Cor noted absently that the ropes leading up the southern cliff were gone. The flank must have fallen during his fight against the dead.
It did not take long for the Loszians to circumvent the makeshift barricade. The corpses atop the pile began to move, pushed from behind to tumble downward, and then the entire upper portion began to heave. Cor couldn’t see behind the stacks of corpses of course, but he imagined a horde of armored Loszian soldiers pressing all of their weight against it. As the pile reduced in size, Cor could see more clearly; the Loszian soldiers both pulled and pushed at the corpses to clear the passage, finally enough that those in the forefront clambered up and over.
The Loszians charged over the somewhat flattened mound, and the Westerners, their spirits up for having held off the massive host for so long, charged to meet them with a unified cry. Armor polished gray and silver crashed against black chain and plate mail, steel rang and men screamed. In the thick of it were Cor and his Dahken, slaying and maiming to the left and right. Marya and Keth fought side by side, one never leaving the other, while Celdon was somewhat left to his own devices. They all took their wounds, felt their blood spill, and they repaid the favor two fold.
At first, Cor found himself hunting men to slay, for it seemed that the Loszian soldiers avoided him. At first he wondered if it was his shining black armor that confused them – perhaps they thought he was one of them? But his own men made no such mistake, easily recognizing the Lord of Fort Haldon in his beetle like helm. However, eventually they could no longer avoid or ignore him as Soulmourn cut through steel as easily as the air. Blood splattered and flew in all directions, turning the ground below to red mud beneath hundreds, if not thousands of trampling feet.
There it was again; Cor paused ever so briefly. He felt his own blood and the blood of those he slew, but he swore he could feel something else, as if the free flowing blood around him called to him.
The moment gave a Loszian to his left the chance to take a well placed swing at Cor’s head with a large single bladed axe. The axe wielder certainly didn’t realize the impenetrability of the black helm, and the axe clanged loudly with sparks against the back of Cor’s head. Cor lurched forward, thrown to the ground, momentarily stunned, and he thanked the gods the Loszian’s strike hadn’t hit a few inches lower. His head would now be rolling away.
Cor regained his senses and turned over to find the soldier towering over him, the axe hefted over his head for a great two handed downward strike. A blade caught the sun’s dying light as it hacked into the little protected armpit of the man’s left arm, carrying with such force that it severed cleanly through all flesh and bone. The Loszian’s arm fell limply severed and held in place only by his armor as he spun from the blow, blood pumping freely as his heart beat. He lost his axe as his other arm could not longer support it, and the sword came down again where the neck met the right shoulder. The Loszian fell, quite dead.
Cor found himself looking at Celdon, battered and bloodied, and his wounds closed as the Loszian’s blood emptied onto the ground. Cor nodded, and the boy’s plump face took on an ear to ear, jovial smile.
As Cor climbed to his feet, his eyes caught a sight that seemed to make time stop. A form bounded over the mound of corpses that lay in the gate, charging with incredible speed and stepping lithely over the dead. It was huge, as tall as any Loszian, but thick in the body as if well muscled, though the muscles were not defined. In the late summer sun that had begun to set, Cor clearly made out its lack of features, a form completely colored of blood and the great two handed blade of the same color that it seemed to carry but was actually part of the thing itself.
Following the Lord Dahken’s stunned eyes, Celdon turned just in time as Geoff’s ghast brought across a great two handed stroke. The boy just barely brought his sword up in time, and the great red blade shattered it, sending splinters of steel into friend and foe alike. Either for the blow to his head or shock, Cor simply could not regain his feet in time. Geoff’s return strike made contact with the right side of Celdon’s head just below the cheekbone and completely ripped off the upper portion of the boy’s skull, sending it flying through the air.
“No!” Cor screamed in fury as Celdon’s corpse fell slowly to the ground.
I’ve come to claim what is mine, said a voice in Cor’s mind, and he recognized it as Geoff’s. Kneel to me now. Surrender, and I shall spare your life. I am Lord Dahken now.
Cor launched an attack that drove Geoff backward, an assault for which even the ghast was not prepared. Seething anger drove him, and the battle song of his artifacts lent strength to his blows. Every nerve, muscle and tendon felt as if on fire, and a great roaring buzz like that of a thousand honeybees drown out every other sound. Blow after blow rang against Geoff’s blood sword, and many blows landed as they came with terrifying speed that no onlooker could follow. In fact, many of the combatants surrounding the pair ceased fighting altogether, knowing that they watched a titanic battle.
Cor drove the ghast backward, almost against the inside of the granite wall, when he caught his foot on some fallen form and turned his ankle. Caught off balance, he couldn’t avoid the ghast’s heavy foot as it impacted his chest and sent him reeling.
My turn.
Cor learned long ago that it was often easier to avoid attacks from two handed weapons than to parry them, but Geoff’s sword came with blazing speed. If Cor was driven by anger, Soulmourn and Ebonwing, the ghast was driven by something just as powerful, likely the wounds Cor had inflicted upon it. The wounds transferred directly to Geoff’s prone form, wherever it may be, but would not bleed until the ghast returned. Cor avoided some and managed to parry others with the flat edge of Soulmourn; he had no idea how he managed to hold onto the blade. Blows caromed off of his armor; while Cor knew the black metal would show no dent or mark, the force still battered him and knocked him backward.
Marya and Keth rushed to help, but black armored Loszian soldiers cut them off. The Dahken fought their way forward, and this again ignited the battle around them.
Regaining his balance, Cor struck back and then wheeled to avoid Geoff’s repayment of the wound, but he was not quick enough. He felt the ghast’s blade rip through his right side, just below his hauberk, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw gore flung through the air. Cor staggered backward and clutched at the wound with his left hand, Ebonwing falling to the blood soaked ground, forgotten. He examined his gauntlet and found it completely covered in blood so dark to be almost black. The wound was massive, mortal, and even as he tapped it for strength, he knew it would be the death of him if it went unhealed.
You can’t beat me. Now you –
Geoff’s words were cut off as two arrows thunked into his ghast’s chest, the impacts knocking it backward.
More arrows, fired from atop the wall, whistled through the air. A few more impacting the ghast, but most were aimed at the Loszian soldiers. Steel tips found holes in armor, bringing men down by the scores, and the black armored soldiers found the tide suddenly turned as they were pushed back toward the gap in the wall.
Keth finally reached his Lord Dahken’s side, and the ghast stood unmoving, a half dozen arrows protruding from its torso. Geoff turned and fled with great strides, even cutting down two of his own soldiers in his escape. He passed through gate just as massive flames sprang into being to fill the gap in the wall. Cor searched in all directions, finally laying eyes on Thyss nearly fifty feet away. The remaining Loszians fell quickly under the swords and arrows of the Westerners, trapped by Thyss’ magic.
Cor grew weak from the loss of blood, and Keth supported him as they walked toward Marya. She sat at the bottom of the stair that led up to the southern end of the wall, and Cor settled next to her. She clutched at a wound in her left leg; a huge chunk of flesh was missing, having been hacked out even through her chainmail, which was now rent and broken. Seeing her Lord Dahken’s wound, she immediately let go of the wound and removed her chain gauntlets. Her own blood flowe
d freely over the steps as she pressed her hands painfully into Cor’s side.
Within moments, neither bled anymore, and Marya leaned back against the steps to close her eyes.
“You dropped this,” said Thyss’ voice. Cor looked up to see her standing before him, Ebonwing in hand, and he tucked his fetish into his swordbelt.
Thyss’ wall of flame was gone, and Thom hurriedly directed the fort’s remaining men to rebuild some form of barricade in the wall’s destroyed gate. They used timbers, the dead, discarded weapons or shields, anything they could find. There were dead, Loszians and Westerners, everywhere, and Cor began to make a mental count of how many defenders remained.
“Yes, Lord Dahken, it is bleak,” Thom said as he approached. “Less than half remain. We have no more stones for the catapults, no more arrows for the bows. All that needs happen now is a full scale assault.”
Cor removed his helm and sat it on the step next to him. “We will not yield.”
“Commander!” came a shout from the battlements.
Thom pulled Cor to his feat, and the two men climbed the granite steps, Keth and Thyss just behind them. A purple haze, barely visible in the growing darkness, emerged from the center of the remaining Loszian army, which had pulled back some distance from the wall. The magick settled over the entirety of the battlefield, clear up to the fort’s wall, and all was still. Cor held his breath and was just about to release it, to turn away, when he could just barely make out motion in the gloom. The movement became greater, increasing in intensity, and it was as if an army of ants moved below.
“By the gods,” Thom whispered. “The dead rise.”
* * *
Under the cover of darkness, nineteen persons rode south from Fort Haldon. Their destination was Lord Paton’s lands, where they could recover and hopefully bring together the Shining West’s lords to mount a defense against the Loszian invaders. Cor Pelson, his Dahken and Thyss led the group of refugees. There were twelve soldiers from Fort Haldon, as well as their commander’s wife and two daughters.
The woman and her two girls kicked and screamed as they were dragged away from their husband and father, but there was no choice in the matter. Someone needed to command the defense such as it was, if for no other reason than to buy the refugees time to escape. It was Thom’s duty, the duty for which he had prepared his entire life, and he wouldn’t abandon it now.
He wasn’t sure why, but Thom was convinced that Cor Pelson and his people were key to the survival of the Shining West.
10.
When the fighting in Fort Haldon finally ended, there were less than two hundred Westerners left defending it. With no keep to fall back to and defend, they held the wall, knocking down wave after wave of walking dead. Eventually, Thom and his men wore down and began to fall. They were pushed backward, away from the wall, and made a disorganized retreat for Dahken Hall. The Loszians swarmed into Fort Haldon, leaving the Westerners holed up within the hall until they had secured the rest of the area.
In the end, Thom surrendered with Sovereign Nadav’s assurance that none of them would be killed or tortured.
Nadav claimed Dahken Hall as his temporary command center and throne room, taking the Lord Dahken’s chair as his own. The craftsmanship of both the table and chair was excellent, from a strictly pragmatic point of view, but it lacked the elegance to which the Loszian emperor was accustomed. At least the darkness of the woods used in the table’s construction indicated that the carpenter had some sense of style. He sighed as he realized that some of the comforts of home must be sacrificed for the war effort.
The Loszian host had settled into Fort Haldon as well as possible. The fact was that Nadav still had about fifteen thousand living and breathing soldiers and slaves under his command, and there simply just wasn’t enough room for them all under roofs. The thirty thousand or so corpses didn’t really matter. They just stood around in the elements awaiting commands from their masters, and most of them were under his control now.
Immediately upon securing the fort, Nadav sent for reinforcements from the other side of the Spine. More soldiers were in route to Menak’s holdfast, and Nadav knew that he would need them eventually, if for no other reason to hold Fort Haldon while he marched on Byrverus. It had been five days since the battle’s end, and the messenger had returned with news that four thousand were on their way. That was good, for it meant that he could march the host onward soon.
Nadav sat with his lords in Dahken Hall arguing over the next steps in his plan.
“Sovereign, we must wait. We need more time, more men. We lost several Lords, and some of the others are nervous about continuing. We cannot hope to take Byrverus. It’s a fortified city, the largest in the west. We need twice the force we have now. Taking Fort Haldon was too costly. At Byrverus we’ll fight more than men and arrows; we’ll fight the power of Garod as well.”
All this they said, talking over each other around the table while Nadav sat as impassively as possible. Truthfully, their attitudes, words and lack of faith in him and the gods infuriated him, but he let them have their say. In the end, they had no choice but to follow him; he’d kill them all if they didn’t, just as he’d killed Venid’kos. He glanced at Geoff, seated in his silver robes directly to his emperor’s right, and saw the contemptuous glare the boy aimed at the Loszians. Nadav smiled slightly, for he knew Geoff was ready to slaughter everything in his path to the power he’d been promised.
Nadav suddenly realized his lessers had stopped talking, and he took a long look at each face around the table before speaking. “We will march for Byrverus just as soon as the relief arrives from Lord Menak’s holdfast.”
“But Sovereign,” started Veltrina, but she immediately silenced when she saw the ire on his face. She hadn’t wanted to be among the invasion force at all, much less march on Byrverus. Nadav squinted shrewdly as he looked upon her, realizing that his seed had likely quickened within her.
Nadav pushed the chair backward and stood, and he placed his hands on the tabletop, leaning onto them heavily. “The Shining West is nothing to the Loszian Empire, nothing to me. The gods have gifted me power enough to crush them all or force them to kneel to me. We will march on Byrverus, and the city will fall without one spilled drop of Loszian blood. These pathetic Westerners have no idea what peril awaits them at my hands.
“And neither do you. I am Emperor of Losz, and you follow me because not one of you can defeat me for the throne. Venid’kos tried, and he paid dearly. In fact, I think he is still with us – out there amongst the other dead. I promise you my people, when we reach Byrverus, I shall show you power that will make even you tremble and grovel before me. You will worship me as you worship the gods, for their strength is mine to command. We will enslave all of the Shining West, all of Rumedia.”
It was their turn to be silent, and they sat in sullen defeat with no argument to offer their emperor. There was no argument to be made. That he had dared to blaspheme, Nadav had made it plain that that to challenge him on this point would be to challenge the gods themselves. Feeling his victory, Nadav removed his weight from the table and serenely tucked his hands into his silk robes.
He prepared to speak when the doors to the hall burst inward, and a black armored captain leading two more soldiers entered the hall. He knelt quickly before the assembled lords, sorcerers all, though the two men behind him did not. Between them, they carried a limp form whose arms where draped over their shoulders. As Nadav’s eyes drifted to this forth man, he saw a Westerner, broken and bloodied.
“What is it Captain?” Nadav asked. “Another escapee?” Several of the remaining defenders had tried to escape their captors over the last few days. It hadn’t turned out well for them.
“No, My Emperor,” the captain said as he stood. His voice was gruff and hardened, a trait common among veteran soldiers. “Our pickets intercepted this man some distance out. It seems that he carries a message with the royal seal of Aquis.”
“Interesting!”
Nadav beamed, and he rushed around the long table to receive the scroll from the officer. “Did you read it?”
“Of course not, Sovereign.”
“Very well,” Nadav said, seeing that the seal was in fact intact. “You have done your duty. You may leave now.”
As the men clinked out, dragging the dead messenger, Nadav broke the wax seal on the parchment scroll. He unrolled it and began to read while slowly pacing all the way around the mahogany table back to his chair. He sat, looked up at the waiting faces around him and then read the dispatch one more time. Nadav lightly tossed the scroll onto the table with a flick of his wrist and allowed the parchment to retake its rolled form, though it rolled itself less tightly for the effort of being read. The Loszians awaited him anxiously, though Geoff seemed calm and even relaxed.
“See to your people immediately. We march for Byrverus as soon as we are ready.”
His lords, commanders within his army, erupted all at once into questions and comments. Nadav held his hand up for silence, and when it did not happen, he slammed it down onto the tabletop. He sent a darkness through the wood, and the table began to creak and complain. Where the Loszians touched it, the wood began to crumble away and turn to dust, and worms appeared, having burrowed their way out of it. The Loszians silenced as they watched this occur, and after a few long moments, the table was no more; only the supports under its center remained. The parchment message drifted slowly to the dark, sawdust covered floor.
“Aquis has a new king, and he rides for us now,” Nadav explained. “It seems that he wishes to bring some sort of justice upon Lord Dahken Cor for having murdered their ancient queen. We march to meet this new king as soon as we are ready. I have a few things of my own to finish up. Geoff, please go and bring the Westerner that claimed to be the commander here.”
“Yes, Sovereign. Thom is his name.”
Darkness and Steel Page 9
