Page 55 of Of Empires and Dust

Give me the strength I need.

“You already have it, my child. Break them.”

Kallinvar drove his feet into the ground and launched himself through the air. He closed his eyes and collided with the portcullis, the sound of crashing metal ringing in his helmet, the force shaking him to his bones. For a moment, the world froze, and then the portcullis bent inwards and ripped free of the gatehouse in a chorus of snaps and cracks.

Kallinvar crashed down and tumbled, the clang of iron and thethumpof the portcullis slamming into the ground ringing in his head. His bones aching, Kallinvar staggered forwards on his hands and knees, snatching up the warhammer from atop the remnants of the portcullis.

“Get up.” Ruon grabbed Kallinvar in the pit of his arm and hauled him to his feet. He didn’t have to ask what had put the tone in her voice.

The Taint surged throughout the second courtyard in waves as knights of The Tenth raged against a score of Lorian Battlemages. Arcs of purple lightning shattered earth and stone, plumes of black fire ignited the air, shards of stone batteredagainst Sentinel armour, and the green light of the knights’ Soulblades illuminated it all.

At the centre, Emalia twisted and weaved between two figures in smooth steel plate, a match for her in height. Red light shimmered through runes all about their silver armour, crimson Soulblades gripped in their fists.

“Vitharnmír,”Achyron hissed in Kallinvar’s mind.“Rip their souls from this world.”

Emalia’s Soulblade was a blur as she fought the two creatures, Rialis’s broken body at her feet.

Kallinvar’s legs were moving before he’d had another second to think. Emalia stood alone. She needed him.

Sparks of purple lightning flickered to Kallinvar’s left as a Lorian Battlemage charged into his path. Kallinvar swung the warhammer across his chest and launched it forwards with every ounce of his strength. The weapon smashed the mage’s shoulder to pieces in an explosion of bone and gore, ripping his arm free and sending him, shrieking, backwards.

A second mage roared to his right. The roar turned to a scream as Ruon carved him in two across the belly with her Soulblade, her stride never faltering.

Ildris, Arden, and Varlin leapt into the fray from atop the gatehouse, Lyrin following close behind. But Kallinvar was focused on one thing and one thing alone: Emalia.

He lunged forwards, throwing himself between his sister-knight and the Vitharnmír on her right, his Soulblade bursting to life just in time to stop the creature’s downward swing from cleaving Emalia’s arm at the elbow. The two Soulblades collided in a burst of light, and for a brief moment, Kallinvar stared into the Vitharnmír’s glowing red eyes set in a silver helm moulded like a mask to its face.

Kallinvar pushed forwards, forcing the Vitharnmír onto the back foot, then spun, his back rolling across Emalia’s as theytraded places. He swung for the second Vitharnmír’s head, finding resistance in the form of its Soulblade. He brought his blade back across the creature’s body, slicing down at its knee, only for the blow to be blocked once again. Twice more he struck, and twice more the Vitharnmír matched him blow for blow before ramming a steel-covered fist into his side.

The strike knocked the air from Kallinvar’s lungs, and he felt a crack spreading through his Sentinel armour. He staggered sideways, gasping, regaining his composure just in time to watch Emalia’s Soulblade carve through the Vitharnmír’s elbow as it moved to tear his soul from the mortal world. The howl that left the creature’s throat was a visceral, blood-chilling thing, two voices layered over each other, one a high-pitched shriek, the other a primal growl.

“Now would be the time to summon Arlena,” Emalia shouted, dropping to one knee to avoid the swing of the second Vitharnmír’s Soulblade, then rising to ram her shoulder into its gut.

Kallinvar lifted his gaze to see Arden and Varlin weaving through three Fades, Soulblades glowing. More mages flooded into the yard as though materialising from the shadows themselves, Fades moving amongst them. Some wore the black of the Battlemages, while others had the red cloaks of the Inquisition knotted at their shoulders.

What in the gods are so many mages doing in a fort in the middle of fucking nowhere?

Kallinvar reached out to Arlena through the Sigil, then summoned the Rift, his veins igniting.

The Rift had been open no more than a breath when Arlena and The First charged through, Soulblades already ignited.

A flicker of movement drew Kallinvar’s attention, and he threw himself sideways to avoid being sliced open by the now one-armed Vitharnmír, who had shifted its Soulblade toits remaining hand. The creature rained down a maelstrom of ferocious strikes, each one shaking Kallinvar’s bones even through his Sentinel armour.

A brief respite from the barrage came as Ildris slammed into the creature’s back and it staggered forwards. Kallinvar took advantage of the Vitharnmír’s lost footing by dropping low and carving his Soulblade through its knee.

The Vitharnmír collapsed on its back, thrashing and hissing, its dual-tone voice sending shivers through Kallinvar, the runes in its armour blazing.

“For Rialis.” Kallinvar grasped the hilt of his Soulblade with both hands and drove it down between the Vitharnmír’s eyes.

Even with the blade lodged in its face, the creature writhed, arms and legs flailing, black smoke billowing from the runes carved into its silver armour. The runes erupted in a burst of light as the Vitharnmír’s soul was shorn from the world, then faded to nothing as the creature was sent to wander the void.

The silver armour that covered its body shivered and twisted, turning to liquid. It rolled over the Vitharnmír, receding into the many runes carved into the pale flesh and revealing the face of a woman of adolescent years, the light of his Soulblade shimmering in her open black eyes.

Kallinvar pulled the blade free, a coil of regret twisting in him. One constant had always remained throughout his many lifetimes: the young always paid the price for mistakes made long before their time – and the price was always blood.

As he stood staring down at the twisted corpse, the Lorian mages rallied around the remaining Vitharnmír, fighting with void-wrought fury. Some held níthrals of varying colours in their fists, others spewed black fire from their palms, the world twisting around them. It was like that night in Ilnaen four hundred years ago all over again.

The knights closed around them, fighting in pairs as commanded, the added numbers of The First proving the difference. With every swing of his Soulblade, the dying pulse of the chosen Sigil Bearer grew weaker, fading in Kallinvar’s mind. This needed to end now, or it would all be in vain.

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