COF 2: The Soul Spells

20 | Temple (I)

Various screams littered the Temple courts.

Reeca cursed as she flung herself out of the war room, June at her heels. She manipulated the dials in her soul port and flashed to the wide veranda connected to the grand stairs. Below them, soldiers crowded the ground, their silver weapons sparkling in the midday sun.

There's no sign of Kymalin. Reeca blew a breath. That should be good enough.

Reeca turned and watched as the whole of the Temple personnel filed out of the altar room, carrying swords and daggers like they were made of acid. She caught one or two jaws shaking.

The serzhakis and precaris sorted themselves into the order the Rekshais arranged them into. They stood stone-faced, eyes trained on the slew of the Necrom along with the summoned spirits pooling at the base of the Temple's stairs. The tension made the air hot and difficult to breathe.

Reeca drew her sword with a glance at her bandaged wings. She frowned. There would be no flying today, either. She faced the waiting horde, turning her back on the assembled army below them.

"Banshees," Reksha Ashryn stepped out from the altar room with a resolute face. She turned to the assembled people before her. "I know you're not soldiers but at least try to remember what we planned. Focus on the magical aspect of the summoned spirits. Reeca and June will deal with the weapons. Are we clear?"

Dozens of pale heads nodded. One serzhak burst into tears. The precar next to him patted his shoulders. Reeca sighed as she turned away. Reksha Ashryn's yellow-orange eyes didn't soften. She pointed her sword towards the gathered army. "For Pidmena's glory. Avraja."

Then, the army trudged up the stairs. Reeca threw herself straight into the action. The first soldier neared. Reeca brought her sword forward and clashed with a spear's pole. She growled, drawing back. The soldier lunged with his spear. Reeca sidestepped him then grabbed his arm, locking him in place.

Her knee met his stomach and she kicked him down the stairs as he curled into himself, knocking several soldiers down with him.

Somewhere to Reeca's right, swirls of magic flashed against the gray skies as June put his spells to work. Spell after spell flew out of his hands as he wove through the horde, turning unsuspecting warriors into grotesque creatures, knocking them out of commission with a well-timed sleep spell, or just kicking them between the legs and sending them tumbling back down.

Jarim, the commander of the single unit that remained loyal to the crown, attacked like an enraged graspel, scything spirit after spirit while murmuring the release spell like Reksha Ashryn advised them. Those whom the commander's sword touched hissed and dissipated. His men advanced with the same energy, toppling the enemy like grass.

Thank the gods that the banshees didn't have any sense in designing armor. It just showed that they didn't think the Temple had a fighting chance that they were dressed in such light armor—thin breastplates, knee and shoulder pads, and metal boots. They certainly didn't expect that the serzhakis and the precaris would have tricks up their sleeves. Reeca watched their progress at the corner of her eye as she ran soldier after soldier, sending them rolling down the stairs just as fast as they could climb.

The first batch of fowls rained on the soldiers like knives, scything and scratching as hard as they could. One serzhak yelped as he drove his dagger into a soldier's sword arm. Pride blossomed in Reeca's chest even as she stabbed her sword into a thigh. From her periphery, she watched the serzhak pick up the fallen sword and continue fighting with it.

The precaris were advanced in some way Reeca couldn't explain. Instead of just swinging their weapons around, they employed some sort of soul magic on it that every time they threw it, it always comes back to them. Reeca spied several whizzing knives as the precaris bore down on the soldiers with magic-honed accuracy.

Reeca clicked her tongue as she slammed her foot into yet another soldier, sending him back down. This would be so much easier if they were on level ground. Then, something solid hit her cheek. Her vision blurred as her head slammed to the ground. The only thing that saved her from the soldier's sword was a dagger sailing past her before embedding itself on her attacker's knee.

A precar stood over Reeca, her blue-gray hair framing her small face. Instead of thanking the banshee, Reeca yanked the precar out of the way, bringing her sword up in a strong slash. Her blade met flesh as blood sprayed over the both of them. Reeca set the shaken precar behind her.

"Don't turn your back on your enemy," Reeca said without looking back.

She didn't wait for the precar to respond before launching herself back to battle. Something whistled with proximity to her left ear and she ducked just as a spirit materialized in front her. She swept her sword in an attempt to cut it in the middle but it simply passed through.

Reeca rolled over as both soldier and spirit assailed in synchronized rhythm of punches, kicks, and sword slashes. From her seated position, she arced her sword, catching the soldier's wrist. Blood sprayed as the soldier's cries filled Reeca's ears. The spirit flickered in and out of existence.

Reeca narrowed her eyes. Spirits were included now? It's time to be ruthless then. No more holding back. The enemy shouldn't be the only one serious enough in this fight. Her fingers swept over the sword she was using, her synnavaim calling off her weaving on her sword. Forward.

To keep the spirits from wrecking more havoc, Reeca has to distract the summoner with enough pain. A real sword to the shoulder might do the job. Again and again, she struck until a shrill cry broke through the action.

Reeca's eyes sped past the haze of lower peaks, towns, and fog before focusing on a woman sat astride a paulsare. From Reeca's vantage point at the stairs of the Temple, she noted the woman's bluish-gray hair. Reeca growled as she drove a soldier off the stairs and into the long fall from the peak. She didn't wait for the audible crack as she narrowed her eyes at the single figure riding out to join her soldiers.

Kymalin Iaro has arrived.