Voskov raked his mount’s sides pointlessly. The dragon pounded down the streets as fast as it could. By the time they reached the Market Square, he and the dragon had calmed. He shouted for his commanders to assemble.
“Gather your troops. The queen is coming. Her pet will force the gate into the ward. We’ll get inside and finish this tonight.”
The men were tired, but his command drew excited cries. Vishtanatar strode over to Voskov. The ancient Hykori needed tilt his head only slightly to meet Voskov’s eyes.
“Visht, lead the undead into the river and have them climb up on every side of the ward. By the time they’re in place, the flame serpent will have the Tuskaran’s full attention.”
The Demon Lord stalked toward the shuffling undead. Voskov’s success had to grate on the consort’s nerves.
Along the Tuskaran river wall, fire flared with the discharge of arquebuses. The defenders couldn’t know what was coming, so they showed defiance. Voskov didn’t bother to see if any undead were lost as they dropped into the murky water. He gathered the spiritshifters then ordered Suvlochin’s mercenaries to hold back and enter the Tuskaran Ward last.
Weird hissing announced the flame serpent’s arrival. Mallaloriva danced ahead of the creature. The flames had settled into a bright orange glow around the composite beast. Its reed head showed animation, shimmering jaws opened to give a hiss. Blue flame darted out of the mouth, forked at the tip like a serpent’s tongue. At its side, Mallaloriva fell to her knees, rocking back with her buttocks on her heels. She drew up her left hand and brought it down in a chopping motion to point two fingers at the causeway and ward beyond. In rhythm with her chanting and her bobbing head, she raised her right hand and repeated the motion. As her right arm chopped down, her left rose. Each pointing motion followed the last in quick order. The flaming apparition surged forward.
The queen’s servants and the last of her guards danced along either side of the sputtering trail left by the flame serpent. Behind them followed hundreds of swamp folk and even some Riverines drawn by the power of Mallaloriva’s magic.
As the flame serpent ground across the causeway, cannon thundered. Stone balls struck the creature. Dozens of snake bodies spun like burning threads into the night. Writhing bodies shifted like muscles re-knitting, and the wounds sealed.
The serpent reached the Tuskaran Gate. Its fiery blue tongue shot out. Powder stacked near the defending cannon along the walls ignited. Flame and flying debris threw dozens of screaming defenders from the walls.
The creature hissed and struck its head against the iron-studded gate. The gate held and the serpent struck again. Smoldering circles marked the hits. A third strike brought the groaning crash of the collapsing gate.
Around Voskov, Chenna’s pack howled and jumped in a frenzy. Only Chenna retained human form.
Flames flaring around its head, the serpent pushed through the gateway and into a barrage of Tuskaran cannonballs. Once again, the creature healed itself. The diminished flame serpent rolled over the collapsed gate and into the ward.
The old Hykori undead, Mallaloriva’s guard and the mass of civilian looters rushed along the causeway in the serpent’s wake. Darkness highlighted fire from arquebuses on the Tuskaran river wall. As the undead crawled up along the walls and attacked the ward’s perimeter, they met little resistance. More explosions boomed from behind the wall, doubtless the serpent touching off stacked Tuskaran powder.
Chenna tapped Voskov’s boot impatiently. He looked down and said, “We’ll take our time. More swamp folk will come for the looting. They’re watching all along the far shores.”
“You’ve become fearful, my lord?” Apparently a spiritshifter’s capacity for slaughter had no limit.
<>
Voskov saw no other flares along the river wall. A tremendous explosion rocked the ground, followed by a fireball from the heart of the ward. He urged his mount toward the still-kneeling Mallaloriva. Chenna and her pack followed, their heads turned toward the open gate.
He nodded toward Suvlochin. With whoops of avarice, the mercenaries spurred their dragons across the square.
The queen rested her hands on her thighs. Sweat glistened on her face and a wide grin showed white between black-painted lips. She turned her head for Voskov’s praises of her work.
“This was interesting. But my loyal general has offered me true power.” Mallaloriva turned to catch Voskov with her lustrous eyes. “Having the choice to give life to a god―that is power.” Her gaze drifted to the ward’s open gateway.
Voskov had no time for riddles. Chenna’s pack growled with impatience.
“Yes, Chenna, let’s see what awaits us.”
The rest of the pack rushed ahead. Only Chenna remained at Voskov’s side when he entered the ward. Broken and burnt bodies littered the ground. The thick carpet of Riverine and swamp folk looters attested to the Tuskaran traditions of fighting long after all hope was lost. Scattered among the windrows of other bodies were a few of Mallaloriva’s mounted guardsmen. He had hoped to salvage most of these as the foundation of the new empire.
Another explosion, more powerful than the first, rocked the ground. As debris rained down, Voskov fought to regain control of his mount. A tower of flames identified the source.
He and Chenna raced past shattered buildings and piles of bodies toward the fire. Tightly packed tenements opened into a stone-flagged plaza before a spired granite temple. A crater gouged out the center of the courtyard. Choking clouds of burnt gunpowder stung his eyes and nose.
Dozens of flame serpent pieces slithered from the ruins of a subterranean powder hall. Most writhed around in normal flames. A few headless pieces pushed themselves back toward the causeway and Mallaloriva before curling and giving off black smoke.
Armed Tuskaran civilians and a few armored leaders stood among crowds of stunned non-combatants. More Tuskarans staggered from side streets in twos and threes. Dripping undead by the dozens spilled from other streets.
Beyond the granite temple, a wide street flooded with Tuskarans fleeing toward the ward’s docks. They forgot or didn’t care about the hundreds of swamp folk waiting in their tiny boats. Tuskaran leaders drove the screaming refugees through the plaza toward the dock street. The remaining warriors formed a thin screen between the shambling undead and the last citizens.
The Tuskaran warriors firmed their ranks and overwhelmed the piecemeal undead attacks. Chenna gave a keening cry and three of her pack appeared almost immediately. Bringer arrived at a street corner near Voskov. The necromancer took direct control, stopping the uncoordinated attacks.
More undead and a score of mercenary archers under Suvlochin arrived. Voskov nodded to Bringer. They had enough to finish the defenders.
An armored woman stepped to the front of the Tuskaran line. Her aura shone faintly, even though Voskov had suppressed his demon-sight. He concentrated and her aura flared. An intense green aura surrounded the woman. Voskov had never seen such undiluted determination. He gasped. That’s the bitch who shot me at the inn back in the high hills!
Chenna roared a command to her pack. The rest of the attack stumbled to a halt while Bringer and the mercenaries waited on Voskov.
Voskov forced himself to look back at the Tuskaran line. Vivid red auras surrounded dozens of the defenders were surrounded by. These warriors would not fall cheaply.
A brilliant white aura stood before the Tuskaran woman. No living person was inside that shroud. Above the roaring flames and din of combat, he heard the woman’s voice, but no other as she conversed with the spirit.
She dropped to one knee and lowered her head. “I cannot accept your offer.”
Voskov “squinted” his demon-sight. Death had hidden when the pure white aura appeared. In the brilliance stood the form of a man in the mail and horned helmet of early Macmar warriors. I
ts head moved as if speaking, but Voskov heard nothing.
“I’ll do my duty,” the woman said, “but I can’t perform the Rite of Devotion. You would have to share this heart with Karro.”
The size of the aura diminished, but grew even brighter. Inside stood the form of a woman armored much as the man had been. It stepped over to the Tuskaran woman and placed its hands on the kneeling woman’s open-faced helmet.
“I don’t understand, but I obey.” As the woman stood, the aura flowed into her.
Voskov had to close off his demon-sight.
Bringer and the waiting mercenaries looked at him in confusion. He shouted in Shushkachevan, “Archers, that woman must die. No other target until she’s dead.”
No sooner had he called his order than the woman staggered back with a pair of arrows in her chest.
The spiritshifters leaped across the edges of the crater to close with the Tuskaran warriors. The undead engaged a moment later, while the mercenaries sent carefully aimed arrows to strike down the most dangerous defenders.
Voskov drew Madman and charged into the men clustered near the woman’s body. One limping eunuch swung his iron mace into the forehead of Voskov’s mount. The hissing, jerking dragon rolled to its side as it fell. Just in time, Voskov pulled his leg free.
Shouting Tuskarans closed with Voskov as he struggled to control Madman’s rage enough to block some of the blows. Whether from desperation or certainty that the blinding auras were gone, Death returned. For a heartbeat, Voskov lost control of his body. Death uttered a word and four Tuskarans fell back, flesh rotting from their bones as they shrieked.
With control returned, Voskov kicked a dying man to one side and drove Madman into the chest of the scarred eunuch who had killed his dragon. He held Madman there, letting Death pull energy from the dying man.
Voskov pushed the still-gasping body off the blade. No one stood near. He turned over one body and then the next without finding that woman.
<
Completely feral, Chenna stopped several steps away as Voskov said, “I am not wasting time. I think that woman is a Paladin. If I don’t take her heart or head, I may have to face her again.”
Looking around in confusion, Chenna blurred back to human form. She took up a post on Voskov’s left as he continued to search among the dead.
<>
Voskov continued to search.
<
Had Death not already taken over, Voskov would have fallen. There really is no end.
<
Voskov looked on as Death greeted the newcomer. Wrapped in a gold-thread and purple robe, a thin man approached. From the contorted face stared a pair of unmistakably cold blue eyes. Intricate swirls of glowing paint covered Ice’s face. He held a silver-bound book twice as thick as Voskov’s own Book.
<
Ice gave a bow. The look of superiority on the man’s face turned the gesture into mockery.
The assurance in the voice speaking through Ice’s mouth sounded alien to Voskov’s ears. “Oh, I’ll join you for this work. I’ve come to use our enemies and bend them suit the ends of our master. Or have you forgotten your purpose?”
Awareness ignored Voskov, speaking only to Death. The words confused Voskov, but petrified Death. Thoughts leaked through.
Images of a dark world filled Voskov’s head. Creatures like Gykiro, the demon he had summoned to destroy Emperor Ulneriev, clustered together for comfort. Before them raged a being made of fury and a pure lust for power. It had to be Death’s master.
Ice tapped his Book. “Bringing the Great Darkness will take more than simple sacrifice.” Awareness reached out to Death. “If we feed our essence to the souldrinker’s void, it will give the Great Darkness a rung to grab onto. He will enter this world and make it his own. If we are very careful, one or even both of us may survive.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“You see, Knight Karro, you see? It’s just as I promised.” The white-furred creature perching on Karro’s wrist bobbed in excitement. Two days ago, the bizarre little animal had flown into the camp. After introducing himself as Bors, he swore undying loyalty to Karro in exchange for vengeance upon Voskov.
“Yes, it’s as you said.” He stroked Bors’s head and scratched the strip between his wings. Praise and some scratching seemed to mean more to the poor beast than the bits of meat.
Bors had led the army through several shortcuts. He gleefully delivered a swamp folk ambush into the hands of the remaining local Tuskaran yeomen serving as Karro’s guides and flankers. Bors hummed softly as Karro looked down on the well-churned grassy fields and over-farmed hectares leading to Blue Harbor.
Hundreds of undead and mixed-breed swampmen dug pits across the field. At a point where the main channel swung close to a scum-covered lake, undead labored on a connecting trench. Teams of swamp folk dragged woven mats covered with upright reed stalks along the river front. Other workers dug man-sized holes being covered by the mats. From a distance, these gave the appearance of stagnant water. But the sorcerer could hide troops for a deadly ambush. Voskov’s a clever enemy.
Bors tapped Karro’s hand and pointed along the tree line. A blood-spattered yeoman, screened from view below by thick brush, motioned the safe signal. Voskov’s pickets wouldn’t report the army’s advance. Karro nodded and crept back into the forest.
A short walk took them to the waiting officers. While Lokhaz and the Temple officers looked up expectantly, Yuromar of Alentar rushed over and grabbed Karro’s shoulder. “Is he there? Did you see that cursed sorcerer or the evil queen?”
The warlord of clan Alentar led the Macmar who had pressed on with Karro. At Raven’s Crag, the florid axeman swore vengeance over the grave of his clan leader’s daughter. Daily, the Macmar reopened the wounds he took at Raven’s Crag. The messy ritual kept his rage alive and added to the fire in his gray eyes. While loyal, he seemed determined to drive Karro mad in the process of gaining his revenge.
“No, neither is in sight. I doubt they know we’re here. Their troops are working on traps enough to give us a bad time if we let them finish.” He glanced up at the interwoven branches. It was nearly noon. “Let’s not give them the chance.”
“We’ll sweep down and smash them as they work,” Yuromar said with certainty. He spun with a flare of tartan and headed back to the two hundred clansmen awaiting orders.
Slowly, Lokhaz raised his good arm to stop the Macmar. Karro shook his head, feeling relief as action approached.
“He’s right. If Voskov has his necromancers out in the daylight, using the undead as digging teams, our enemies are critically low on manpower. We may not destroy the whole army, but we will maul this piece on our terms.”
Lokhaz tilted his head―not agreement, but a lack of argument. Karro’s brother had often used the same gesture. Lines of pain around Lokhaz’s mouth highlighted his youth and what he had suffered in the service of Auros. Karro swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He was proud of his kinsman and those who followed him.
Karro pointed at two Temple commanders. “Go with Aruna in the barges and sweep the river. Spears to keep the swampies’ boats at bay and arquebusiers to give us fire support along the causeway.” The indicated company commanders grinned as they bowed in acknowledgment. During the long march through the swamp and the ambush battles, the men from the Plains temples had adopted Aruna and his entrumas as good luck. They added the unique, blunt-nosed silhouette of an entruma to their flags.
Lokhaz and the other Temple men awaited their commands.
Karro shrugged. “You heard Yuromar. We’ll sweep down and kill them all. More to the point, you’ll flank the Macmar and keep our losses to a minimum.”
He stroked Bors’s head. The creature grabbed his finger and directed it to an itchy spot. “Our friend here said the Dark Queen, Mallaloriva, is inside the dead city. Swamp folk are returning.” Karro paused. “They’ve been coming back to her since the queen took the Tuskaran Ward.” He crushed all emotions but the need to fulfill his duty. “If we give the swampies enough death and humiliate their queen, the rest will fade away. And the Book of Sorcery is inside that city. As long as it exists, the infection it carries will be with us all.”
The officers returned to their men. Karro stared off in the direction of the island where Kestran died. He had long-since given up blaming himself for things that were the will of Auros, or maybe simply fate. Surely the True God didn’t want her to die that way.
Bors patted Karro’s forearm and crooned. Karro absently walked back to Vision, telling himself it still mattered, even though the ward had fallen. Kestran was dead or worse. He would find her body for burial or for its release from the slavery of undeath.
He mounted the warhorse, dislodging Bors. The creature hovered near Karro’s head. “Remember our bargain, Knight Karro. When the battle starts, I’ll find the sorcerer and point him out. You won’t take him somewhere out of my sight or kill him quickly.”
Karro gave a curt nod and unhooked the helmet from his saddle. He settled Kestran’s last gift on his head, raising the visor of the bullet-shaped helmet.
Trotting back to the cold camp, he prayed for Kestran’s peace while hoping she had somehow survived. The last Temple troops were but specks in the distance as they marched to the river. Camp followers dragging thorny brush cursed incessantly. The noncombatants shed first blood while packing bramble between the wagons as a fallback fortress behind the tree line. The remaining Tuskaran free-farmers would stay with the camp to give the fallback defenses some teeth.
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