Dream Drive Ch. 10

"Elder, have you seen my father?!"

"He took a spear in the shoulder," Jalak said. He ran by Vuntha, throwing the rest of the words over his shoulder. "Fenay is treating him behind the lines. Courage!"

Vuntha's spinning innards settled themselves. He heaved a sigh, then turned to fill a space in the line. Movement caught his eyes – in the distance, horsemen were fighting, away from the main battle. Their own cavalry had drawn away that of the iron men, fighting their own private duel out on the flats.

Purple light glowed in the midst of the iron men. First one, and then another, lighting up like violet fires in the early dawn. Energy began to crackle.

"Magic!" Vuntha screamed over the warriors. "That's the lightning! Magic!"

A beam of lightning sparked out from the first point with a crack that echoed across the hill. Just as it was about to strike their lines, a white-lined shield of runes blossomed in front of the men it targeted. The lightning impacted the shield with a solid whumph, like a fist striking canvas. It vanished without harm.

All along the line, shields sprung up in response to the lightning strikes. The destructive attacks were met with shields each time, the apprentices casting just long enough to catch the power, then dissipating the spell to save their magic. Vuntha couldn't read the runes, but he recognized the pattern – it was the same as Chaki's spell, the one that had blocked the lightning-coated charge of horsemen. The warriors and the iron men both stared at the spectacle in silence, watching as their sages struggled with magic as they had struggled with force of arms.

The bolts of lightning ceased. Vuntha saw more than one tense pair of shoulders sag in relief. He understood how they felt quite keenly.

Purple lights. Everyone braced themselves.

The lightning didn't come immediately. Before, the glow had been flickering, unsteady, discharging into a bolt when it reached the highest point of brightness. This time, the lights were uniform, slowly growing in intensity.

It was obvious they were going to combine their efforts. That was what they'd done before, with the charge – but that was just two magicians. This was five. He couldn't imagine what they'd be facing next.

A sixth light glowed behind the lines of the iron men, brighter than all the rest. It was like a white flame, just a haze of purple surrounding its edges. It grew above the magician's outstretched hand. The sleeve of his cloak fell back to reveal a black object sitting on his palm, some sort of fuel for the fire.

Purple lightning cracked again, simultaneously, leaping from each of the first five magicians to the one at the center. They merged into the purple flare, sucked into the magician's hand.

A sound echoed over the field – a voice. Vuntha felt it vibrate in his head. It was a whisper and a scream, wordless, sad, terrible. A slow death on a rainy day. His heart felt heavy in his chest.

A strange observation floated through Vuntha's brain, a little fact that picked at him inside his brain. All the iron men had lowered their heads. Their eyes were shut tight. Some had even turned away.

Why would they do that?

The lightning came.

It soared out from the central flame and exploded in the center of their lines. Vuntha was at least forty men away, but he was still flung down by the force. He buried his head between his arms, ignoring the feeling of mud squelching into his head. The ground shook underneath him.

When the roar ceased, he looked up, still lying prone on the ground. He felt heat on his face. A blackened crater marked where before there had been men almost four or five thick. Bodies were scattered around it, some in pieces, others more whole, but all equally dead.

Ash began to patter down on him. And heavier things. One of them struck his neck and plopped into the mud next to him. It was a finger, the flesh charred from the bone at one end.

Vuntha scrambled up, as much to get away from the piece of flesh as get his feet before he was attacked. His innards felt like slush; he fell back onto one knee. His vision swirled. Men around him were in a similar state, disoriented, looking for instruction.

Why hadn't the apprentices protected them? No. They probably tried. They just didn't have near enough power.

White-violet flame around the box was still pulsing. Again, the other five magicians began to charge their own powers. There was a crack, and lightning leapt, charging the man holding the center of the spell.

This time, Vuntha saw the magic in all its fury. They targeted one end of the line. Weak shields went up from the apprentices. The massive helix of lightning tore through them as if they weren't there. A purple sphere of light and energy detonated at the impact point. Warriors in the center were turned to ash. Those further back were ripped to pieces, still others flung bodily into the air.

Men started running in from around Vuntha, both trying to close the gap and save those that could be saved. Vuntha just stared. This is too much. We can't win without the spirit guides. Magic is too strong.

"Vuntha! Vuntha!" Vuntha looked up. His father was limping toward him, coming down from the top of the hill. He sported a heavy bandage over his shoulder. "What in Shakhan's name is happening?!"

Vuntha opened his mouth to shout back, but the events explained themselves. Lightning flickered to the center point and another bolt fired, opening a third hole in the lines. The sound of it boomed over them first, and then the heat washed over them a few moments later. A hundred men, dead in an instant. A hundred more trying to stop their ears ringing.

"This is impossible!" Hanta said. "No one has this much power!"

"They have it!" Vuntha shouted. "What do we do?!"

Haanak ran up to them from a distance. "Hanta!"

Hanta and Vuntha made for him, meeting him halfway. "Haanak."

"Jalak is dead. Died in the second blast," Haanak said. "They're ripping us apart with these –"

He was interrupted by another lightning strike. They cringed as one at the impact. The rumble lingered in the air, rolling up against the clouds and sticking in their ears and chests.

And then the bolts began to fall. The crossbowmen struck in organized waves, targeting the areas that had been struck by lightning. Stragglers were picked off even as they crawled away. Their own bowmen returned fire, but it was a scattered effort, ineffectual. The magicians were shielded by their troops.

"One-Above," Vuntha said. "They're really here to kill us. Every last one of us."

"We have to retreat," Haanak said. "They're going to keep this up until we're in shreds and tear into us with their footmen!"

"We can't retreat," Hanta said.

"We don't have a choice!"

"Father, we have to get out of range," Vuntha said. "Magic is strong, but it isn't as accurate as a bow. If we get far away –"

"Your mother and our family are in the only place we could retreat to!" Hanta snapped. "We have to hold until the elders return!"

"Hanta, listen to reason!" Haanak shouted. "Even all the elders together might not manage one of those –"

Another lightning strike, closer this time. The ripple of force made them stumble. Haanak almost fell, but Vuntha caught him and pulled him straight.

Haanak gave him a nod of thanks, then faced Hanta. "We're sacrificing warriors for no reason by holding here. This isn't our way of war; we're not used to this kind of fighting. They'll steal our advantage of numbers in a matter of minutes. I don't know where they're getting the magic, but they're getting it."

Hanta's eyes darted across the line. He glanced over his shoulder at the mountain, at the tents. He looked back. His face was clenched tight.

"Father, we have to go!" Vuntha said.

"If we run now we'll die on the plains, Vuntha!" Hanta shouted. "If we retreat behind the mountain with the others, we give up our tents, our food, our entire lives. If we drop back into the valley to protect the tents then we'll be crushed against the mountainside!"

Another crashing of lightning and sound pounded the hillside. Vuntha could hear the screams in the distance. Clods of dirt and soot shot up into the sky, falling back down over them in a cursed black rain. The cold winds pushed the smoke and dust, churning it into a drifting cloud that obscured the front lines.


"We're already behind crushed." Haanak said. "Live now, find a way tomorrow."

Hanta's lips tightened in the fiercest frown Vuntha had ever seen him make. "A choice between death while fighting and a slow death from exposure is no choice at all," Hanta said. "We are the People-Under-The-Mountain. If we abandon this fight, if we retreat from our sacred ground, then what was the point of all the lives of our ancestors?! They fought and scraped life from the flats so that we could have a chance when the angels return! So that we could live in this half-world and have our day! And you're telling me to abandon that?! I'll die a thousand times before I see a metal boot fall in the shadow of the mountain!"

Hanta had already turned half-towards the line, as if preparing to run back into the fray. Vuntha grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Father, we only have one life," he said. "But we both know someone that defies death. We need Jackson. We can't win this fight on our own! This is why Shakhan sent him!"

Hanta hesitated. He gazed over the drifting clouds of debris, over the line of warriors that had fallen into disarray. He stared at the impassive faces of the iron men, still and firm under their steel helmets. He looked back over his shoulder, down the other side of the hill, toward the city of tents that held everything they had.

Hanta's eyes widened.

Vuntha started to follow his gaze when something rushed by them, a stream of gold and white tassels drawn on the wind.

It struck the lines of the iron men – a glowing white thing shaped like a person. There was no explosion, no great sound. The iron men were brushed into the air like leaves on the wind. They fell back on their own allies like sacks of metal.

Their lines were tough, but thin. The blow drove a hole straight to the magician in the center.

The white figure moved. It flickered like torchlight, almost faster than Vuntha could follow. He saw a sword cutting through the air, slicing through runes that suddenly appeared, hacking off the magician's leg.

The man's scream cut through the silence. He toppled from his horse and struck the ground. The black thing in his hand tumbled free.

The lightning that had been gathering for another strike fired again - but without his control, it struck the exposed backs of his own men. Their armor did not save them. A second hole in their lines was opened in a blast of violet energy and smoke.

Hanta raised his spear and ran forward. "CHARGE!! CHARGE!!"

Men came at his call. Vuntha ran at his side. They ran through the hole, toward the white figure, even as the light surrounding her faded. And then Vuntha could see her – long gold hair to her waist, a sword like white light in her hand. She circled the magician's horse, snatched up the black thing, and stabbed into the man's neck, finishing him.

And then they struck the line of the recovering iron men, fighting to keep the gap open. All along the entire line, the quiet separation between the armies snapped like a twig. Flesh and steel slammed together, and Vuntha was lost in the press of battle, swept out of sight of the woman.

****

Rachel pocketed the black cube and sniffed at the corpse of the magician. It wasn't Hale. He was smart enough not to make himself the target. But that was one mage down.

Sacagawea's spell had faded fast, but it was enough to do the damage. Pretty amazing shit, though. She needed to learn how to do that.

Rachel glanced up.

The mages had bodyguards, of course, more horsemen. They surrounded her on all sides, still recovering from her sudden appearance. She grinned up at them. The benefits of putting all her stats in agility and having the Indian chick use a haste spell on her were fairly radical, even if it was just for a few seconds.

Rachel didn't have any illusions about fighting all of them on her own. Instead, she waved at them with her free hand. "Tell Hale I have his cube and that I'll be shoving it up his asshole very shortly."

And then she turned and ran.

Hooves pounded the ground behind her seconds later. The battle lines roiled ahead of her, and she was on the wrong side of it. The air smelled like blood and sweat and shit. There was still dirt in her hair. That was probably the worst thing.

A sword swung at the back of her head. Rachel ducked, stumbled. They surrounded her on either side, herding her in. She was fast, but a horse was still faster. She'd have to change that by force.

"Sorry, horsey!" Rachel lashed out with her sword, wincing as she cut the animal. It halted abruptly and reared up in pain. The soldier behind had to pull his reins hard to avoid running into his companion, and the next after that had to do the same. Rachel planted her feet and stopped, using the commotion as cover to give herself a break. She was out of breath after sprinting for so long.

She was fast, but she used up her stamina quickly. She'd lived in a plush and blessedly sterile apartment her entire life. Exercise had never been a priority. Another thing to think about. She probably should have thought about it before deciding to get involved in prolonged and violent magic-based warfare on the side of the humble natives, but Chiki or Chunky or whatever was nice enough. And apparently she knew Jackson, so she couldn't be a complete idiot.

Just as the horsemen reorganized enough to come back and surround her again, she set her feet and blasted off at full speed. She got a good twenty feet away before they were able to change direction and get back up to a gallop again. Now there are some complete idiots.

Rachel reached the back of the enemy lines. Her sword glowed white as she called up an ability. A tiny part of her thought it was rather unfair to attack the completely exposed backsides of the enemy, but a much larger part of her cackled in glee as she took the final few steps forward. Free essence, here I come!

Rachel only had a handful of abilities, but Flicker Sticker was her favorite.

Her arm moved on its own. Her sword flickered, flashed, multiplied. Her arm moved in six stabs in a heartbeat, though the afterimages and illusions created by the ability made it seem like an even greater flurry of blows.

Her ability-guided sword struck home on three soldiers from behind, puncturing their chests. They slumped to the ground, dead. Rachel's essence bar swelled with another 80 points from the kills. The blue line overfilled, and her skin gained a pale white haze, essence leaking out over her limit of 100 points.

An evil grin spread across her face. Flicker Sticker only cost 35 essence, and she'd gotten 80 in exchange.

Rachel activated her ability again and carved into the line. Two men fell – 53 essence. She used it again. Her sword flashed. Screams, this time – one of them men lost his spear hand. He didn't die, so she finished him off with a good old fashioned slice across the neck.

And then she activated the ability again.

Her sword accelerated as she activated the ability three times in quick succession, stabbing between ribs and into shoulders. Her essence jumped up in skips and hops. The more she collected over her limit, the faster it leaked, like a burst pipe that was put under more and more water pressure. She needed to fix that.

She activated her ability again, and, letting the force of the power guide her body through the motions, she brought up her personal attributes screen. A few quick mental confirmations later, she dumped 100 essence into Spirit and another 100 into Agility. She threw 50 into Strength for the hell of it.

The horsemen had caught up to her. Rachel twisted out of the way of a cavalry saber. It swooped by her head, nicking her hair.

Partly to defend herself against the guard, and partly unwilling to let the man get away unscathed, Rachel turned her back to the line and activated Flicker Sticker again. Her sword blazed white and stabbed into the horse and the horseman, ravaging both the animal and the rider's legs. The horse screamed and turned away, bleeding from the neck; the man managed to keep his seat for a few moments before falling, losing his weapon in the process.

Rachel felt a very strange sensation. Something had poked her in the small of her back very hard; the feeling moved into her abdomen and sat there. Her health bar dropped by 40 points, almost cut in half. She tried to turn around, but she was stuck in place. She glanced down and saw the pointed steel tip of a spear protruding from her stomach. That's not good.

Rachel struggled to free herself from the spear. Her health ticked down at a scary pace. A pommel caught her in the side of her head, another soldier turned to attack her. She lost another ten health.

The sensation of pain increased as her health bar dropped, turning from a throbbing weight into a sharp burning pinch. She dropped her sword, grabbed the shaft of the spear with both hands, and grunted, wriggling back and forward to try and pull herself up and off the blade. A kick caught her from behind, helping to cut her free, but another blow knocked her to the ground. Before she could get her legs moving, she was surrounded, kicked, pummeled, stomped on.

Rachel dropped and covered her head with her hands. Her health bar flashed and began to let out a warning sound. She felt nauseous.

"Don't kill her! Lord Hale will kill us if she dies!"

Hands and fists drew back. Rachel felt a weight fall on top of her, pinning her to the ground on her stomach. She didn't bother resisting; she felt more like vomiting.

Hands grabbed her arms and legs. She was brought up; she could see the clashing lines of soldiers. She rolled her head back; a mage stood next to her, dismounted. His eyes were beady and there was a fat mole on his lower lip.

Rachel ignored his examination and craned her neck to stare at the battle lines. She was only yards away from the surging troops. The Indians had driven Hale's troops back down the hill with Rachel's help, but things had ground down into another stalemate. She didn't see the magic girl that woke her up anywhere.

"Chiki!!" she shouted. "Hey Chiki!!"

"Get her back to the command post. Don't let her go for any reason until she has a collar again."

The men grunted and started carrying her away from the battle. Rachel felt the panic begin to curl up inside her muscles. She started struggling, twisting in their grip, but the weakness induced by low health was too strong to overcome.

The battle lines burst open. Warriors flooded through a sudden gap they'd made in Hale's soldiers. A bar of white light struck one of Rachel's handlers in the heart. His eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped over, releasing her leg. When the light vanished an instant later, Rachel realized it was an arrow.

That wasn't magic. That was an ability.

Another energized arrow slammed into the helmet of the guard holding one of her arms, puncturing his skull. Rachel pulled free of their grasp, but her legs gave out underneath her. Iron-toed boots, moccasins, and bare feet stormed through the mud around her. She heard an explosion of lightning magic, weaker than before, but the screams were just as loud.

Rachel went on her elbows, fighting the weakness induced by low health, dragging herself through the mud one arm after the next. A body thumped next to her. She scrambled faster. It's just mud. It doesn't matter. No germs. I didn't actually get cut. Not in my hair. Just keep moving. Her elbow squished through blood. It soaked through her leathers, dampening her elbow. Fuck. Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck.

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