This was no simple trading fleet, not a ship or two delivering slaves in exchange for bloodwine and yaxen meat. This was a full Norukai invasion. In the past, the raiders had come to Ildakar pretending to be simple merchants, but now that he saw the dangerous fleet pressing upriver, he understood their goal. This wasn’t just a raid or two on vulnerable river villages. He smiled as he began to imagine how much havoc those fierce warriors would unleash upon Ildakar.
When the Norukai attackers arrived, Maxim had no doubt that the city would fall, if Ildakar wasn’t already destroyed in the aftermath of what he himself had done. He drove away a twinge of remorse and just watched for the next hour as dozens of serpent warships sailed upriver toward his former home.
CHAPTER 71
Even though Bannon didn’t have the gift, he wanted to help protect Ildakar. After being captured, he was less than enthusiastic about running out to face hordes of enemy soldiers with his sword, but when he learned that Elsa needed physical labor for her giant plan to unleash transference magic on the battlefield, he volunteered.
Crews gathered at the top of the sheer bluff above the river. The sky held a smear of dull clouds that hung like leftover dragon smoke, carrying a persistent drizzle. The air was cold, wet, and miserable, which made the cliffs treacherous. When Bannon looked uneasily down at the dangling ropes, the narrow wooden platforms and scaffolding, the workers climbing down with buckets of fresh paint, he almost lost his nerve. “Sweet Sea Mother.” But he sucked in a deep breath and nodded to Elsa. “If I can fight a thousand warriors, I am brave enough to paint a cliff.”
The older sorceress nodded. “If we succeed here, young man, this giant transference rune will defeat more enemy soldiers than a thousand Ildakaran swords.”
“Then it is worth a bit of vertigo,” he said. Lila had taken him down the narrow stairs, the wooden ledges, and the hanging platforms to the river below. He knew he could do it. Elsa’s giant rune needed to cover the entire cliff face, an intricate design painted across the open sandstone, with no gaps, no errors.
The sorceress peered over the edge, studying the rock surface. “See that section over there, near the water sluice? No one is working that part of the cliff. It would be a good assignment for you.”
It seemed a very long way from any of the stable platforms or stairs. “I will have to anchor a rope from the top of the cliff here.”
“Either that, or you need to fly.” Elsa gave him a quirk of a smile. “Ropes are probably more reliable.”
“Need more paint down here!” called a deep male voice.
Below, Bannon saw a potbellied man standing alone on a rickety platform. He waved a thick brush so that droplets of red paint spattered his bare shoulders. Two workers from a nearby access tunnel tied a rope to the handle of a full bucket of paint and lowered it swiftly, hand over hand. The bucket swayed, spilling a little, but the potbellied man reached up and caught it. He set the bucket on the boards at his feet and began painting again.
On top, at the cliff’s edge, Bannon tied a harness around himself, assisted by other workers, who secured the knots and double-checked them. Elsa paced the edge of the bluff, watching the crews below.
She had crafted her intricate spell-form with numerous curling loops and connecting cross lines. She had tested the rune until she was sure she had perfected the design. While the duma members planned the desperate charge out onto the battlefield to complete the other half of her transference spell, according to her plan, Elsa had rallied more than forty volunteers who were willing to paint the anchor design across the sheer cliff face. Including Bannon.
Most of the painters were cargo loaders and river workers accustomed to moving along the steep stairs, platforms, and ladders. Standing at the top of the bluff, Elsa had used a different sort of transference magic. In the misty rain, she held the sheet of paper on which she had drawn her intricate rune and used her gift to magnify and project the image onto the rock, where it remained clearly visible. Up and down the cliff face, the precariously suspended workers could see the exact lines to paint.
As Bannon roped up, Elsa showed him the spell-form drawn on the damp sheet of paper. “If other wizards can lay down smaller boundary runes around the enemy army, as well as a central anchor rune, I can link all of them to this much larger design painted on the cliffs. Then I can transfer from the bluffs and the Killraven River right out to the middle of the general’s forces.”
“Transfer what?” Bannon asked. “Water?”
“The river and the stone have something far more destructive than just water.” Her eyes twinkled. “Heat, a great reservoir of heat. I could drain all the heat from the river for as much as a mile in either direction, and I can suck the heat from these rocks and dump it all into the middle of the battlefield from the anchor point of the connected runes. But first we need to have the primary spell-form painted large and bold. That’s the important part for now. We need to be ready in a day or two for the main assault.”
Bannon had never understood or attempted magic, but always fought with his sword. Right now, though, he would continue the battle with a paintbrush.
“Over the edge with you, young man,” Elsa said once he had all the ropes tied around him. “As soon as this is completed, we will hit General Utros again. Their army is in shambles, and after the terrible thing they did to High Captain Stuart…” A stormy expression crossed her face. “We are not inclined to show them much mercy.”
Bannon checked the rope again. In the drizzle, the thick cord was wet in his hands, but the knots were tight. He backed toward the edge of the sheer drop-off holding a bucket of paint in his right hand. “I will do my part.”
“Just paint the lines you see. So long as the projection magic keeps the design in place, the rune is clearly marked. You won’t have any trouble.”
The cold mist clung to him like a sheen of sweat. Determined, he lowered himself over the edge, taking care not to spill the paint. He found small handholds and footholds in the sandstone, then a narrow carved walkway.
After a quick glance at the dizzying drop, he focused on the rock in front of him. The rain picked up, but he kept descending toward the obvious mark of Elsa’s giant rune. He was glad Lila wasn’t watching him today. Instead, she was continuing to train prospective swordfighters for the charge of separate strike forces that Elsa’s plan would require.
Dangling on the rope, he reached the proper position near the sluice chute where river water flowed upward into the aqueducts. The shimmering design hovered on the rock. Bannon dipped the brush into the bucket and smeared a wide line of red paint on the sandstone. The paint was thick enough to stick to even the rain-wet rock, and Bannon covered the appropriate spot. He swung like a pendulum, back and forth, to reach more of the design. He dipped the brush into the bucket and slapped red along the projected line.
Across the cliff face, he watched his fellow volunteers hanging in their cradles, standing on narrow platforms, gripping rickety rails so they could lean out and paint farther along the lines. Many parts of the grand design were already coming together.
One of the workers leaned too far and slipped on the rain-slick wood. He yelped, and his bucket tumbled over the edge, splashing red paint like blood as it fell toward the river. The man managed to hook his arm around the scaffolding, while the rest of his body dangled free. He kicked his legs and flailed his other arm, but no one was close enough to help him. After a few tense seconds, the man levered himself back onto the scaffold, where he hunched on his hands and knees, panting to recover.