Pantea

Pantea awoke with a start. Cold sweat covered her from head to toe and the sheets had twisted themselves around her legs. Her pounding heartbeat shook her body from head to toe, sent a fine trembling through her limbs. The mirror over her dresser reflected back a face gone sickly pale beneath her freckles, her red hair sweaty in its braids, and she rubbed her hands over her cheeks.

She could still feel the nightmare hovering over her mind. A darkness so complete she hadn’t been able to see her hand in front of her face. Screams echoing in the distance. And a smell she hadn’t smelled since the Rebellion, a musty scent that clung to the back of her throat. Death.

Pantea swallowed hard. The smell seemed to have followed her out of the dream realm and into the real world. It sat on her palate, stubborn and unmoving. Realization struck and she leapt from her bed; it was real. The stench of fresh bodies, horrible and cloying, it hadn’t been from the dream, it was here, in this city, in her home.

Her golden armor rested on its stand at the corner of the room. Pantea stripped out of her pajamas and shimmied into her black body glove before stepping into the armor, jamming her broad shoulders into the pauldrons. The activation rune glowed purple as the spell pulled the front of the armor together, wrapped it around her body like a second skin. Pantea took a deep breath as the helmet closed and runes sparkled to life on the inside of her visor.

"Report,” Pantea ordered as she activated the spell to materialize her sword in its scabbard.

Another spell tickled to life just behind her left ear; Far Speak, tinny and filtered through magic connected her to the army's web of Battle Mages. “Second and Third companies ready for deployment. First nearing completion.”

“Fourth?”

There was a long pause. “Unknown,” the Battle Mage said at last. “They have not reported in since they went out on patrol last night.”

“City status.”

“Wall integrity one hundred percent. Mass casualties from unknown assailants. Three War Hands of Scythian Sisters have deployed to the rear with the rest on crowd control. Healing Hands have deployed to the gates with mages on support.”

“Any word from First Mage Flora or Mitera Tamar?”

“Negative.”

“Any word from Commander Maddox Vel’s battalion?”

“They have left Māṛī Jag'hā but they will not be here until midday tomorrow.”

Pantea grunted. “Then we will fight with just this one battalion. Have Captains Rasa, Laki, Ziwaldi, and Abrax meet me at my quarters.”

“I will comply.”

A rune popped up on her visor. Spell complete; armor integrity at one hundred percent. The living metal whirred as she stepped off the stand to race through her house toward the door. Something drew her up short as she reached for the handle; a scream, carrying across the capital like a clarion bell cutting through the silent night air. Cold washed over Pantea at the terror in that scream and she wrenched the door open to stomp out onto her stoop.

The opulence of Rājadhānī never failed to take her breath away. It had seemed massive to her small eyes when she’d come here as a young orphan barely out of diapers and her parents, both knights, killed in the Mage Wars. The domed buildings, the graceful archways over peaceful streets, the lattice screens and rich tapestries had always given her untold comfort.

Frightened townsfolk now filled these once-peaceful streets. People streamed from their homes, rushing toward the Golden Gates, clutching their children and valuables to their chests. Something was happening; Pantea’s home sat at the center of the city, between the Coven and Palace, but she could see the majority of these people were fleeing from the residential area toward the rear of the city.

“Commander.”

Pantea turned to see her three company commanders standing just beyond the stairs of her home. “Where is Captain Ziwaldi?” Pantea asked.

The three company commanders exchanged nervous glances. “We do not know,” Laki said at last. “He is not in his quarters, nor is he responding to the Battle Mages.”

“Second company ready for deployment,” Rasa cut in. “Where would you have us?”

“On the gates.” Pantea eyed the quickly approaching crowds and winced. “Maintain order. A panic like this will have people acting out of character.”

“At once.”

“Captain Abrax, see to Queen Kittur. Her Broken Chains will do their best to see her to safety, but they are only one squad. Give them a hand.”

“I will comply.”

“Captain Laki, you and I will recon the rear of the city. Whatever has happened, it began there. Battle Mage, alert Androleteira Lyudmila and inform her that we are on route to support.”

“Affirm.”

Pantea followed Laki as she led her company into the back of the city at a brisk jog. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Pantea had lived in Rājadhānī for fifty-two years and been a knight for well over half of those years. No one had ever breached these walls, not since First Queen Cilan had torn their country free from the chains of slavery a thousand years ago and built this capital from the ashes of a Suṭō Patriarch’s tower.

“I have not drawn my sword in battle since the Rebellion,” Laki muttered to Pantea. “Wonder if I still have the taste for it.”

“It will be a sad thing to have blood on our blades once more. Peace, it seems, is not the way of this world.” Pantea eyed the street and frowned. “Awful dark here.”

“A counter cast on the glow globes. Odd. It seems this area is empty as well.”

“Let us hope they evacuated safely.”

Far Speak crackled in Pantea’s ear. “Androleteira Lyudmila and her Sisters are just ahead,” the Battle Mage whispered. “She has requested that your company go dark.”

Pantea and Laki shared a confused glance then nodded. Pantea reached up to the grid of runes on her chest and pressed one on the far right. A spell dropped over her armor, washing the metal in darkness, burying the gleaming gold beneath a black so pure she blended into the darkness. The entire company followed suit and Pantea’s visor adjusted, etching the knights out of the darkness with a golden glow.

Someone snapped their fingers. Pantea turned to see Androleteira Lyudmila, her black leather armor outlined in purple light and she breathed a relieved sigh. “Mila. What have you found?”

Lyudmila’s hands moved quickly in bulky Battle Sign and Pantea’s visor struggled to keep up. -Unknown hostiles ahead. Observe.-

Pantea stepped up next to the Scythian and peered with her down the street. At first she saw nothing. Then her visor picked something out of the gloom and washed it in a blood red light; human-sized, but with the legs of a beast of burden and the fangs and claws of a predator. It worried at something on the ground and Pantea turned away before her gorge could rise.

-Battle plan?- Lyudmila asked.

“How many have you seen?”

-A dozen. More in the buildings.-

“Very well. Lyudmila, take your War Hands in. Flush them out; lead them here, to the shield wall.”

-Compliance.-

Lyudmila disappeared into the darkness. Pantea turned to Laki and nodded. “This is the main street. We hold them here, in this chokepoint.”

“I will comply.”

“Battle Mage, alert the other companies. We have found the attackers and will hold them at the entrance to the residential bloc.”

“Affirm.”

Pantea pressed a rune on her left forearm. Metal clicked and groaned as a shield materialized from her armor. It grew until it covered her from shoulder to shin, formed from a metal somehow both light and almost indestructible thanks to mage and elemental engineering. She drew her sword before taking her place with Laki at the rear of the formation.

Silence made Pantea’s ears ring. She could hear shuffling in the distance; the meaty thump of fists striking bodies, sighs of effort and running footsteps. The Scythian Sisters never broke their oaths of silence, not even when mortally wounded. It always seemed odd to Pantea, who fought with knights who screamed and cursed and taunted, but the Scythians were their fastest, strongest warriors. They were the shock troops; not even the knights’ enhanced armor could keep up with them.

“They are coming,” Laki hissed. “Hold steady! If they get past us, they have a straight shot to the gates!”

Scythians raced toward them, moving almost faster than Pantea’s visor could track. They hit the shield wall and the knights braced themselves as the first Scythian planted her foot on a shield and launched herself over the first three rows of knights, followed by the rest of the three War Hands. And then came the creatures, moving almost as fast as the Scythians. They hit the shield wall with a crash of flesh against metal and an unnerving ferocity.

A blur of screams and fresh blood on the ground. Pantea pressed her hand against the back of the knight in front of her; she could already feel the pressure from the front line of the phalanx as the creatures shoved at them. At the far edge of her vision, the visor tracked six projectiles: the Scythians’ explosive potions. Glass shattered and creatures flew into the air as flames erupted.

Pantea set her feet and hunched her shoulders. Runes scrawled across her visor as the spell tracked the life spells from the armor of the knights around her; Tassia, mortally wounded; Grey, dead; Leena, mortally wounded; dead, dead, wounded, dead. An alarm sounded in Pantea’s helmet; the company had dropped from one hundred and sixty-two knights to a shocking one hundred and four.

“Commander!” Laki screamed. “What do we do?”

Pantea clenched her teeth. Their basanite armor, armor that could withstand multiple blows from a sword, could stave off an arrow, was no match for the claws and teeth of these creatures. They ripped through it like paper, tore it apart like it was no more than a spiderweb. How could they fight something like this?

“Retreat.” The order burned like acid and she shrank her shield to the size of a buckler to make it easier to run. “Pull back. We are doing no good here.”

“Commander,” the Battle Mage whispered.

Pantea stepped to the side as Laki’s knights tried to effect an organized retreat. Behind them, fire raged as flames claimed nearly half of the nearby homes. “Go.”

“City evacuation is at seventy percent. Captain Abrax has recovered the Queen, First Mage, and Mitera.”

“Good. At least we will still have our leadership if we somehow make it through this.” Laki gave Pantea a nod as she led her knights away from the failed shield wall and Pantea trailed along after them. A Scythian knelt over a fallen knight and Pantea pulled her away. “It is too late for him, Sister.” A glance at the life-runes made her choke back tears. “Too late for all of them.”

The Scythian nodded then glanced up. Pantea followed the woman’s gaze and felt her skin crawl. The creatures had taken to the rooftops, leaping from building to building toward the front of the city. Toward the gates.

“Battle Mage. Be advised, we were unable to hold them at the rear. Our armor is no match for their claws.”

“Understood. What is our best option?”

Pantea clenched her teeth. “The city walls are too smooth to climb, even for them. With the Queen’s permission, I would seal the Golden Gates and initiate the Atama Hala.”

The Battle Mage paused. “Acknowledged. I will contact Captain Abrax and Queen Kittur.”

Pantea ran through the streets. The creatures above outpaced her; there were so many, many more than a dozen, maybe a hundred. None of the knights had managed to make a kill; their swords glanced off the creatures’ skin even as the creatures’ claws sliced through solid basanite. It made no sense and Pantea deactivated her sword to put on a burst of speed, overtake Laki’s company, and come out into the front of the city.

Madness greeted her as she turned the last corner. Screaming townsfolk, beleaguered knights, wailing children, all crammed the streets. The Golden Gates, wide enough to allow three wagons side by side, looked narrow with so many bodies trying to pass at once. At the side stood Queen Kittur, statuesque and steady in her golden armor, her Broken Chains holding their whips at the ready as Captain Abrax’s company stood guard.

“Pantea!” Queen Kittur cried. “The Atama Hala?”

“There is no way to fight them.” Pantea took a deep breath and shook her head. “We need time, time to research them, gather ourselves and prepare.”

Queen Kittur shook her head. “But this is our home, Pantea.”

“My queen, we have fought together since you took the throne. You trusted me in the Rebellion, with your very life. Trust me now when I say there is no way to save this city. We must gain some distance and learn about these things before we can effect a defense.”

“I do trust you, my old friend.” Queen Kittur shook herself and straightened her shoulders before turning to the ancient, wizened woman at her side. “Mitera.”

“I know.” Mitera Tamar leaned on her cane and brushed aside long white hair streaked with soot. “Flora is standing by with the spell. At your word, she will begin the countdown.”

Queen Kittur’s eyes drifted to a point just over Pantea’s shoulder. “Ah. It seems we are out of time.”

Pantea whirled to see the creatures pacing down the streets. Firelight glanced off lumpy backs, knobby protrusions, torn skin; she could finally see them. In the mess of all that stretched skin were human faces, human eyes backlit with a blood red glow, human lips spread wide to hold a mass of fangs.

“By the Blessed Writ,” Queen Kittur breathed. “They have been corrupted.”

Pantea clenched her teeth. “Battle Mage, evacuation status.”

“Nearing completion, by all reports. We will not have a tally of the dead and missing for quite some time.”

“Very well. Withdraw all units outside the city and get clear. The Queen has approved Atama Hala.”

“Acknowledged.”

The mass of fleeing townsfolk had dwindled to a steady stream. They needed more time; the creatures would get here before the last of them could reach safety. Pantea met Laki’s eyes and the woman nodded.

“Shield wall!” Laki ordered. “We need only hold them for a moment!”

Pantea turned to Queen Kittur. “It is time to go, my queen.”

“Very well.” The Queen took the whip curled at her hip and handed it to Pantea. “Take this. Lined with kansi metal, honed to a razor sharp edge. Use it well, as you have before.”

Pantea nodded and slammed her right fist over her heart before reaching out to clasp the Queen’s forearm. “Fight for the living.”

Queen Kittur wrapped her armored fingers around Pantea’s forearm and squeezed. “Kill for the dead. I hope to see you in this realm again, my friend, but if the worst happens, I will see you in the Beyond.”

Pantea nodded as the Broken Chains escorted the Queen out of the city, followed by the First Mage and Mitera. The chain whip in her hands fit her palm perfectly; it had been hers, once upon a time, when she’d been a Broken Chain, one of the Queen’s personal guard. It felt like a lifetime ago, long before she’d rejoined the army and taken command of First Battalion. This whip had once served her well. She would soon find out how well it performed today.

A clash brought her back around to see that the creatures had met Laki’s shield wall. They fared no better; all their armor, spelled and blessed by Coven and College couldn’t help them now. But the ruse had worked. The creatures toyed with the knights, pounced on them almost playfully and batted them around like a cat with a toy. All the while, the last few townsfolk hurried through the gates.

Pantea moved to the gate house. Heavy counterbalances hung on either side of the gates, held in place by thick chains. She surveyed the runes spread out across the gatehouse wall with a grim smile. That one would open them, that one would close them, but this one would free the chains, let the counterbalances fall and seal the gates shut. Nothing short of an elemental could lift the counterbalances once they fell.

“Commander.”

Pantea took a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

“Evacuation complete. Queen Kittur, First Mage, Mitera, and Androleteira Lyudmila are secure. All forces are out of range.”

“Very well.”

Her hand hovered over the rune. From outside the gatehouse, she could hear the screams of Laki’s last few knights as they fought till the very end. Fear made her hand shake and her throat go dry but courage made her slam her palm into the rune. A split second passed, then the chains groaned as the counterbalances began to lower. The gates closed in response and Pantea grimaced. Too slow, much too slow. The creatures could escape.

Pantea stepped out of the gatehouse and unspooled the whip with a practiced flick. She glanced at the remains of Laki’s knights, tried to distance herself, and realized she couldn’t. Rage filled her, pure and burning, and she walked to meet the creatures as they lifted their heads from their most recent meal.

“Countdown initiated,” the Battle Mage announced.

“Good.”

One rushed her. Pantea whirled the whip over her head and brought it down in a devastating arc of glimmering metal. To her shock, the whip sank into the creature’s shoulder and kept going, bit deep into its sternum and passed out through the side of its abdomen. Pantea pulled the whip clear in a spray of black ichor as a tremor ran over the creature’s brethren.

“Kansi metal!” Pantea cried.

“Say again?”

“Kansi!” Pantea took two steps, spun, and lashed out at the nearest creature, cut it in two at the hips. “The chain whips, they work! Tell the Queen and Mitera; they must have the artificers line all weapons with kansi.”

“Acknowledged.” The Battle Mage’s voice shook with relief. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Time check,” Pantea demanded as she took out yet another creature.

“Ninety seconds.”

Pantea turned a slow circle. Black blood dripped from the tines of her whip and she faced down the horde of creatures with a manic grin. They didn’t seem to know what to make of her; they held back, tense, and unsure, their resolve in their invulnerability shaken.

“You are afraid. As well you should be."

Three rushed her, their arms outstretched and claws grasping for her throat. Her whip shrieked out in a wide arc, lopping their heads from their bodies. The rest paced forward and Pantea backed up, blocking the still closing gates as best she could.

“Sixty seconds.”

“Come on, come on,” Pantea muttered, sparing a glance over her shoulder at the still closing gates.

A creature howled. Another echoed it, then another, and another until an entire chorus of howls filled Pantea’s ears. She screamed back at them, vented her rage into the smoky air. They moved on her as one and Pantea launched herself into motion, her whip a blur as she fought. Six of the creatures lay in pieces around her, then ten, then twenty. Behind her, the gates slammed shut.

“Thirty.”

“They do not fight with strategy,” Pantea gasped out. “They fight as animals, mindless and savage.”

“Acknowledged.”

Soon her sisters and brothers would have vengeance. Yes, they might lose a city, but nothing could destroy them, not so long as a single citizen of Rājadhānī still lived. Now that they knew the key, now that they had the way to fight these things, Maddox would return here with the force of his entire battalion and make things right.

“Ten.”

Pantea staggered back. She’d lost count of how many she’d killed now; the battle had once again become a pained blur of motion and desperate fighting. Her strength bled out through a dozen wounds along her torso, arms, and legs but a stubborn kernel of anger kept her moving. Distantly she could hear the Battle Mage counting down and she knew the end was near.

“One.”

Something clicked in the distance. The spell, laid beneath this place hundreds of years ago and maintained by every Mitera and First Mage since. Somewhere down below, a spiderweb of ancient magic activated hundreds of barrels of the mages’ explosive potions. Pressure sent shockwaves across the ground, rippling like water, and Pantea braced herself.

The ground heaved. Pantea felt her armor tighten around her as she flew through the air, felt it harden on impact as she slammed into the ground. Her visor darkened as flames roared to life and an integrity alarm echoed in her helmet. She couldn’t move, couldn’t see the creatures but she could hear them, hear their roars of shocked pain before one last blast rattled through her bones. Blood leaked from Pantea’s ears and she fell forward into darkness.

***

“Here, here!”

Debris shifted and stones rolled. Hands ripped at the ground in a desperate search until one at last found an arm wrapped in golden armor. Or, at least, it had once been golden. Fire had scorched it, blackened it into something smoky and battered. More hands joined the first and they pulled as hard as they could until they at last saw the body attached to the arm.

“By the Blessed Writ.” A rag wiped across the helmet’s visor until it reflected a broad nose, heavy brow, and sparkling deep brown eyes set in a swarthy face. “We thought we had lost you.”

“Maddox. Get…” Pantea let out a pained groan. “Get me out of this armor.”

Maddox hit the rune at the center of Pantea’s chest. The armor sighed open and spilled her out into the destroyed street. “Easy there. You’ve been under that rubble for almost an entire day.”

Pantea blinked up to see earth elementals lifting piles of rubble, Scythians laying their healing hands on wounded knights, mages building defenses. “Did it work?”

“It worked.” Maddox eased her into a seated position. “It killed all of them. Here, take this. It is one of the Scythians’ healing potions.”

Pantea downed the sweet liquid and smiled at the tingling sensation as it went to work. “I thought it would kill me, if the creatures failed.”

“I was not too sure about that spell when I added it,” Mitera Tamar chimed in with a grin. “It was difficult to convince the original spell work to avoid knights in our armor, but I see it was not in vain.”

“Saved my life, Mitera,” Pantea told the woman with a smile. “Thank you. Maddox, help me up.”

Maddox looped Pantea’s arm over his shoulder. “We have already assimilated your remaining knights into my battalion but we can undo that if you wish.”

“I will allow it, as your new second-in-command.”

“Of course.” Maddox grinned then sobered. “We have begun gathering up all the kansi we can. The artificers are already preparing the enchantment.”

“We will need everything, Maddox. Those things tore through us.”

Maddox grunted with effort as he lifted Pantea to her feet; she stood a full head taller than him. “There were more survivors,” Maddox told her with a smile. “Some civilians, Laki, and forty-six knights from her company. This was not an entire loss, Pantea.”

Pantea sighed and patted Maddox’s shoulder. “Nor was it a victory. This will weigh heavy on us all.”

“What now?”

“Now we gather our people to our strongest fortress, to Akhara Kil'hā. We prepare. And, when the time comes, we will wipe these beasts from our lands.”