I cut through Coenbrand’s bathroom. The plain copper tub, long dry, was still intact.
The exercise room was well-suited to the pursuit of martial training. It was open with racks of real and practice weapons lining the walls. The floor was smooth wood and symbols of Eridan and the standard of the House of Davin, fragile with age, adorned the walls. The room was large enough to accommodate us all with room to fight, but not so large as to let us be easily overwhelmed. The only way in seemed to be the single door through which we had come. No, I was wrong. In the back of the room, partially hidden by a fallen rack was another door.
“Theof, what’s through there?” I asked.
“Hmm?” he said, looking up as helped create barricade out of wooden racks for our men to fight behind. “Coenbrand maintained a small personal shrine to Eridan. It is beyond that door.”
“A shrine to Eridan?”
My thoughts were broken by a booming sound that came from the other room.
“They’re trying to get through!” someone shouted.
“Grab those spears from the back rack! Form a line behind the barricades with the spears extended!” shouted Myrick.
I drew Harbinger. I felt the sword’s consciousness come awake.
“Ah, Coenbrand’s suite. We spent a lot of time together here. I take it that we are still in deadly peril?”
“Yes. The enemy is upon us and there is nowhere left to run,” I thought.
From the front room there came the unmistakable sound of fighting and the screams of men dying. The seconds dragged by like minutes. Our guards who had been posted in the first rooms came streaming in—those that were able to—hooking to the corners as they entered to fill in the gaps left by our imperfect barricades. Garegon’s army was right behind them.
I saw no huntsmen, hopefully they had perished in the explosions. These soldiers wore the emblem of a black mailed fist and were more commonplace in appearance, though they were a mismatched group.
The first wave rushed us; they died on our spears.
They were replaced by more of their ilk who charged over the bodies of the dead and dying. Some of these got past the spear line to hack at the guards who were somewhat protected behind the barricades. Most of the second wave died quickly as well.
Then it was a melee as a steady stream of Black Fist soldiers and Pozzelbian troops came through the door. The barricades were knocked over and torn asunder. The room filled with the sickening, metallic smell of blood.
I found myself fighting one of my own countrymen. He engaged me before he realized who I was. Then he saw my face and the sword I carried and hesitated; his eyes widened. He thrust his sword at me and Harbinger parried the thrust and I drove the point home into his breast. I felt profoundly sad but had no time to dwell on the emotion, as a leering soldier of Garegon came at me from the side. He was powerfully built and I caught his first blow on my shield and it knocked me to one knee. Letting Harbinger guide my hand, I aimed a cut at his legs. He jumped back—right into Theof’s waiting sword.
The elf grabbed my shoulder and helped me up.
“Back to back,” he said.
Nodding, I turned and we fought back to back. I tried to see my friends, but couldn’t. The room was big, not huge, but so full and dimly lit that I could make no one out. A gout of flame somewhere to my left I attributed to either my mother or Francis.
Another warrior of the Black Fist came at me. He was large and wielded a massive axe. He swung it in a wide overhand arc. seeking to cleave me in half.
“Theof, move!” I yelled as I dodged to one side.
Theof didn’t even look back, he just sprung away, leaping forward nearly ten feet. He landed in a crouch; a dagger appeared in his hand. Flipping it around, he launched it at my attacker. The blade embedded itself in the man’s throat and he fell to the floor choking on his own blood.
Two Pozzelbian regulars charged Theof. I wondered if they had any idea who they were attacking. I lost sight of him as I came under attack. A sticky web shot past me from behind and bound my foe’s arms to his sides. I turned and saw Brin, relieved that she was unhurt.
Sergeant Serria was now fighting to my right and Myrick was close to my left. Not far off, I could see the towering form of Layred Vu. It seemed as though our numbers were dwindling and we were being pushed back, but it was impossible to tell for certain in the chaos.
For a moment, I had a clear view of the door. The fighting around me seemed to slow as I watched Tabor Till join the battle. Everything about him exuded cold confidence. He surveyed the entire room. He saw me and our eyes met. If he was impressed by the sword in my hand, I couldn’t tell. His face gave nothing away. He lowered his head and began to stalk toward me.
To my surprise, I felt no fear. I had been scared, attacked, and hounded. I had faced death several times in the last few weeks and had sent my family off to the afterlife. I was beyond fear. Seeing Tabor Till coming for me filled me with only one emotion—anger. I had taken a dozen steps before I realized that I was walking forward to meet the general.
****
There had been some tense moments for Porknoy as he waited for the gate to open. But it had opened and his soldiers had walked and ridden through without challenge. Now he had more than a thousand soldiers inside of the camp of his enemy, but was still outnumbered at least three to one, and that did not count the soldiers that were undoubtedly inside of the castle.
Now what?
About two thirds of the soldiers that Porknoy could see were the Twelve Sect Order troops. They were loosely clustered around a number of fires north and west of the barracks compound. Porknoy much preferred engaging the cultists to his own countrymen. Thus far, he had managed to limit the deaths of the Pozzelbians that they had fought. He realized that he might not be able to maintain his luck in this respect, but perhaps he would not have to. His men wore uniforms of the Pozzelbian army, if a fight broke out between his people and the Twelve Sect force who would the real royal army soldiers be likely to support?
Quickly, he called Jalos, Jeremiah, and his officers together and told them his thoughts.
“It is possible,” said Jalos. “A few things occur to me though. First, it would be best if we could somehow make it look like they attacked us, but still maintain our surprise. Second, we had best make this happen quickly. The longer we wait the greater the likelihood that we will be found out. Someone will expect a report from someone who isn’t here, or something like that and then our surprise will be lost and the whole castle will be against us.”
“I think I can arrange something,” Jeremiah said. “Lieutenant, if you take your men there, near the camp with the Black Heart banners, I should be able to bring some of them toward you. And it should be visible to the soldiers near the castle and those on this side of the barracks. With luck, we can sell it as an hostile action and get the real royal army troops on our side.”
“What will you do?” Porknoy asked.
“I haven’t decided yet. Just get the men in position and wait. I won’t be long.”
Jeremiah went on foot toward the enemy camp. Porknoy and the other officers began moving their men into place, close to the enemy camp, but not so close as to appear to be doing anything unusual.
Porknoy had just gotten them into place when he heard shouts and the sound of fighting from just inside the Black Heart Sect camp. Then Jeremiah came running out of the darkness, much faster than Porknoy would have guessed the old man capable, followed by over a dozen armed men.
“Now,” he said to the men closest to him.
Porknoy’s soldiers fell on those of the Black Heart. Other members of the Black Heart Sect saw this and began to rouse their camp.
“They’re attacking us!” Porknoy shouted. “At them soldiers of Pozzelby!”
While the Black Hearts were still getting organized, Porknoy sent a row of cavalry tearing through their camp, c
ollapsing tents and crushing the confused resistance. Disorganized bands of Black Hearts charged Porknoy’s lines, which had the benefit of drawing the attention of large groups of Pozzelbian soldiers. To them it looked like their little known allies had turned. Groups of soldiers began to leave the barracks and join the fight.
Inside of the commander’s quarters, Callis had just completed his charm—all he would have to do now was get close enough to Grimwulf to use it, say fifteen or twenty feet—when the sound of fighting drew his attention. He went outside and could not believe what he was seeing.
“Soldier, what is going on?” he asked one of the guards that he had posted outside of his door.
“The foreigners have turned on us sir,” he said. “They’re trying to take the castle for themselves.”
“What? That is ridiculous! It can’t be!”
It was as the soldier had said. Garegon’s army was fighting the Pozzelbians. How had this happened?
He spied a lieutenant near the barracks. The officer was forming his men up to join the battle. Callis ran over to him as quickly as he could.
“Lieutenant, what are you doing?”
“Taking my men into battle, sir. These foreign allies have betrayed us.”
“Who is in command of this action?”
“Well, I heard that Colonel Tholla’s force returned. With General Till engaged inside, I assume that the colonel has taken command.”
“Where is Colonel Tholla?”
“I don’t know, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get my men into the fight.”
“No, you have to get in there and order them to stop fighting! This is a mistake.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but only the king or a higher ranking officer can give that order.”
The officer turned away from Callis, dismissing him. Callis was infuriated and was tempted to slay the impertinent soldier on the spot. However, he had more important matters to attend. Perhaps, if he could not control the Pozzelbians, he could control the Twelve Sects. He had to find Garris Stone.
General Stone’s tent was several hundred yards away. Callis had to skirt the expanding edge of the battle, but was unmolested. Garris Stone was outside of his tent, seated on his ebony stallion surveying the action. As usual, his visor was down concealing his face.
“General Stone, we have to stop this,” said Callis. “It is madness. It does not serve our purposes.”
“You are wrong priest. While you may be comfortable with subterfuge, I abhor pretending an alliance with the enemies of our Lord. Very soon the sword will be in our hands and our Lord will be returned to the woe of this realm. I see no reason to continue this charade. The Pozzelbians began this fight and surprised us, but it matters not. We are superior. I have just ordered the Knights of the Red Fang to enter the battle.”
“But...”
“Don’t question me, priest. You may be first among the first, but you are nothing to me. Make yourself useful and cast a sorcery to help us defeat this rabble.”
“And you?”
“I will be doing what I do best and enjoy most.”
Stone snapped the reigns of his mount and the animal jumped forward carrying his master into battle.
Callis had little choice. He would not defy Garris Stone. He would pay a dear price if he did. And he knew that he would pay a higher price still if they failed here. What spells did he know that would help them here? It had to be powerful and something that he could cast fairly quickly. He searched through the hidden nooks of his mind for the perfect spell. Nothing came to him. He began to despair. Finally, he noted that there were already a considerable number of corpses on the ground and the bodies of those who had fallen in earlier battles had been buried in a mass grave behind the barracks complex. He did know a spell that could help. It was necromancy, usually the sphere of the third sect, the Blood Moons. Callis’ sect specialized in knowledge; they were the diviners of the path. But he knew other magics, like the charm, and this spell.
He required grave dirt and human bone. The dirt covering the mass grave would suffice for the former. He went and collected a few pinches of the dirt, placing it into a pocket. Now for the bone. The guards that Callis had placed by the command building were still there. They stiffened to attention as he approached.
“I require your assistance inside,” he told them and they obediently followed Garegon’s priest into the building.
Keeping his back to them he told the soldiers to close the door. As soon as it shut, Callis turned and grabbed both men by the arm. His eyes were black. The men tried to pull away from Callis’ frigid grip. When they could not, they began to scream, but the screams quickly faded to whimpers as the life was sucked from them. Their faces turned gray and criss-crossed with bulging blue veins and they finally sagged to the floor dead. Callis felt the opposite; he was energized by the lives that he had just stolen. He could use that energy in the ritual he intended to perform. He removed his dagger from its sheathe. With it Callis removed an index finger from one of the men.
He went back outside. The muggy, summer night was turning to rain. A few big drops began to fall. On the other side of Mount Crowl, lightning flashed. It would be a storm.
Callis had been upset at the turn of events. But now that he was committed to this other course, he was reveling in the chaos. He grinned as he stalked across the barracks yard.
With his dagger, Callis drew a pentagram in the dirt and inscribed the symbols of Garegon and the sects. Taking the dirt and the finger in either hand, he lifted his arms toward the clouds, even as the rain began to increase. He closed his eyes and he began to chant.
Two hundred yards away, Porknoy was surrounded by members of the Endless Night Sect who were frantically clawing at him, trying to drag him from horseback. He cut down two, three, four of the rogues before a slung stone glanced off his skull. He saw a flash and in that moment filthy hands grabbed his leg and arm and pulled him from the saddle. He cut blindly, expecting at any second to feel a sword slide through his ribs. Instead, the leering, hateful faces that peered down at Porknoy disappeared. Surprised, he scrambled to his feet. Three of his attackers were laying on their backs in the thickening mud. The others were circled around a very vulnerable-looking Jeremiah.
Porknoy started to go to his aid. Before he could get there, the cultists attacked the old man. Jeremiah became a whirlwind of motion, a spinning top. Every movement sent one of his opponents sailing away. Staff, hands, and feet; all came into play, while the attackers had no more success than if they had tried to attack a cloud. By the time Porknoy had covered the ten feet that separated him from Jeremiah, all of Jeremiah’s opponents were down.
“Gods, how did you do that?”
“Centuries of study and practice is all it takes. Shall we finish this?”
Porknoy’s mount was well-trained and still standing close by. The lieutenant climbed back onto the saddle. Now, he had a better view of what was happening. They were making good headway into the center of the enemy camp, where the footmen were housed. But it looked like they were encountering stiffer resistance on their right flank. There, a small contingent of fully armored knights on horseback, bearing insignia that looked like a red tooth or fang, was causing a lot of trouble for Porknoy’s troops.
He signaled his cavalry to meet this new threat.
Lightning flashed, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder so loud that many on the field paused momentarily. The night sky burst and the summer rain became a downpour. Because of the rain, Porknoy initially believed that his eyes were playing tricks when a man, obviously dead, began to move. When the man stood up, Lieutenant Porknoy knew that he was not seeing things. He felt the bile rise up in his throat as the dead thing looked at him with mindless eyes.
All over the field of battle the dead were rising, friend and foe alike. But they only appeared interested in attacking Pozzelbian troops, roya
l army and Earmunder alike. From behind the barracks he saw more of the walking dead coming toward the battle, hundreds of them, slowly shambling along.
To his left, Porknoy saw another flash. He thought that it was more lightning, but when he looked, he saw that there was a middle-aged woman now standing next to Jeremiah.
“Did I miss anything husband?” she asked.
“Not much. It seems that one of our opponents can raise zombies. A small army of them just rose up,” Jeremiah said. He did not seem overly concerned. To Porknoy he said, “They’re less frightening than they look. They’re slow and stupid. Decapitation and dismemberment works well against them. Spread the word.”
“In the meantime, I’ll see if I can’t do something about the ones by the barracks,” said Nightshade.
Porknoy watched as she flew effortlessly over the battle and landed about fifty feet ahead of the mass of undead coming from the direction of the barracks. She held out her arms, her staff in one hand. Nightshade began to glow orange. When the zombies were about twenty feet away from her, huge balls of fire erupted from her hands and tore through the ranks of the zombies. They were not fireproof. They kept coming forward, about a dozen steps, while flames consumed their already dead bodies, before beginning to stagger and drop. In less than a minute, the entire group was destroyed. The heavy rain was already putting out the fire, but it had done its job.
Once he had cast his spell, Callis had retreated to the rear one of the barracks buildings to get out of the rain and watch the impending carnage. He was dismayed to see two-thirds of his zombies wiped out with such ease. He did not know Nightshade for who she was, but recognized her as someone formidable. He had to eliminate her, but was hesitant to challenge her directly. Garegon had granted him some skill at weather magic. Perhaps he could remain where he was, where he was mostly concealed from her view and use the already violent weather to mask his actions. She would know that she was being attacked, but not until it was too late.
He concentrated on grasping the pattern of the storm, expanding his power to blend with it and control it. This was the dangerous part. If she was looking for it, she might sense him as he gathered his magic. But the fierce conditions allowed him to generate the effects that he wanted quickly and she seemed unaware. She rose into the air, starting to fly back to the battle. Callis increased the speed of the wind around her and she was engulfed in a vicious whirlwind. He laughed as she was spun round and round. But Nightshade fought back and got into the exact center of the vortex. She flew along it up and out.