Aliin Megia whispered the words of a protection ward and became silent as she went up the ramp. Her student's brother was still alive. She put it out of her mind, as her spells would need the uttermost focus. Megia gazed into the darkness. She'd long ago given up on seeking correct information. Her own brother had not been found, and the palace had been occupied for hours. Her superior briefed the guildsmen as the remainder of them went up the ramp. One of them looked over his shoulder at the Watchers, then ran to catch up to his companions.
There was no sense in going back. Megia wondered what Karan had picked up off the table. It did not matter, but the glint coming off of it was an ominous clue; what it was, Megia did not think about too much; the seeress put it out of her mind. The other Watchers walked up ahead of her to ready themselves. Everywhere the woman looked there were men in black armor, with an oily aspect to it that gleamed in the light with many colors; it was familiar – after the Watchers, next came the Elites in ranking. They were the ornately decorated, highly trained veterans who made up the remnant of the king's guard. In fact, they were called the Remnant of the King's Guard, or simply the Remnant. Eons of time seemed to pass in fractions of seconds before her very eyes.
Megia was feeling sick from the sensations caused by her abilities, but as troubled as she was by it, the watcher knew she had to power through it. The leader of the Watchers was looking her way. Megia gave him the usual greeting gesture. No others could understand it, save for their own forces – seven in number plus a single grandmaster, and his assisting scribe; he'd sent the scribe up to the northlands with a mission to complete. The downpour came then, as though it was the proper time. It was a fierce torrent of rain which reminded her of the northlands – aptly titled Muirasann, the storm country, where she was born long before. She raised her gaze to the heavens, her eyes shutting as the cool water drenched her face. The rain, however, was black, not toxic to people, but oily, and pungent, and terribly dangerous only when it ignited.
Megia wiped her face on her sleeve. It was already stained with blood from a wound she had received several weeks before. The waiting was already causing all to fear. But the sight of the one coming up another ramp now was even worse. It was the giant, a man known to all who studied the ancient lore verses. 'One clad in Stone', the verse said. It was really petrified wood attached to a normal chest harness – a larger one, to be sure, but still the usual design of the native warriors.
The giant was wearing a helm like the head of a bull – his true face was not visible, but his eyes glowered through the helm's openings as he approached the center of the keep grounds, his head at the floor level of the second story of the buildings around them. The warren of many storage shacks and dormitories was planned specifically to disorient enemies with their winding passages and similar layouts. Doors and grates and iron portcullises locked off at the jerk of levers, and it was an effective way of dealing with outsiders who tried to raid the hill country – most of the city had this very same design, but scaled up massively.
Megia had never thought she'd face a herald of the ancient enemy – let alone the one said to be of the natives, who resisted spells naturally. Whether it was by their very blood, or their flesh being toughened, or an ancient curse folk stories might speak of, she had no idea. Megia was a prodigious spell-caster – and she felt tremors underfoot; the giant must have lost control of a spell. His flesh bore the signs of excessive aging an extensive use of them would cause, in the untrained.
Natives cannot use spells, normally, unless they are exposed to the effects of them for a long period of time – how? How did he―?
“No,” Megia whispered to herself, almost inaudibly. “Not important.”
'But he must have had aid.'
The watcher's innermost thoughts were varied, but the one stood out in her mind confusingly. She knew it was impossible. She readied her willow staff – no, her spear, disguised as a staff but in reality a terrible weapon made at the Smelting Caldera, far abroad in a desolate land across the seas. It was a brilliant gift, to give one of the Watchers, a foreign member of her Order. Later, it was an expensive purchase, when Megia bought it from an excessively upmarket weapon shop in her ancestral land; that she did forty years earlier and shortly after her acceptance in the secretive Order. She knew the enchantments on it, and the way to use them properly.
Still, the fears and nagging thoughts remained: the herald 'naturally' resisted spells, and he was wearing native-made petrified wood plates; northern spellcasters often said it was done to prevent even the strongest blasts from penetrating their flesh. Megia ignored the commoner tall-tales and readied herself. She cast no spells yet. She could not even see the giant fully yet, herself, but she heard his steps and the scraping of something on the stone brick ground. He'd turned down one of the many alleys.
The rumbling aftershocks ceased for a time. All went quiet, save for the heavy rain drenching the hilltop structures. The giant strode into the courtyard outside the keep's main barrack buildings. Young champions were in wait to charge in, with a petrifying fear displayed clearly upon all their faces. Runners were now coming up the hill; sneaking silently in opposition, they were stalking the defenders scouted before their ascent. The runners had defeated most of the weaker guards with sheer numbers, overcoming them and following their master through the wooden barriers and gates in the tunnels and lanes he'd smashed through. The trap was sprung.
A horn call shocked the enemies not enthralled by the opposing Master, who remained unseen. He was not ready yet. Megia ceased casting the concealment spell she was under and let herself down from the perch. The Remnant Guard was attending to hidden levers, and fled quickly after. Their scouts locked their assigned gates and departed, and went to other sectors to ready the rear guard for deployment. The main bulk of their force was antsy and trembling with fear and excitement, including the great champion, 'Saga', not of them but joining them as a part of the guild forces who remained steady following the giant's failed spellwork. He was ready for the fighting.
It began swiftly. Many soldiers were well prepared. The giant was not dismayed by them. Still, he was in the trap. The Watchers finally cast their spells about him, and a dazzling ward of light encircled the yard, blocking all sight not included in its protection. A haze formed; the rain did not cease, but became a distorting, disorienting mist like the Black Fog invading the city. It even merged with the Fog to become a weapon to its wielders. The Watchers had their attending guards, beating back runners while they continued to cast the ward around the giant.
Many fierce runners came against their guardians, and died. They were killed mercilessly and had always been unloved by all – even by those who believed they might one day be rehabilitated, and freed from whatever foul art held sway over them. The darkness enhanced their might, and it kept the defenders from assailing the main target. The barriers were not rigid, but were roving, encircling fields of energy, disorienting the runners, who kept trying to penetrate them and go to their master's aid. Megia was ready. She and the other Watchers had gotten closer and closer, their nature protecting them from the spells' effects. The yelps of the Runners were magnified even though none had breached the barrier wards – the watchers had precious little time to work. Their wards would not last too long. Megia ran – she had not done so since she was much younger. It frightened her and elated her at the same time. The giant was ahead, silhouetted by the terrible, shimmering light around them.
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A blast spell finally struck the giant's back. He bellowed in rage, the sound deafening to those approaching. He could no longer use spells – that power was taken from him. The giant assailed the Remnant guards who attacked him with spears and swords, swiping with his left arm and hand, which had both horrifically deformed into something like an aged Runner's. His scythe in his right hand destroyed those who had less armor than the highest-ranking guards. Blood did not easily spill from native men, and the giant was larger than any had seen. Shien-khail, he was, the dread giant of the Silurè. There were few to match him, and his unusual height. Megia shot a blast from the end of her silver spear. It barely touched him, even as the barrier and the Fog helped it increase in power.
His leg received the brunt of it. The giant's eyes glowered at her, almost with a blazing red light. It was not real, perhaps a trick of the light from their spellwork, but the spells of the Watchers shifted him into a partial trance. He seemed, if possible, even more dangerous, and the basest parts of his nature, the most primal aspects of his existence, were driving him now in an unpredictable struggle. He was becoming lesser, feral, monstrous. His fearsome helm, and the terrifying visage it gave him, may as well have been his real head. The Master's vessel swung its vast war-scythe at her.
The woman could not parry such a force, but ducked; her head was nearly cleaved off her shoulders. The arcing weapon cut a guard behind her in two and the giant recovered. He thrusted the weapon many times hoping to destroy the pestering remnant. Their armor held up – their leader was disoriented, but brave, slashing his own sword at the giant. Finally, the enemy bled. His harness was torn when he bent double to lunge at the soldier, and on his torso there ran a torrent of blood and black slime from his veins. He bellowed again and bore down on the attacking soldier; he gained an abrupt victory. The Raiiya armor barely held up, but the body in it broke and the ravaging enemy's excessive rage slew it swiftly and brutally. Shien-khail roared again, and charged his other foes.
Blast after blast was shot his way, exploding as each orb of light made contact with him. There were three ranks, very loosely denoting the strengths of a given spell. Megia shot the most powerful yet, and like the others it was sent through the end of the spear now radiating a furious heat, soaring towards her enemy. The subsequent blasts were blinding golden lights, and rose like many flares after Megia raised her spear, before slamming down onto the giant. Finally, Megia's spellwork began to affect him as the spheres rained down against his back. She'd learned a new technique seemingly. Megia smiled, but it was only a temporary triumph – the giant fell to a knee as more of the woman's attacks assailed him. His head turned her way again and with all the strength in his legs, he rose up. The damage was not as debilitating as the woman hoped it would be. Shien-khail struck. His blade slashed her torso, and caught the outer garment, ripping through with ease, cutting deep across the woman's chest. Blood flowed freely. Megia was faltering and panting, but held in the scream threatening to escape in her fear.
The woman cast a recovery spell – she could heal maybe five wounds, depending on the damage to her body. The wound, despite the woman's pain, started to restore itself, and a thin layer of flesh formed over it, under quickly congealing blood. She retreated between two sheds and the others tried to draw the giant's attention. The grandmaster was still preparing a spell himself. He'd been doing so since the barriers formed; his face was strained and both his eyes were radiating a pure white light. Megia's ally was knelt on a balcony above, head down, and he was murmuring. His spell was not ready. Megia watched as the others tried to attack the enemy in succession. More rumbling came up from the earth, as a foul parody of a rapidly beating heart. None had damaged Shien-khail severely yet.
Megia slammed the end of her spear against the flagstones underfoot. Several flashes of lightning struck the end of her spear and Megia thrust the spear in the direction of her enemy. The resulting white beam made her weapon nearly too hot to keep a grip on, but its energy burned through the giant's coat and began searing his flesh. One of Megia's allies struck him from the side with a glaive, jabbing it deeply into his left flank. The giant seized his enemy's weapon shaft and broke it easily, and raked his elongated nails at the face of the soldier. The soldier's helm held up but he was knocked to the ground. Megia was forced to end the spell. Her energy waned and she merely watched as the giant ripped the end of the glaive out and eviscerated his other opponent with it.
Megia tried to cast her beam spell again. Lightning shot down upon her spear again, but it did not work a second time. Shooting pain went up and down Megia's arm and she dropped the spear; she herself collapsed and dragged herself towards the safety of a storage building's covered porch. Her arm was red from burns all over it from the power of the lightning spell. The leader of the Watchers signaled her, but Megia remained unresponsive and cowed by the loss of her spellcasting abilities. The spear on the ground vibrated and slid once in her direction. It stopped moving. The grandmaster rose and raised his hand in the air. His eyes were still radiating light. His head turned, looking upon the fallen oracle, and again, back toward their enemy. The giant was panting and kneeling on the ground with blood pouring from his flank.
The watcher had to make a difficult decision. He dropped his hand and took his timepiece out; the watcher muttered several words in his native, song-like tongue. His surroundings lit up as though day had come. Even the fog dissipated. He let his timepiece fall back into his pocket and as he did so, Megia screamed hoarsely. There was a dark shape standing over her, revealed by the grandmaster's odd spell. There was a spear in a figure's hand, with three prongs on its end, and its center prong was in Megia's side. Her flesh was bruised and already starting to decay. The shape was a man in priest's garb; his billowing cloak was swaying on the wind. The man seemed to fade in and out as his body became a blur, and he vanished.
The light went out and the grandmaster leapt down from the balcony to go to her. All around them were falling combatants, as though the priest was attacking them one by one. The Watcher struggled to heal Megia's wound. The enemy herald was still knelt in the midst of the yard holding off his foes with the war-scythe he bore. Others were attacking, including the man called Saga. He was holding his own in combat, but retreated and let the others stagger their attacks. Megia was silent except for her labored breathing. Her leader had a hand held to her abdomen and was murmuring words to a healing spell. She seized his wrist and shook her head from side to side as he looked on. She pointed with her other hand and spoke only once more.
“It's too late,” she told him. “Kill the giant.”
The Watcher bowed his head before standing up. Megia pointed at the spear lying close by, out of reach. He raised his hand and the spear soared into it. The Watcher left Megia's side and went forth to battle. His eyes stopped their glowing at last. As he'd seen Megia do, the watcher slammed the end of the spear against the ground. Lightning struck the end of the spear, many bolts, nearly ten times. The Watcher raised it and began casting his next spell. With the combined effects of his first, meant to bolster offensive spells of others, the beam was strong enough to pierce through the giant's resisting body. The giant tried to withstand the assault, using one of the fallen soldier's bodies as a shield. It was a gory sight as the body was torn to chunks.
Where it was struck, the corpse decomposed, nearly instantaneously. The giant's body began suffering from this entropy also, even as he attempted to approach the Watcher. His scythe arced through the air, and the back of it rusted and fell apart as the giant tried to attack his adversary. The Watcher jumped backwards to avoid it, and he landed slowly, hovering for the merest of moments as he landed safely on his feet. His beam spell kept striking the giant's body. The giant kept approaching even as his life was being ripped from him. His flesh decayed even as he walked laboriously towards his foe, and at last, the remnants of his corpse dropped to the ground.
The watcher was spent – his spell ended. He looked upon his right arm in fear as, without warning, his own body began to age, far too quickly. The damage spread, and he, too, perished. The spear clattered to the ground and rolled away. All around the yard, the other watchers fell dead. Their bodies wasted away to bones swiftly, and the barrier faded; the storm whirling around them ceased, and the surrounding yard became dark again. Only one of the Watchers remained standing, but he was battling a black-clad priest. Saga could barely see them as they clashed. The final living spellcaster rushed his enemy, and slammed the end of an iron-studded club against the priest's head. The attack broke the side of the enemy's helm.
As though it was a signal for him to retreat, Rivelas backed away, and ran as swiftly as he could, down one of the ramps descending into the city. He mounted a horse and sped off into the Fog. Another rider went after him, a smaller figure, but one in matching wear. Saga rushed over to the fallen watcher who had been left in front of the storehouses. He helped Megia drag herself toward its wall and lean against it. The woman thanked him, but she had been dealt a fatal wound. Her breathing ceased, even as the other watchman came to assist her. Saga's head drooped, and he whispered words of gratitude for her sacrifice.
