The other men nodded. They all might well die before the day was out, Mazael knew. They might die before noon.
At least Romaria was safe from the battle. Though she possibly faced a greater danger.
Then the growling voice rang over the walls.
###
Sykhana gazed at the walls of Deepforest Keep. The city was not as grand as Knightcastle, or as fortified as Castle Cravenlock. Yet the towers and walls stood tall and strong, and men and Elderborn waited atop the battlements, weapons in hand. Deepforest Keep would not yield without a sharp fight.
How would they ever get inside?
One arrow, that was all it would take. One stray arrow sinking into Aldane's flesh, and all of Sykhana's hopes would turn to ashes.
She steered her horse past the looming Ogrags, to where Malavost and Skaloban conferred with Ultorin.
“Our numbers are insufficient!” said Skaloban, head swaying back and forth in alarm. “There are more defenders that we anticipated! And I can sense the gathered power of the Elderborn druids. They are most potent.”
“Our numbers are sufficient,” said Malavost, calm as ever. “Your forget our goal, honored Skaloban. Our goal is not to destroy Deepforest Keep, or build an empire for the Malrags. Our goal is to take the Vessel to the Door of Souls atop Mount Tynagis. True, we may lose nine out of ten Malrags by the time the battle is done. But what of that? The Malrags are expendable tools. Even the Malrags themselves think so – they'll be reborn again in a few decades, after all. And once the Vessel has fulfilled his purpose, once Sepharivaim has been born, we shall have no further need of Malrags.”
“I will,” said Ultorin, “speak to them. Now! I will speak to them now!”
Sykhana looked at the Dominiar knight, trying to hide her fear.
Ultorin's deterioration had accelerated over the last few days. His eyes had turned a sulfurous yellow, stark against his waxy skin. Black veins threaded their way through his hands and temples, and he stank of rotting blood. Strange gnarled tumors of twisted gray flesh bulged from his jaw and forehead. He held his bloodsword constantly now, the blade veiled in swirling darkness, and sometimes he talked to the weapon, muttering in a crooning voice.
Either the bloodsword itself was destroying him, or the sheer amount of Malrag life force had stolen through the blade was corrupting him into a monster. But even as his mind crumbled and his body warped, Ultorin had grown stronger and faster. She had seen him cut through an Elderborn scouting party, butchering a dozen Elderborn in as many heartbeats, laughing all the while.
As soon as Aldane achieved godhood, Sykhana decided, she would kill Ultorin.
“Speak with them, Grand Master?” said Malavost.
“Are you deaf?” bellowed Ultorin. “I will speak with them! Use your magic, wizard. Let them hear me! I will tell them their fates, how they will perish upon my blade. Let them know me and despair!”
“A sound strategy,” said Malavost, and he cast a spell. The air in front of Ultorin rippled, and the wizard nodded. “They can hear you now.”
Ultorin began to speak.
###
Rachel stood in her guest room in the Champion's Tower, staring at the Malrag host.
She had seen the great battle near Castle Cravenlock, watching as the men of the Grim Marches strove against the Malrags. But this was worse. Barely five thousand men defended Deepforest Keep.
Her hands tightened into fists.
Aldane was out there, somewhere, in the middle of those Malrags.
A voice like thunder boomed over the city.
###
Mazael recognized Ultorin's voice at once.
“Men of Deepforest Keep!” boomed the Dominiar knight. “I am Ultorin, Grand Master of the Dominiar Order!”
“A spell,” muttered Lucan. “To amplify his voice.”
“You cannot stop me!” said Ultorin. “I have Malrags and Ogrags beyond count. My shamans will butcher your precious druids. My Ogrags will tear down your walls. My Malrags will swarm through your gates, and butcher your women and children before your eyes, butcher them like hogs! Only then, only after you drown in your tears and choke upon the blood of your families, only then will I permit you the gift of death!”
Silence answered his pronouncement.
“But there is no need for unnecessary suffering,” said Ultorin, his voice almost purring. “Lay down your arms, and depart the city, and I shall slay you quickly and without pain. Your lives are at an end, either way. The only choice left to you is whether you shall die quickly, or whether you shall linger to hear your children scream for mercy.”
“He cannot possibly be serious,” said Rhodemar.
“He's not,” said Mazael. “Ultorin may be human, but he has a Malrag's heart. He's only toying with us. Go outside those walls and he'll torture and butcher you – you'll only have saved him the trouble of breaking through the walls first. But two can play at this game. Lucan! Can you use a spell to magnify our voices?”
“Certainly,” said Lucan, and he gestured and muttered. The air rippled before Athaelin, and Lucan nodded.
Athaelin sprang upon the battlements, sword in hand. “Hear me!” His voice rumbled over the hills and the sides of the mountain like thunder. “I am Athaelin, the Greenshield, Champion of Deepforest Keep and Defender of the Mountain! I see you for what you are, Ultorin of the Dominiar Knights. You are a craven and a weakling, hiding behind your Malrags, relying upon stolen sorcery in lieu of true valor.”
Silence answered his pronouncement.
“You want our lives?” said Athaelin. “Then come, craven! Come and face us! Come and face men with hearts of valor, with spear and sword and bow in hand! The Malrags may be reborn, Ultorin of the Dominiar Knights, but you will not! Come, and we shall send you screaming down to the hell you so richly deserve! Come and face the men of Deepforest Keep!”
A roar answered his pronouncement as the men and Elderborn upon the walls shouted their defiance, shaking their weapons in the air. On and on the cry went, the side of the mountain ringing with it.
It must have enraged Ultorin. And their one hope of victory lay in enraging Ultorin beyond all reason.
“Lucan,” said Mazael.
Lucan nodded, gestured, and the air in front of Mazael rippled.
He sprang up onto the battlements besides Athaelin. “Ultorin!”
His voice thundered over the armies, enhanced by Lucan's magic.
“Do you remember me, Ultorin?” said Mazael. “Do you remember how you brought fire and sword into my lands? Do you remember how you swore vengeance upon me for the destruction of the Dominiar Order?” He drew Lion, and the Malrags were close enough that the sword burst into snarling azure flame. “I am still here, Ultorin! What are you waiting for? I am Mazael, Lord of Castle Cravenlock, and I defy you! Come and die, you coward, you murderer of children, you...”
Ultorin's howl of fury screamed over them like a dark wind.
###
Sykhana backed away as Ultorin raged, lashing about with his bloodsword. The ashes of a half-dozen Malrags lay upon the ground, and even as she watched, Ultorin killed another, the bloody light of his blade burning ever brighter.
“Grand Master,” said Malavost. How did he remain so calm? “We...”
“Kill them!” screamed Ultorin. “Kill them all! Attack!”
And around Sykhana, the Malrag host moved.
###
The Malrags bellowed their war cries, and the combined noise was louder than Mazael’s voice, louder than Ultorin’s, louder than the thunder itself.
“I think,” said Lucan, “you made him angry.”
Mazael nodded.
The Malrag horde surged forward like a black tide, covering the foothills below the city, and still more and more surged out of the Forest. Yet there was organization in the chaos, and Mazael saw the Malrag attack splitting into two groups. One veered to the west, moving towards the road the climbed below the city's walls and led to the gate. The second su
rged towards the base of the bluff and the southern wall. Mazael wondered what they intended to accomplish, but then he saw the enormous ladders carried by the Ogrags, a hundred feet long, topped by spiked grapnels. They would only need to scramble halfway up the bluff, and let the ladders cover the rest of the way.
The Malrags would take horrendous losses...but Ultorin could afford to spend Malrag blood like water.
“Gerald,” said Mazael, keeping his voice calm. “Go take command of the reserve. If the gates are breached, or if the Malrags make the walls, I'll need you to fill in the gaps. Rhodemar. Take command of the archers on the western wall. Make sure the Malrags don't reach the gates. Also, focus your fire on any Ogrags. They might be strong enough to batter through the gates by themselves.”
Rhodemar nodded and ran off.
“Lucan, Athaelin, stay with me,” said Mazael. “We shall go where we are needed. Lucan. If you see Ultorin, if he's within range of your spells, do not hold back. Hit him with everything you have.”
For some reason, Lucan cast a nervous look at the black staff in his hand, but gave a sharp nod.
Around them, arrows hissed through the air as the Elderborn on the walls began to fire at the Malrags.
###
Sykhana watched the assaults surge towards Deepforest Keep, watched arrows fall from the walls. The Malrags heading up the road changed formation, raising their shields over their heads like overlapping scales. A tortoise formation, she had heard it called. The Elderborn arrows fell upon the tortoise in a storm, and some got through, but most did not.
Bit by bit the tortoise crawled its way up the road, towards the gates.
Ultorin paced back and forth before Sykhana, still snarling and cursing. He had killed his horse in his fury, the beast's withered carcass lying beneath an oak. Now Ultorin stalked through the ranks of the Malrags, gesturing with his bloodsword.
Sykhana held Aldane close...and kept her hand near her poisoned dagger.
“Ah,” said Malavost.
The Ogrags at the base of the bluff moved. Their huge ladders, assembled from the trees of the Great Southern Forest, rose up. Each ladder weighed over a ton, yet the Ogrags' strength lifted them like delicate branches. A dozen ladders crashed against the city's walls, their spiked grapnels digging into the stones.
Hundreds of Malrags surged up the wide ladders, shields raised over their heads to ward off arrows.
###
Mazael cursed as the spiked grapnels dug into the battlements. The huge ladders were hundreds of feet tall, and a dozen wide. The things were enormous, and too heavy to simply push away from the wall.
And hundreds of Malrags scrambled up the ladders, shields raised. From time to time an Elderborn arrow hissed through, sent a Malrag tumbling down the bluff to its death. But there were too many Malrags scrambling up too many ladders.
He risked a glance to the west. The Elderborn fared better there, pouring volleys of murderous arrow fire into the Malrag tortoise. The front ranks disintegrated, and soon dead Malrags paved the road, the survivors trying to protect themselves with their shields.
Another ladder crashed against the battlements, the spiked grapnels digging into the gray stone. Athaelin shouted orders, and the spearmen rushed forward and set themselves, shields raised, spears at the ready.
“Lucan!” said Mazael.
###
Lucan swept a glance over the ladders.
Too many of them. Far too many. If enough Malrags reached the battlements, they could establish a beachhead and pour into the city. If he did not act quickly, Deepforest Keep would find itself overrun.
Fortunately, Lucan had come prepared.
He reached into his coat and withdrew one of the copper tubes that Timothy had made. He removed the cork, tossed it over the wall, and whispered the spell. Magic stirred in response to his summons, and the end of the tube began to glow.
Lucan did not point the tube down, of course. The flames would only erupt upwards, into his face, and he had no wish to burn to death. Instead he tossed the tube over the battlements, watching it bounce of the rungs and Malrag armor.
And then it erupted.
Orange-yellow flames exploded from the copper tube, cloaking a dozen Malrags in snarling flames. The tube spun as it fell, spraying flame in all directions, and soon scores more Malrags and two of the ladders burned. The burning Malrags lost their grips and fell, sending dozens of other tumbling to the ground, while the two burning ladders collapsed in a pile of debris.
Hundreds of Malrags fell with the wreckage.
But ten ladders still leaned against the walls.
He needed more power.
Lucan sent his will in the bloodstaff. He yearned to open himself to it, to let the power fill him with strength and vitality. But he dared not. The druid's blood already marked his hands, and he might spill more innocent blood, if he drew too deeply upon the staff’s Demonsouled might.
Instead he summoned a surge of power, enough to enhance a single spell, even as his body and heart screamed for more, more. Lucan leveled the bloodstaff, pointing at the ladders, and shouted the final phrase of his spell. Invisible force ripped from his staff, crashing into two of the ladders like giant fists. One fell backwards, the Malrags clinging to the ladder roaring as they plummeted to their doom. The second wobbled to the side, falling into another ladder. For a moment both tottered, the Ogrags fighting to keep the ladders upright, but too many Malrags had climbed upon them.
The ladders fell, shedding Malrags as they did so.
A wave of nausea surged through Lucan as the spell’s power drained from him, but he gripped the battlements and stayed upright, preparing another attack.
And even as he did, the roots of trees erupted from the base of the bluff like writing brown serpents, wrapping around the bases of the ladders and tearing them to splinters.
###
Ultorin cursed in fury when the seventh ladder fell to the ground in a rain of splinters.
Sykhana shied away from him.
“How are they doing that?” he said, pointing with the bloodsword. A thin line of drool slithered down his chin. He had begun growing fangs, misshapen spikes of twisted yellow bone.
“Magic, of course,” said Malavost. “The druids are summoning the roots, and…ah. Yes. The Dragon’s Shadow is using his little staff to rip down the ladders.” He grinned, pale eyes flashing. “The little fool. He’s going to regret that. Do you not agree, Grand Master?”
For some reason Malavost smiled, as if at a private joke.
“I don’t care how they’re doing it!” said Ultorin, yellow eyes narrowed. “Stop them! Mazael Cravenlock is in there, and I want his head.”
“As you wish, Grand Master,” said Malavost, unruffled. “If you will but order the shamans to follow my direction.”
Ultorin growled and jerked his head, and a dozen Malrag shamans moved to Malavost’s side, their tattered leather robes rustling. Malavost lifted his hands and began to chant, a cold breezing stirring around him, and the shamans did the same, their growling voices echoing inside Sykhana’s head.
Then Malavost’s fingers blazed with green light, and he thrust out his hands.
###
Lucan staggered.
A pulse of green light washed over Deepforest Keep. For a moment the warding sigils upon the walls crackled in blue-white radiance, and then faded. But the animated roots at the base of the bluff went still, their magic dispelled by the power of the shamans.
No. Not just the shamans. The Malrag shamans had the raw power, but it had been Malavost’s subtle skill that guided the spell.
And still three ladders leaned against the wall.
“Lucan,” said Mazael, Lion a bar of sky-colored flame in his fist.
Lucan gave a shake of his head. “That is the best we can do for now. Malavost will counter anything else we cast at him. And the spell to animate the roots took a great deal of power. It will take the druids a few moments to recover themselves.”
<
br /> Mazael cursed, looked at the courtyard below the Great Traig, where Ardanna and the druids stood, chanting as they cast spells.
“Then three ladders it is,” said Mazael. “We shall have to fight.”
Athaelin nodded. “Men of Deepforest Keep! Brace yourselves!”
Demonsouled Omnibus One Page 107
