Seige Josiah D. McMeekin

Seige

Josiah D. McMeekin

With ringing ears and blurred vision, the young man slammed into the wooden door, pushing it open and stumbling into the pandemonium. Disorientated from the explosion, he tripped. The contents of the overstuffed satchel he carried spilling out. Explosions like thunder rang out as he tried to shove notebooks, loose scrolls and precious implements back into the satchel.

“Watch out!” someone hollered as they rushed past him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. ” He muttered. Not that it mattered, no one could hear him over the noise.

Screams and explosions filled the air as he unsteadily rose to his feet and attempted to survey his surroundings. He glanced up to the battlements of the castle which were lined with archers and defenders. Through the noise of the siege one voice reached his ears. “Clear the wall! They’re going to fire again!” Instinct took over. Grabbing a small crystal that hummed with power only he could sense from within the satchel, an incantation rolled over his tongue. His hands danced in an intricate series of gestures to accompany it, small glyphs and symbols of power flickering along with them.

With a thunderous roar, the walls exploded inward.

He felt the power in the crystal run dry as he maintained the shield ward long enough to protect him from the torrent of brick and mortar. As the dust slowly cleared, the gaping hole that had consumed part of the wall became clear. Partially obscured by the smoke and rubble, figures slowly began to pour through.

With the outer wall now breached, it would not be long before the last bastion that guarded the Viridian Strait land bridge, the path to Tresmiran, would fall. Dropping the crystal, he turned and ran.

The sound of steel clashing on steel as conflict erupted on the streets within the keep filled his ears as he kept running. Rounding a corner, he barrelled into a familiar young man with green-grey skin wearing armour that marked him as an ally.

“Martok, they’ve breached the walls!” he gasped between breaths.

“I know Celtho. Where’s your master?”

“He was killed, they destroyed the tower with their new weapon. My master said that it was something called a cannon and that it uses the black powder to power it.”

Another deafening explosion and the two watched as a tower crumbled to the ground in a roar of shattering stone.

“Someone needs to get back and warn the high

council, can you Far Step like your master? And how many could you take?”

Celtho’s mind raced through a plethora of calculations.

“There’s an intersection of ley lines in the rune stone circle in the inner garden, I could do it there. I could only take eight.”

Martok nodded, “I’ll grab a few others, you go ahead, we’ll meet you.”

Another thunderous cacophony of destruction shook them.

“Go!”

Celtho paused for a second long enough to watch Martok sprint away, before turning and running towards the inner gardens of the keep.

Sprinting through small streets and alleys, Celtho desperately attempted to make his way to the gardens that held the key to his salvation. The world spun has his feet came out from beneath him. Colliding with the cobble street he felt a flash of pain in his head. Stars flashed and he felt a warm trickle of blood begin to flow. The strap of his satchel had snapped. Cursing he began to retie it. “You there, halt and identify yourself.” As he slowly turned, the three began to draw their weapons and slowly approach. A fresh bolt of fear unleashed a rush of adrenaline. He grabbed a piece of amber from the satchel.

Intricate gestures and signs accompanied the incantation spoken in a long-forgotten tongue, but in this incantation, a deal was struck. Before the soldiers could react, the small glyphs that surrounded Celtho tore through reality, bridging a gap to somewhere else and a sentient inferno was unleashed upon them. Their screams filled his ears as he fled.

The garden was littered with corpses as Celtho knelt in the circle pouring over scrolls and his master’s tome. Small crystals hummed with power. “Where were you?” Martok asked as he and the others stood guard inside the circle of stones. The sound of conflict drew ever closer.

Ignoring him, Celtho began to rapidly speak and sign the incantation. A Far Step was well beyond him. But pain, fear, the desire to live, and the intersecting ley lines made for a powerful amplifier.

Glyphs flickered as the lines and runes of the stones began to glow, creating an intricate circle outside of which the world began to spin and distort. Then it vanished. Nothing but stars. And then. The group stood in an identical circle, only in an open field with blue skies above.

“I did it.” Celtho muttered, his voice betraying his surprise, as darkness consumed his vision and he crumpled to the ground.