Confronted by three ancestral Skidbladnir as I emerged from the rocky cavern floor I had expected to be attacked on sight, however as I jumped up out of the rubble I was challenged by words rather than weaponry.
“Stop! Surrender! We will capture you alive!”
The words were clumsy Cycloan, but it was a distinctly pharyes voice which came from the lead machine, a brilliant golden figure that shone from head to toe in the bright light.
Naturally I had no intention of complying, but I was more than happy to take a moment to get my bearings and assess the situation while the Varangians weren’t attacking.
While the gates were close enough now to reach in just a few bounds, the opposing Skidbladnir and golems had me thoroughly surrounded, with what had to be hundreds of Varangians and thousands of automatons between me and my goal. More were arrayed behind me, while up on the slopes and crags to either side of the chamber the crawlers had their larger weapons trained on me too.
Adding in the fortress itself they had more than enough firepower to reduce the cave to molten glass and slag.
My attention was on the trio directly ahead however. I’d learnt to evade or at least endure the assaults of the standard models, but each heirloom weapon was different, a unique creation as beautiful as it was dangerous.
The central figure was proof of that, a man wrought entirely of gold and gemstones, astonishing filigree inlaid into every surface of the machine in a display of wealth and artistry as much as engineering.
At the heart of the design was a blazing sun, rendered in polished relief on the chest, the metal scintillating with energy, seeming to burn like true flame, the dense essence following the body’s rays out in flaming spurs that encircled the machine and flowed into the arms and legs.
Yet there was nothing sunny in the disposition of the design. This was the sun as seen by those who crawled deep into the earth to escape its cruelty; a burning avatar of rage and fury and hate for all who endured in the dark depths away from its light, brought to life by the glaring face inlaid into the star. It was a dreadful visage, twisted and malignant, ruby eyes alive with red tongues of burning mana, and all about it on every surface were the furious servants of that cruel solar master. They added their own glowing streams, emerging from gemstone eyes and maws spread around the Skidbladnir like vents amid the ornate, dancing tableau of draconic and hellish creatures.
Embraced as it was by the solar radiance its creators so reviled, it was fitting then that the sunbeams coalesced at the shoulders and helm of the warsuit, to weave together into spiked pauldrons and long, demonic horns.
Had it not stood before me as a foe the machine would have been enchanting to behold, a marvel of craftsmanship and imagination, but its form was as sinister as it was magnificent.
It was also far from singular in its majesty. Two more wonders of ancient aulogemscis accompanied the avatar.
Left of the glowing figure there stood the mirrored enigma which had so thoroughly stupefied me once already; a Skidbladnir whose surface shone not with innate luminosity, but a flawless reflection of all about, unbroken by flourish or seam, as if it were a distortion in the air shaped like a knight, rather than a real armored warrior.
The design had a feminine elegance and flowing curvature, with four powerful arms emerging from double shoulders, the upper pair bearing the two halves of a great domed shield. Had it not struck me once already I might have believed I looked upon a water spirit, so smoothly did the creations’ parts blend from one into another, the metal almost rippling like a river in motion. The joints of the figure were marked only by the faintest lines where metal met metal, planes subducting under one another without break.
Right of these two breathtaking foes was a third, not standing but floating over the muck and debris of the cavern floor, as though untouched by the chaos and strife about it. If the left foe was a gleaming shieldmaiden, this was an angel made manifest – or so those smiths and aulogemscires of long past sought to persuade.
Never before had I seen the intricacies of individual feathers so perfectly reproduced in metal as there in the great wings that grew from the back of the Skidbladnir, each bladed element independently articulated, shimmering opalescent in the light, the gemstone tips of each pulsing with energy. The body from which they grew was equally extraordinary, with huge shoulders that rose up like towers and thick hips and thighs that put my own to shame. Inset into each shoulder and thigh were humming clusters of blades, moving together in contra-rotating layers. Another, larger opening was situated in the abdomen of the warsuit, while smaller ones were visible lining the limbs.
Anachronism though they might seem, the turbines fit the aesthetics of the creation, intakes and vents combining to let what must be many tons of metal and gemstones float on the air with consummate ease.
“You surrender?” the solar figure asked, taking a step forward.
Though a legion more of the lesser Skidbladnir hemmed me in on all sides, it was only the ancestral creations which faced me down. These three then were the champions who meant to prevent me breaching their fortress and dooming their people, the rest simply their support.
It was hard to steel myself to fight them, to bring myself to destroy such exquisite and irreplaceable creations knowing that they sought only to protect the lives of their allies.
“Onto the floor!” the speaker demanded, urgency in his tone.
I thought of the people of Grand Chasm, taken or killed, and the fragile nascent understanding that had begun to grow between Ivaldi’s people and my own.
They were all counting on me, and their lives too were exquisite and irreplaceable.
I started to speak, softly at first, too low for them to hear my incantation, even if they could understand it.
“Floor! Now! Or you die!”
Crouching for a moment as if to comply, I tensed my legs.
Perhaps the avatar had sensed my intent, as before I moved I could sense the gathering energy in his chest. Frighteningly quickly it focused into that fearsome gaze, and another dazzling explosion of light assaulted my vision.
I had closed my eyes just in time, but even through sealed lids the wash of radiation was dazzling.
Feeling rather than seeing, I detected the gathering of charge a moment before the lightning strikes from an army of Varangians could be unleashed.
Dashing forwards I closed the distance to the avatar, however the shieldmaiden was already between us, twin halves of her greatshield conjoined to block my path and mow me down.
Leaping over the charge I locked eyes on the golden enemy. His hands were as his sides, and the shifting light of his chest was condensing into two brilliant sparks where the eyes burnt brighter than ever.
I gripped the air, halting my movement with an anchored hand in an instant as I readied myself to shield my eyes and dodge whatever might emerge, but something speared into me from behind before he fired.
Ripping blades bored at my flesh like a drill and shredded my words into an incoherent gasp. My magic dissipated in an instant as I was propelled forward by the impact, yet twisting around I could see nothing behind me, only the angel flying high above.
From the lingering essence woven through her wings and turbines I could tell she had done something, but before I could discern more the avatar fired.
I’d been ready for another flash, lightning or flames, but what engulfed me was a cone of screaming plasma, fire so hot that the air itself broke down into arcing electrical fire, vaporizing my sleeve and eating into my flesh where it caught my arm.
Hurling myself away, the lingering tongues came with me, crackling and spitting as the white-hot blaze clung in place, piercing into my body.
I landed amid a field of boulders, and rolled, driving my arm into the rock in anguish to extinguish the blaze. Although nothing compared to my sojourn in the magma far below, the pain was intense and the devouring flames frightful in their persistence.
The cover of the crags ought to have bought me a few seconds at least, however my arm was still smoking as I sensed more attacks incoming.
Moving blindly, by feel alone, I ducked under a rushing motion. I felt a great gust of wind and saw some invisible force strike a great blow against the stone, cracking apart a boulder the size of a person.
My eyes caught the angel high overhead once more, but strangely her wings were outstretched towards me, the feathers swept forward to encircle her central turbine like many hands.
More attacks were already coming, and again I wove around the unseen strikes, stone bursting apart wherever they hit.
Ahead, along a narrow corridor between low cliffs, the golden Skidbladnir appeared once more, the sun charged to fire again.
Painfully loud, the attack leapt out towards me, the angel hemming me in from above.
Anchoring myself I made no attempt at evasion.
~~~
Major Asmund, commander of the Varangian guard at Northastr, grit his sunstone teeth as he diverted every drop of essence into his attack. He could feel every part of his machine pushing back against the ocean of malevolent essence that surrounded the living cataclysm. Even safe inside the insulated cockpit of his Skidbladnir, Solvaettr, the power of the calamitous beast made the breath catch in his chest, his bones throbbing every time it released more mana.
But even hraekadr could be killed, and this foe was no different.
He allowed himself a grim smile as his barrage of lightflame engulfed the diminutive figure.
He’d been shocked to see the creature shrug off a direct hit once already, but this time it had nowhere to go. Expertly driven into their trap by Major Kyrja, it would suffer the fullness of Solvaettr’s wrath. Even if it survived, the dread cataclysm from the surface would be debilitated by its burns; an easy target for Kyrja and Captain Lind.
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That was well, as they had another battle to fight yet.
Briefly he wondered if the monstrous ‘Safkhet’ could have somehow lead the Formorians to Northastr, but such a thought was ludicrous – the Formorians were enemies to all intelligent life, and such flights of fancy were unfitting of a Varangian.
Movement within the blaze ahead refocused his attention. It was incredible that the creature could charge into his fire, but mere determination wouldn’t overcome Solvaettr. He tightened his output to pierce through the blazing body of the enemy.
Yet even as the focused lance of crackling energy bored into the melting surface of the mass it leapt forward at speed.
Essence pumped through his arms, and the gemstones in his palms flared to life as they wove ruinous power into a solid, dense form; a wailing blade of arcing lightflame.
With a single rising stroke Asmund cut the power to his chest emitter and cleaved the approaching foe asunder.
Scorching fluids splashed against his machine, but a weapon wrought in the dread likeness of the mythical sun would not succumb to mere heat.
Yet something was wrong, the shape of the split target wasn’t pharynx at all, it was large and rounded-
“Below!” screamed Kyrja from the air.
Beneath him, in the shadow of the falling pieces of boulder, he felt mana surge once again, and a cold, clear horror filled his mind even as that impossible essence assailed his body.
His blade swept back down even as the pistons in his legs whined in urgency, but both were too slow to stop the creature – even with his greater reach the cataclysm was mere paces away, its legs shattering the rock under it as it moved, closing in with explosive speed he could barely see, let alone hope to match.
“Left!”
The rock at their side shattered as Lind burst through, her domed mirrorshield pulverizing everything in its path.
Safkhet reacted faster than he could have believed; turning on a heel the monster confronted the new attack at once, putting its entire body into a counter-punch, but nothing would penetrate the impervious barrier of Stalskjald.
As fist struck shield there was a flash of dispersing energy, and the metal rung with the clangor of a great carillon as the Skidbladnir was forced to a stop, force rippling out to shatter rock all around.
Silence ruled the voice channels as the three Varangians took in the scene, lit by the glow of the molten cliffsides. Lind had halted dead in her tracks, a smoking imprint of a fist in the centre of her shield, the metal sparking and discharging where minute channels of essence had been ruptured beneath the surface.
None of them could believe the sight – the impervious greatshield damaged by a mere punch!
However Kyrja had not been idle, and already her wind spears were curving through the air towards the enemy.
Asmund took heart in that – it was mere luck that she and Lind were together at Northastr after word of the Formorian attack saw them diverted from the attack on the Stormqueen, but it was clear now that the reunification of the trio had all been part of the King’s plan. Truly he saw through everything. This was the true enemy the Pharyes must stop at any cost.
With their foe halted a moment, dazed by the recoil of its own monstrous blow, he took the offensive.
Blade in hands he timed his attack with those of Kyrja, Lund serving as a mobile wall against which to back their prey.
The standing order was to take surfacers alive when possible, but not this time.
Threats to the King would be destroyed without mercy.
~~~
Striking the dome of the colossal shield might have stopped my attacker in her tracks, but I was shocked by the pain in my fist and the sheer force which seemed to reflect back at me, tearing at my clothes and skin and almost overwhelming my anchoring.
All the same I found myself grinning as I observed the mark I’d left. Durable though it might be, it wasn’t indestructible.
The other Varangians left me no chance to relish my minor success however, as the flyer overhead fired off more of the essence-fuelled wind attacks that had caused me such trouble.
Now that I understood what I was looking for I could see the gusts by the minute debris and distortions caused by their flow, but it was simpler to just feel for the energy.
I was wary too of another flash or plasma beam from the avatar to my side, but it seemed he was unwilling to catch his allies with his attacks, instead stepping in to confront me in melee.
That was a battle I would likely win, but not with the angel and shieldmaiden assailing me from the side and rear… and feeling the way the compressed energy of the lightning-fire sword vibrated gave me chills.
There was no way I was going to let that cut me. I’d had my fill of being torn into by superheated blades fighting the Kajatora.
Hurling myself at the shieldmaiden, ducking and waving the fire from overhead, I grabbed at the edge of her weapon as she tried to retreat.
A second set of arms attacked me from behind the cover of the surface, but I caught the first punch with my knee and brushed it aside, then kicked away the other with my foot.
Pistons and pumps strained, but they were no match for my muscles, and I wrenched her and her mirrored dome into the path of the attack.
The blade screamed as it struck the energized metal, bursting apart and loosing flaming crackles of solar plasma that gouged into the cliff overhead and showered the three of us in a rain of molten rock.
It was the perfect window in which to destroy the interfering Skidbladnir once and for all, but I caught myself before I loosed a kick into the core of the giant bending over me. These were the greatest weapons the Pharyes had to stop the formorian titan –I couldn’t afford to disable any of them if there was any way to escape.
Retreating into the hole through which my enemy had so recently burst I chanted a short spell.
Jetting water flooded into the figures as they tried to turn and catch me, then exploded back out as a dense cloud of steam as it struck the lava all about.
Billowing plumes rapidly engulfed the rocks, their veil obscuring my exact position to the angel even if she could track my essence.
Bursting from the steam clouds I was among the rest of the Varangians again in an instant, wholly focused on forming the necessary magic as I wove between them.
Had it been my goal to defeat the entire army of war machines I would surely have been caught and overwhelmed, but all I had to do was reach the gates with my spell intact.
Many of them tried to halt me with their bodies, but I could move in whole new ways now, kicking off the air, leaping and diving through any gap I could detect.
Passing one with a shield I tore the armament from their grip – only to find I’d ripped off part of the Skidbladnir’s arm too. Once more I was grateful my opponents fought within mechanical, pneumatic war suits, and not with their own bodies.
My stolen implement was no match for the dome of she shieldmaiden, but it deflected away the wave from the massed line of flamethrowers that tried to force me off my course, letting me plunge headlong into the churning barrage.
Breaking through the final rank I was out in the open once more, flat and clear terrain ahead before the vast, looming walls.
This close, the reports of each cannon and the roar of each flamethrower shook the air with sheer power.
Behind me I could feel the energies of countless foes ready to strike me down in the crossfire with the turrets of the fortress.
There was nothing to be done but to endure.
Projectiles struck my back and sides, but I kept the shield pointed forwards. I might dodge the colossal pillars of metal the turrets could fire, but the solid wall of fire descending from the sky was another matter.
With all my focus on my magic I balled myself up and dove straight through, pouring all the essence I had into the one shot I was going to get, lighting rippling across my body, arcing out to tear at the floor far below.
The shield was already melting in my hands from the spell and the blaze both, but the liquefying surface was ripped apart as a giant bolt caught me within the inferno, wrenching the remnants from my hands and setting me tumbling.
Then I was through, past the flames and hurtling towards the giant gate, spinning in and out of my vision.
Kicking off one last time I righted myself and plunged into the metal plane that dwarfed all else in my perception.
Gripping the air with both hands my body uncoiled like a spear as I struck, a thunderclap rending the air from the force of the blow.
Magic and might discharged together and in an instant all was blinding white, metal flowing like water then burning away into nothing as forking tongues of energy tore through the fortress.
By the time I could see again I was anchored at the centre of a colossal tunnel of molten metal, bored clear through into the docks beyond.
I was about to throw myself in when I realized that the guns had stopped.
For the first time I could hear the alarms within the fortress - the attacks that had been so intense mere moments before were gone, the weapons all pivoting away.
I wondered if they were surrendering – perhaps the raiders had somehow seized control of the fortress – but looking back over my shoulder I understood.
At the far end of the cavern a grey-black wave was pouring up from the tunnels.
Triskelions and footsoldiers advanced to meet them, and the weapons of the Skidbladnir, crawlers and fortress opened up once more, a deafening cacophony that drowned out the sounds of chaos from within the docks.
Dozens of formorians died as fire and spears gouged into their ranks, blue viscera soaking the rock beneath them. Their allies in turn tore into the golems with their chitinous weapons and horns, adding acid green to the gruesome scene, trampling over their fallen as they forced their way through the defenders.
Each drop of blood they shed or spilled was on my hands….
I should have just moved on, continued with the plan. There was no need to make myself watch the slaughter I’d caused, but I couldn’t help but stare back, at the creatures fighting and dying, and at the tunnel vomiting forth hordes more each moment.
That was when I felt it.
Even as I held myself suspended in the scalding hot air my senses were on the malignant energies that had terrorized me in the run to Northastr earlier, welling up from the opening in the rock.
With a boom that shook the Underworld, the titan erupted through the too-narrow opening, horns alight with spectral essence, gouging and shattering everything in its path.
Impossibly titanic and horrendously durable, the monstrosity charged ahead on a forest of legs without regard for the battle raging about its ankles. Lances of metal drove into the vast body and from all around it a hurricane of flames and lightning assaulted its thick layers of chitin, but it’s compound eyes were focused on a single target; the great fortress wall I’d just breached.
It meant to use the opening I’d provided to punch right through into the vulnerable heart of Northastr.
That was all the more reason to flee, just as the others should be doing. If it were able to break through into the docks that would cause chaos, but it would be fighting on the opposite side to our path of escape, all but ensuring a clear path for the captives and our crawler.
But how many people would die stopping it?
Behind and below me I saw the trio of ancestral weapons leading the Varangians attacking the monstrosity, but powerful as their attacks might be their enemy was a colossus, with thousands of footsoldiers to protect it. Already figures of Skidbladnir at the front line were engaged in hand-to-hand struggles, as formorians threw themselves into the lightning and flames and emerged to fall upon their foes with ravenous hate.
Every life ending before my eyes was because of our plan.
Because of my actions.
~~~
It was hopeless.
They had the numbers, but he couldn’t overcome Idavoll, and the rest of his troops were the coddled children of the great lords and ladies of the Kingdom, not the battle-hardened Varangian Guard.
Lord Uldmar watched as the halberd thrust down towards him, steeling himself for the impact to tear into Gres-Jarn and incapacitate him.
Clanging metal shocked him from his fatalistic trance, as Hnitborg smacked the blow aside with its signature marbled greatblade.
“Sincerest apologies for my unfashionable lateness, Lord Uldmar! I ran into a mote of difficulty with a pernicious young lady from the Colonel’s retinue!”
“Hlesey?!” Uldmar and Idavoll each gasped.
He could scarce believe his eyes, but the armor like chiseled granite was distinctive, as were the sculpted marble and onyx reliefs evoking the history of house and lineage. In hand was the marble weapon run through with veins of gold and red, in which Lord Hlesey took more pride than anything.
“Naturally! A cunningly foul game you played with me, my lady, but Lord Hlesey is not so easily befuddled, whether by the sweet lies of a charming accomplice or the sour treachery of poisoned wine!”
Lord Uldmar could still scarce believe it as the tall, broad figure stood over him, colossal sword held lightly in one hand, the other outstretched towards him.
“Come now, surely she’s not taken your senses too, my lord!” Hlesey added, almost jovially. “On your feet, we’ve battle to join!”
Hauled back to his feet, Uldmar lined up alongside his friend, as the duo faced down Idavoll across the corridor.
“Just give up, Hlesey!” Idavoll insisted. “It’s too late, the plan has failed! Continue this treasonous plot and you’ll only doom yourselves! I won’t let you-”
“Idavoll!” Hlesey boomed. “Whatever madness has taken you, I shall put it to an end!”
Bold words, and befitting the brash yet stalwart young nobleman, Lord Uldmar thought. But even with only the flashes of fire and lightning to illuminate them, he could see that Lord Hlesey’s machine was moving oddly. The man had mentioned poison, and Idavoll had claimed he was drunk… was he perhaps less fit for battle than he made out?
All about them Varangians clashed with nobles. His force had fared better than Lord Uldmar could ever have expected of them, but without the aid of Hlesey and him they were fighting a losing battle.
They had to settle matters with the first exchange.
Hlesey seemed to understand Uldmar’s intent as Gres-Jarn stepped forwards, deploying a set of punching daggers from the upper arms.
Idavoll took a step back, restoring the distance and readying her glaive.
Uldmar’s heart was pounding, the pressure painful throughout his body, pushing out tears from the corners of his eyes as he stared down his oldest friend.
Idavoll shifted a leg, widening her stance for a thrust.
Lightning flashed between them as the battle raged.
As the dazzling arcs died Rikvidjur was gone.
Idavoll’s glaive hummed up from below and to the side, but Uldmar was already moving, throwing himself into the attack.
For a moment he saw the vibrating edge soaring towards his cockpit, but at the last moment Idavoll twisted her weapon to bring the blade up at his Skidbladnir’s neck instead.
That moment’s delay was all his dagger needed to catch and deflect the energized edge.
The sheer weight and force of the blow twisted it from his hand.
His other fist aimed for her gut, but she spun the shaft of the weapon to knock away his strike and swept his leg with her own.
Helsey’s greatblade swept a mere hair over Gres-Jarn’s head as the machine staggered, driving Idavoll back before she could deal a fatal blow, but as she tried to pull away Uldmar caught her wrist.
Her hand flared with white lightning, gouging into his arm and side, but Uldmar held firm and punched his remaining dagger into Rikvidjur’s leg.
Fuelled by essence and aulogemscis the armor of a Skidbladnir was supernaturally strong, but the whining spearhead weapon found the improvised repairs that had so recently patched the damage from Safkhet’s attack.
With a screech the blade cut through, piercing deep into the hydraulics of her leg.
Doubly pinned, Lady Idavoll had no escape.
Lord Hlesey’s greatblade tore into the magnificent machine, ripping apart the pressure tanks in her middle and rupturing the arterial piping in and out of her core.
Whether he had spared Rikvidjur’s core by design or fortune was impossible to say, but Idavoll was out of the fight either way.
From the moment she fell they wasted no further time.
The addition of two heirloom Skidbladnir to the battle quickly turned the tide, Hlesey making up for his absence by crushing the lead Varangian captain with a single overwhelming swing.
Rallying, heartened by the return of their comrade and the sudden reinforcements, the raiders fought back with renewed courage and tenacity.
Even old Tomsk, with an arm missing and his weapon destroyed, dragged one of the Varangians to their knees with his remaining arm as they struggled with his allies, burning out both machines with a point-blank surge of lightning.
By the time the fight was through the corridor was a black, ruinous mess, splattered in gruesome patterns of green fluid and strewn with the wreckage of six Varangians, three fallen allies… and one heirloom.
It pained him to see the battered form of Rikvidjur laying among the debris, and to imagine Idavoll within, injured or worse… however as he approached the disabled Skidbladnir he realized the chest panels were opened, the cockpit empty. Idavoll had fled during the fighting.
Uldmar couldn’t tell if he was relieved or infuriated by that.
“My lord!” Lady Knall called. “We have to hurry! With Lady Idavoll’s message Northastr control are sure to send reinforcements!”
Another boom made rock and metal tremble all about them, the vibrating rising up through their machines despite the layers of stabilization.
“If you speak to them… perhaps you can persuade them it was a false alarm?” Tomsk suggested wearily, limping as he was helped out the cockpit of his ruined Skidbladnir.
“No good,” Knall replied. “The voice lines are ruptured, same as the power!”
“There… may be no reinforcements to send,” Uldmar murmured under his breath.
Was there even a Northastr control left, he wondered, as more fragments of stone fell through the gashes in the ceiling.
“Hurry, make about your tasks!” Lord Hlesey barked. “Whatever may come, Varangian or Formorian, we shan’t meet it here! We free our allies and make good our escape!”