The Reckoning, page 20
Then the Elven warriors raised their long narrow shields in a protective circle, awaited their moment, and sent up another volley.
Below the stairwell leading to the gatehouse, Phalae and his men fought as a unit to the right of Etan’s Elisians. Not one Urakian broke through, but to the left, the Urakians were forging an opening.
Phalae charged into them, slashing, hacking, and slaying. Like a lion among jackals, he hammered his way through their ranks dividing them. The men of the Blue Panther gathered behind him roaring their defiance, pushing the Urakians back.
Etan joined them at their center, plunging his blade into a warrior’s chest.
As the man fell, he lashed out, his sword slicing a shallow cut across the captain’s cheek. Etan stumbled and another man lunged. Erik hurled his dagger to hit the assailant, hilt first, behind the ear. The man half slipped and dropped his sword.
Erik finished him with a two-handed cut to the neck and pulled Etan to his feet.
“Behind you!” The Elisian cried. A warrior leapt from the stairway, his axe raised. Erik spun on his heel and brought his sword around and opened up the man, shoulder to gut, but his sword snapped in his breastplate.
Two Urakians dropped down from the stairs. He dove, scooped up the fallen axe, and rolled to his feet. He blocked an overhead cut, then backhanded a warrior across the face with the axe handle.
The first man lanced his blade at Erik’s shoulder but missed by a breath.
Etan ran behind and hammered his new, found sword into the attacker’s neck.
The Urakians fell back.
****
Tannith and Ohma moved with stealth down a dim, narrow corridor lit only by a lone torch in a sconce at the end of the hallway. In the harsh silence of the castle, the humming from the Cross at Tannith’s throat rang out unbearably loud.
As they rounded a corner, all pandemonium broke loose. In the distance, a scream sounded, and then another.
Footsteps scudded on the staircase at the end of the corridor, and they hurried into an unlocked bedchamber.
Tannith ran to a narrow window and threw back the shutters.
Ohma moved up beside her and shaded his eyes. “Erik has succeeded. The gate is open, but there is no sign of your prince.”
“He will be here; this is too important to him.” Tannith creaked open the door. “Come, we need the Eye.” She peeked into the corridor, then quickly pulled back shutting the tall oak door again as a soldier ran past.
Her back against the door, she sighed. “Why does the Cross make this noise?” She clutched at the icon around her neck. “It is getting louder and driving me insane. Is there no way to stop it?”
“Unfortunately, not. I had an idea this might happen once we came within range. It is calling to the Eye.”
“You could have told me.”
He sighed. “It cannot be far now.” He opened the door and peered out. “The guards must have joined the battle. Hurry, this is our chance.”
They ran down the corridor and through an archway to a spiral staircase, and the scraping of their leather boots echoed back eerily through the empty hallway as they climbed.
****
Sernon stood on the balcony of the tower room, his eyes bright.
Blood surged hot in his veins as he peered into the killing fields below.
“How many of these fools do you think there are?”
“My informants counted almost twenty-four hundred Elisians and Elves, and six hundred tribesmen. How they persuaded those black devils to fight, I cannot begin to imagine. They hate the round-eyes, and they fight like demons unleashed.”
“No matter, they will die the same as any other. The Wolfhead Prince is among them?”
“No. My spies tell me he is a league away with two thousand cavalry and three thousand foot soldiers following a half a league back. Prince Kaden should be here within the hour, the rest of his rabble around noon.”
“Good. You have done well, Kraal, everything is going as planned. When the prince and his cavalry enter, bar the gates.”
“My lord?”
“No enemy of mine will leave here alive this day.”
The newly appointed general was about to speak again, but Sernon signaled him to silence. “We will split his force. When we have annihilated those inside, let the others through. We will be ready for them.” He gave a cold smile. “Soon these swine who dare to defy me will be wiped from this land, enslaved, or imprisoned in the mines. With the Urakians by my side, I will rule unopposed. With the power of the Dark Gods, I will be invincible! Did you know there are other realms that are invisible to our eye?”
Kraal shook his head, but Sernon saw his mind racing.
“Today I will perform a rite which will have one of those worlds opened. When these cretins are defeated, my army will march through the gateway and crush that world also. We will be the greatest force in the Universe. Just think, Kraal. Slaves, power, riches beyond anyone’s imagination.”
Kraal’s black eyes gleamed with greed.
Sernon’s lips curved into a cruel smile, and he spoke again. “Order my priests to bring in the prisoner. “ ’Tis time for the ritual.”
****
Kaden topped the rise. He sat on his black destrier, staring down into Tinsliegh Valley. The sight of it brought a sense of deja vu.
He had been here and done this before. That day the Dorrachian army had been crushed. That day Wolveryne Castle had been lost. He vowed to himself today would end differently.
Distant screams like those in a recurring nightmare echoed through the valley. Glancing over his shoulder, his gaze swept the cavalry lined up behind him. He stood in his stirrups and signaled to a young, dark haired Dorrachian several horses back. The war horn sounded, and Kaden punched the air with his fist. “Attack!”
And two thousand horsemen followed him into battle.
Chapter Eighteen
Sernon stood on a raised dais beside the black altar and watched the prisoner being dragged into the tower room.
Three priests emerged from the shadows and roughly fastened him to the heavy stone.
“You will die for this, heathens!” The King of Ellenroh’s voice echoed off the thick, blue-stone walls. Even after months of imprisonment, his will to fight was not broken.
Sernon leaned over him. “Do not threaten me, cur. Has the darkness you now dwell in not taught you that, if nothing more?” He ran a finger down the king’s cheek, burning a scar where he touched. The king screamed and cowered back as Sernon laid a gentling hand on his brow. The fight went out of the king and his head sagged to the side.
“So much better.” He smiled coldly at his high priest. “Now I can think. Gag him. We do not want him waking during the ceremony and shouting for help.”
The bald priest rushed forward to do his master’s bidding.
Sernon watched the proceedings, unseeing. His mind raced ahead. To him, the king was not just a prisoner, but a pawn in a greater plan.
Victory was close. He could taste it. He had worked hard and long, serving the Prince of Darkness over the past year, planning this moment. Now it was time to seek his reward and see his enemies crushed.
With the sacrificial ritual of the Seventh Moon, power equal to the God of Blood would be his. He had only to perform the rite, and the knowledge of the time portals would be within his grasp.
Everything was in place—the day, the time, the location, the sacrifice. The necromancer’s lip curled in contempt—a king. If this was the best Tarlis could breed as a ruler, then the realm was as good as his.
All he needed was the final ingredient—the Cross of Tarlis. Yet even now, that ancient icon of power was wending its way toward him.
Raising his hands to the heavens. Thunder cracked overhead, a fissure opened in the ceiling, and the roof vanished.
He signaled another of the bald priests. The man stepped forward and struck a giant brass gong, which peeled throughout the castle, the sound traveling out the tower room window.
There was not a body in the courtyard that did not cease their fighting to look up.
The heavens opened, thunder boomed, forks of lightning streaked across the leaden sky, and spilled its pain in torrential rain down upon the helpless mortals below.
The fighting began again in earnest.
****
Kaden leapt from Phoenix’s back at the front of the castle gates. With his sword drawn and the war cry of the Dorrachians on his lips, he led his troops through the outer bailey into the inner courtyard.
The tribesmen, upon seeing the prince’s men, gave a mighty roar and surged forward. They beat their hard leather shields with the blades of their scimitars.
The Elves redoubled their efforts and rained volley after volley of green shafts into the ranks of enemy archers manning the battlements.
An Urakian wearing a horned helm lunged at Kaden. The prince swung back and brought his shield around side on. He crashed it into the man’s large gut. The soldier grunted and doubled. Kaden caught him under the chin with an uppercut that snapped back his head. He sidestepped and gutted him with his knife.
He spun to dispatch another who stood behind him. The man grabbed at his jugular, unable to believe the speed of the attack or the blood gushing from his ruined throat.
Rounding, he caught sight of Erik and Etan fighting back to back in the shadow of the north wall. Systematically, he fought his way toward them.
****
Across the courtyard, the newly promoted General Kraal stepped from the castle and surveyed the mêlée.
Donning his skulled helm, he signaled to a stocky warrior in the gate tower.
Lieutenant Castrin raised the drawbridge and lowered the portcullis, putting a stop to further entry into the castle. Or exit.
His orders completed, Kraal stepped out to engage the enemy. “Who wants to die this day?” He dragged a young Dorrachian from his horse, ramming a knife through the gap between the soldier’s helm and breastplate puncturing his throat, then tossed the boy aside. Punching his fist into the face of another, he drove the blade of his short sword into the Elisian warrior’s heart.
****
Tannith’s steps faltered, as over the humming of the Cross came a terrible roar. She ran to the window and pushed back the shutters. Her eyes widened as she watched the portcullis drop, enclosing the rebel soldiers within the courtyard.
“Gods no!” The words were torn from her throat.
“What is it?” Ohma eased her out of the way to peer down into the walled courtyard.
“The gates—look at the gates. Our men are trapped. They are like calves to the slaughter.”
Ohma stood silent, his gaze traveling over the battlements to the slope of an adjacent hill. “Yes. But that is not the worst of it.”
She pushed in beside Ohma. Pouring into the valley, were thousands of foot soldiers. Behind them, scores of farmers, carrying crude implements of the field, pitchforks, picks, hoes, sickles, scythes, and shovels—anything they could use for weapons. Tools they knew well.
Tannith groaned, and Ohma patted her hand. “Erik or Kaden will find a way to reopen the gates,” Ohma soothed, though deep in his heart, he held out little hope for the brave men below unless they could find the eye of Magus in time.
****
Hammer fumed. No gate would stand in his way! He had journeyed many leagues to fight this fight. He studied the lowered gate in disgust. Did they think this pitiful thing could stop Hammer Deathwielder and his army?
Shae had blood to spill and another legend to create.
The dwarf ordered his men to the slopes to fell trees for battering rams and to fetch ropes, grappling hooks, and scaling ladders from the wagons.
On the blood of his ancestors, no ironbound gate would defeat him!
****
Inside the inner courtyard, Phalae of the Blue Panther had found a kindred spirit in the form of the Swaithia, Demise. He grinned wickedly. “If we go now, we should be able to cut our way through to that ugly one in the skull helm. He has slain a score of men since I watched him slither from the castle.”
“You keep him busy while I hack out his greasy throat.”
Demise laughed and thrust his arm through his shield grip. “Let’s do this. He has a face that won’t be missed by his mother.” Bringing his battle-axe around, he released a cry and leapt into the mêlée. “Death to the slayers of Tarlis! Death to the killers of children!”
“Today, you dung eaters die!” shouted Phalae behind, swinging his scimitar across an Urakian neck.
The front line of the Urakians slipped and slithered their way over bloody, rain-splattered cobblestones and sprawled bodies only to be cut down by the slashing blades of the resistance.
Breathing heavily, Kaden stood in the middle of the defenders. Radoch and Skylah, who had been separated from Erik when the battle began, stood at his side.
Time and again, the enemy swept forward, only to be turned back by the steadfast courage and sharp blades of the rebels.
****
Kraal, alone, was not surprised at the resolute fighting of the resistance. He had been at the first battle against the Dorrachians. He knew the strength of his enemy, and grudgingly, he respected them for their purpose and determination.
However, he saw their strength failing, their losses were many. Without the reinforcements locked outside the castle walls, it would not be long before the leaders fell, their line broke, and they were crushed.
He read a battle like a game. There came a time when combat could be charted like a steady stream, its ebbs, and flows. That time was now. The rebel line was breaking, morale was dimming, and they were being beaten back.
Urakian voices rose in victory.
The rebels fought on doggedly, leaden-legged, and heavy-armed. Inch by inch, they were forced back toward the outer courtyard, toward the closed gates where their reinforcements battered for entry. The sound playing on their minds, eating into their confidence like a viper in the soul.
****
Erik saw what was happening and shouted to Etan. “I am going for the gates.”
“No!” Etan ran in behind him, fighting with his back to Erik’s. “It cannot be done!”
“I must at least try.” Erik blocked a thrust to his chest. “Are you with me or not?” A warrior in a battered helm leapt forward. “After this one,” he shouted. He parried a blow and reversed a cut, leaving the warrior’s head hanging from his shoulders. “Now. Watch my back!”
Erik lunged toward the staircase leading to the ramparts.
“Jerak, to the battlements,” roared Etan, sprinting in Erik’s wake.
Jerak shouted the order. A volley of arrows flew into the mass of enemy archers at the top of the staircase, breaking into their ranks. The Elves notched and let loose again.
Death rained down on the Urakians and they fell back, opening a gap for Erik as he gained the ramparts. The sting of a sword blade licked at his thigh. He wiped the blood from the shallow wound and shouted to Etan to hurry. His blade whistled, swinging death at the head of his next attacker. The man fell screaming over the battlements. Erik ducked a sweeping battle-axe and plunged on. A two-handed swing drove his sword home across the neck of a long-haired warrior, and his head rolled as his body dropped.
Beside him, Etan leapt and twisted, cleaving and killing, his blade slick with rain and blood.
Two warriors ran at Erik. He blocked a knife thrust from the first and struck the man with the reverse stroke. His sword stuck in his opponent’s armor, and a war hammer arched toward his head.
Etan parried the blow, lopping off the man’s hand. The soldier fell back screaming.
“Take care, Dorrachian, next time you might not find yourself so lucky.”
Erik flashed him a grin and raced on. The gatehouse loomed ahead, only twenty more paces. His dagger flew and thudded home between the bulging eyes of the gatekeeper. Lieutenant Castrin gasped and fell at Erik’s feet, all life fading from his eyes.
Blood trickled from the cut in Erik’s thigh and side, but he had reached his objective. He raised his broadsword and brought it down hard on the wrist-thick rope. After a second attempt, the rope split, the counterbalance dropped, and the portcullis rose.
A cheer went up from the men below the walls. Those starting up the grappling ropes and scaling ladders joined their companions in their chant. “Freedom! Freedom!”
The word broke over the courtyard and echoed around the valley as thousands swept through the gates into the courtyard, overrunning the enemy. They were still outnumbered, but with fresh men, they had the advantage.
Erik’s heart raced as he ran back along the battlements. Men from the outside were also streaming over the walls. He spied Etan fighting twenty paces away, and with a grin, sprinted toward him. Together they would find Kaden and finish this!
Then he staggered. A burning sensation. He tried to right himself and looked down to see a red shaft protruding from under his ribs. Blood trickled over his fingers as his hand went to the arrow, and his legs slowly buckled. Dropping to his knees, he glanced up to see a warrior in a bear-skull helm clutching a longbow staring at him with a sneer on his ugly visage. Bright lights clouded Erik’s eyes as the warrior turned and fled.
Etan caught him before he fell. He lowered him to lean against the battlement wall. “Easy, my lord.” He snapped the arrow and dropped the broken piece to the ground.
Erik fought to grin. “That is the first time…you have called me that…now I know I am dying.”
“Do not be a fool, of course you are not dying.” Etan’s voice was solemn, his face devoid of all emotion. “Save your strength.” He signaled to three Dorrachians to give them cover.
Erik stiffened as a new bout of pain stabbed into his vitals. “I did it…did I not? I opened the gates?”
****
“Yes, you did it. You saved us. The gates are open. These dogs shall soon bow before you.” Etan’s gaze fell to the red shaft jutting from between Erik’s ribs. The young king’s face was pale. There were rings beneath his golden eyes and a pale blue tinge about his lips. Signs he had seen too often. Etan looked up at a young Dorrachian soldier. “The one in the bearskin helm—see him dead.”
