bend,” I said, taking a seat in the chair Jame vacated for me. “Why did you lead them here to us and betray your friends, your own father?”
He looked down; his forehead crinkled.
“I had no choice,” he mumbled.
“How long have you been working with them?” I asked quietly.
He breathed deeply. “Since the prison,” he said, his eyes red and welling up with tears. “The weeks they had me there felt like months. They drilled me over and over and beat their ideas into me down in that cavern.” He was openly crying now as he spoke, “After being treated lower than an animal and beaten every day, every night, I guess . . . I don’t know . . . I broke down. They were preparing me for The Factory, I think. I didn’t know who to trust, I don’t know who to trust even now.”
Dirk leaned toward Bend.
“What did they do to you Bend, that you can’t trust your own blood?” he said.
Bend shook his head again, putting his hands to his temples as if trying to clear his mind. He mouthed words to himself, wordlessly. He seemed confused as looks played across his face for a moment, before skirting away again.
“I tell you, it’s confusing to me right now. I know in some part of my mind, that they messed me up, but there are other parts of me that can’t trust you. Can’t trust anyone aligned with The Way—the damned Way of the Mark,” he spat, almost involuntarily.
He shook his head again. I looked at Dirk, tears in his eyes.
“We need to know what they’re planning Bend,” I said. “Is there another attack coming?”
“Yes, probably,” he mumbled.
“What can you tell us?”
“Nothing,” Bend replied. “But Uof is angry. He wants to stamp out The Way the same way he would stamp out a rival seeking to control Vale. He doesn’t see you as someone fighting to keep our world alive, he sees you as an evil threatening to hurt the city, take his power. He will come, he will come, and soon.”
“Tell me about Ruath, The Grinder,” I said.
