Gates of Ruin (Magelands Eternal Siege, #6) by Christopher Mitchell (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📗

‘But how will I get any out here?’

‘The Banner soldiers,’ gasped Van; ‘they might be carrying some. Check their pockets for a small vial.’

Corthie rushed back across the field of dead. He searched through the pockets of the first few soldiers he came to, but found no salve on them. He noticed a soldier with officer insignia on his helmet, and ran over to the body. A Shinstran civilian was pulling the boots from the officer’s feet as he approached, and the man nodded to Corthie as he started to look through his pockets.

His fingers found a glass vial, and he took it out and held it up to the moon. Inside, a silvery liquid was swirling. Corthie ran back to Van and handed him the vial.

‘None of the troopers had any,’ Corthie said, ‘only the officers.’

‘They must be running low up on Old Alea,’ Van said. He removed the stopper, lifted the vial to his lips and drank.

Corthie watched as Van’s body writhed for a moment, his face contorted. Colour returned to his cheeks, and he groaned.

‘That was amazing,’ he gasped. ‘I feel like I could take on the Ascendants on my own.’

‘Give me the rest of it,’ said Corthie; ‘you know, to keep temptation out of your reach.’

Van glanced at the half-full vial, and hesitated for a moment before handing it over. Corthie tucked it into a pocket.

‘I already want more,’ Van said. ‘Nothing feels as good, nothing.’

Corthie frowned at the mercenary, wondering if he had done the right thing.

‘Hey, you,’ cried a voice; ‘the big guy.’

Corthie turned to see a group approaching him. Half were wearing assorted pieces of looted Banner armour, and all had swords.

‘Aye?’ he said.

‘We saw you lead the attack on the soldiers,’ the man said. ‘Are you a demigod?’

‘I’m a man, like you.’

‘I’m handy in a fight, but I’m nothing like you. You moved like you had battle-vision.’

Corthie noticed that the group around him was growing. ‘What do you want from me?’

The man gestured back towards the flames of the ruined city. ‘The waves,’ he said, ‘the fires, the earthquakes… Some of us here think that the gods have done something to destroy Alea Tanton. I thought maybe you were a demigod; I thought maybe that you’d know.’

Corthie stood. ‘I am mortal, but I know what’s happening.’ He waited as the crowd listened. ‘Up in Old Alea, the Second Ascendant is watching over his handiwork. He has decided to destroy all of Lostwell. The devastation you witnessed here today is going on all over Khatanax, and it will get worse.’

‘Why?’ the man cried.

‘None of your lives mean anything to the gods,’ said Corthie. ‘They don’t care about you; they’re up there drinking and laughing while they watch millions die. I’m going to do something about that. I’m going to walk up to Old Alea, and show the gods that not all mortals are yet beaten. If any of you want to, you can follow me.’

The crowd around him stood in silence, as if stunned that anyone would suggest opposing the gods. Van got to his feet next to him, and they began walking towards the track, the crowd parting before them. Van stopped, and pointed at the body of a tall Banner soldier.

‘That breastplate might fit you, Corthie,’ he said.

Van crouched down and started unstrapping the armour from the body as the crowd grew and grew.

‘Who are you?’ shouted a young man.

Corthie glanced up. ‘My name is Corthie Holdfast.’

‘You’re not a Shinstran, or a Torduan, and you certainly ain’t a damn Fordian.’

‘I am not from Khatanax, and Alea Tanton is not my city, but I will fight the gods who did this. I fought Banner forces at the Falls of Iron and in Yoneath, and I have killed three gods. This night, I hope to kill more.’

Van stood, the breastplate in his hands, and strapped it over Corthie’s chest, as the masses of gang members and civilians stared at him.

‘There you go,’ said Van, stepping back. ‘Shield, sword and breastplate. You could almost pass for Banner. All you need is a helmet.’

‘Then I’d better do without one. The last thing I want is anyone to mistake me for Banner.’

‘The soldiers are only doing their jobs, Corthie.’

‘I know. I’ve no doubts that they have good men and women in their ranks, but tonight, they’re the only ones standing between us and Old Alea. Tonight, they are the enemy.’

He began walking along the track, and again the crowd parted to let him pass. He crossed the threshold where the last bodies lay, and carried on. Next to him strode Van, his demeanour completely altered by the dose of salve. He seemed alert and strong, and his eyes were wide.

Behind them, Corthie became aware that at least some of the crowd was following. Hushed whispering reached his ears, along with the clank of ill-fitting armour.

‘What will the Banner soldiers do next?’ said Corthie.

‘Their orders seemed clear enough,’ said Van. ‘They were after you, and I heard the sum of five thousand gold sovereigns mentioned. That would be enough for any soldier to retire on. My guess is that they’ll retreat for half a mile or so and then re-group. They’ll sneak scouts along either side of this track, who will run back and report our position as soon as they’ve seen us, and then they’ll probably set up ambushes. That’s what I’d do.’

Corthie picked up his pace. ‘Then we run, and deny them the time they need to organise.’

He broke into a sprint, his shield covering his left side, and his head down. He powered his battle-vision to a higher intensity, and wondered if salve would help prolong it, or even heighten it. He could take it whenever he began to tire, or if he got injured; whichever happened first.

He charged along the track, his senses picking up the sound of Van running a few paces behind him, and a large body of soldiers