The officers of the attacking force had done their best to order the men into a defensive circle, but the darkness, general confusion, and panic rendered the men into a sort of undulating, vaguely pear-shaped formation. Before discipline could be restored, the attack began.
Goblins poured out of the hills, executing quick hit-and-run attacks against the human army. Mostly these were an annoyance rather than a true threat: the goblins didn’t stick around long enough to do much serious damage. More worrying were the figures in black who moved in silence and carried blades that sliced through chainmail as if it were paper. These mysterious warriors fought tirelessly, cutting down a man with nearly every swing, and they seemed impervious to attack. The dark specters also fought in hit-and-run fashion, adding to the overall terror of the situation. When an attacker burst from the darkness, it was often difficult to tell at first whether it was a goblin or one of the lethal and unstoppable warriors. The men fought bravely, but after several hours of harassment they were exhausted and greatly diminished in numbers, whereas the wraiths and goblins kept coming with no sign of ever stopping — or even slowing. The officers urged the men to hold out until morning when they would be able to see the goblins coming and perhaps the wraiths would weaken, but there was no hope of that. About two hours before dawn, the human army threw down its arms and surrendered. Of the twenty thousand or so men that had broken through the gate, perhaps two-thirds survived, and many of those were badly wounded.
Boric recalled the wraiths and issued an order to the goblins to clear the humans from the bridge and disarm the army. The bridge was clear in short order, and Boric made his way across to reenter the castle, wanting to get a view of the battlefield from above. Brand came up alongside him, with Corbet the wraith close behind.
“What are you doing?” Brand demanded, gripping Boric by the arm.
“Accepting the enemy’s surrender,” answered Boric.
“There can be no surrender!” Brand shouted. “If we don’t stop them now, they will keep coming. In a month, or a year, or five years, the armies of the Six Kingdoms will be back, stronger than before — and they aren’t likely to fall for your parlor tricks again.”
Boric turned to face Brand. “You, a peddler of magic mirrors, are accusing me of parlor tricks. That ruse, Your Lordship, was an example of tactics. Unhand me.”
Brand let go of Boric’s arm. “I command you to finish this,” he said evenly.
Boric laughed his harsh, rasping laugh. “You’ve been hanging out with sycophantic corpses too long,” he said. “I might get there eventually, but I’m not there yet. I didn’t fight this battle for you. I fought it for Milah and Leto — and for me. These men surrendered, and the honorable thing to do is to disarm them and send them home.”
“Honorable!” exclaimed Brand. “What do you know of honor, Slaagtghast? You’re a wraith.”
Boric turned and continued walking toward the castle.
“Fine,” said Brand. “I’ll finish the job. Vektghast, guard the bridge.”
Boric stopped, turning to face them. Brand turned and walked away. Corbet remained behind, drawing his sword. Boric turned to face Corbet, and Corbet strode toward him.
Boric took a swipe at Corbet’s feet, which Corbet easily parried. Corbet stabbed at midsection and Boric swept it aside. The two wraiths continued to strike and parry for a minute, and it soon became clear that Corbet had improved greatly since Boric and he had last met. He must have stepped up his training at Kra’al Skaal after his humbling encounter with Boric. After all, he couldn’t have become a great swordsman after he died, could he? How could a dead man’s reflexes be improved? No, Boric determined, Corbet could only be as good as he was when he died, no better. As Brand had said, the wraiths were only shadows of their former selves.
That gave Boric an idea: there was little initiative or creativity left in Corbet; he could only do what Brand — or his own reflexes and training — told him to do. He fought well but mechanically, using all the same thrusts and maneuvers he had used when he was alive. But he wasn’t alive anymore — and neither was Boric.
Boric deliberately left himself open for a blow and Corbet predictably took advantage of the opportunity, thrusting his sword deep into Boric’s sternum. If Boric had been alive, it would have been a death blow. The enchanted blade did sting a bit as it sliced through what was left of his vitals, but it couldn’t kill him. The thrust put Corbet off balance and dangerously close to Boric. Grabbing Corbet’s wrist and twisting to the right, Boric caused him to stumble toward the edge of the bridge. Boric leaned forward and thrust his foot hard against Corbet’s desiccated gut. It crunched like a pile of dead leaves as Corbet stumbled backward, falling off the bridge into the abyss below. There was a momentary, ghastly howl as Corbet fell — and then silence.
“Brand!” called Boric, striding across the bridge.
But Brand was already on the other side of the moat, moving quickly to where the other wraiths had gathered. Presumably he intended to seek protection from Boric among the wraiths. But someone barred his way: Milah, who had been hiding in the hills, had come down to confront him.
“What are you doing, Brand? Why was Boric fighting Corbet on the bridge?”
“I gave Boric an order and he refused it,” said Brand.
“I don’t work for you, elf-boy,” Boric said, advancing toward them, his sword still drawn. “You want a job finished, Brand? I’ll finish the job I came here to do.”
“What’s he talking about, Brand? What job do you want him to finish?”
“He wants to massacre the prisoners,” said Boric.
“Brand, that’s idiotic,” said Milah.
“I was going to go with cowardly and evil, but yeah, idiotic is good too,” said Boric.
“These prisoners are our leverage,” said Milah. “If we kill them, we’ve got another twenty thousand men out there just waiting to get revenge. How long do you think a few fallen trees are going to keep them out? If you kill these men, you kill us all.”
Brand was speechless. “I…didn’t think…”
“Yeah, you can stop there,” said Boric, sheathing his sword. He walked over to a goblin captain who was coordinating the disarming of the soldiers. “Once you’ve finished disarming them, set up a tent over there for wounded men who need medical attention. Let them tend their own wounded, but give them whatever supplies they need. The unwounded should be separated into two groups: the nobles and the commoners. Put the nobles here and the commoners over there. And I want a full head count of each.”
“How do I know who is what?” asked the goblin, confused.
“Anybody wearing any shiny armor goes over here. If you’re in doubt, assume it’s a nobleman. Got it?”
The goblin saluted and repeated the orders to a group of his subordinates. It took about an hour for the disarming and separating. Roughly one in twenty men stood in the nobles group. Boric walked among them, looking for faces he recognized. The men recoiled in terror, recognizing him as one of the dark warriors who had dismembered so many of their men. Part of their horror may have been due to the fact that he had been slashed and stabbed several dozen times in the course of the battle; he looked like a ragdoll that had been chewed up by a rabid dog and smelled like a side of beef about two weeks past its prime.
Boric recognized King Balinn of Quirin, King Sharvek of Skaal, and King Gavin of Peraltia among the nobles. Gavin had a bad gash in his right leg, but had remained with the unwounded to allow the worse off to be treated first. Toward the back of the group Boric saw a young Ytriskian knight he recognized. “You,” he said, pointing to the knight, “come with me.”
The man was clearly frightened but followed Boric without comment. When they were sufficiently distant from the group, Boric turned and spoke to him. “I need you to deliver a message to your fellows outside the gate. Tell them we have fourteen thousand three hundred ninety-one men in captivity. They will be well-treated as long as no attempt is made to attack us or
rescue them. For every man that you send through the pass, we will execute one prisoner, starting with King Gavin of Peraltia and working our way down the chain of command. Brand will meet with your commanders on the plain tomorrow at dusk to negotiate the terms of your surrender.” Boric had the man repeat the message back, which he did flawlessly.
Boric beckoned to the goblin captain he had addressed earlier. “Take ten of your best men and escort this man through the Pass of Salarat. Instruct the captain of the archers he is not to be harmed. Go!”
Boric turned back to Brand. “This sort of trade I understand,” he said. “They want their men alive more than we want to kill them. Win-win.”
Brand gave a pained smile, and Boric retreated to the castle in anticipation of the sunrise.
Not two hours after the knight left with the message, a cadre of goblins came down from the hills with two human spies who had been sent to gather information on the situation inside Brandsveid. Boric had been prepared for this. He had the spies wait in the foyer of Kra’al Brandskelt and ordered a pair of goblins to retrieve King Gavin from outside. The goblins returned with Gavin between them. Gavin’s boot had been removed and his leg was wrapped with blood-soaked bandages. His face was pale, and he could barely walk, but he held his head high as he limped through the foyer past the spies, disappearing into the dark room in which Boric had ensconced himself. The goblins entered behind him closing the door. There was a scream and then silence. A moment later, the goblins exited the room, one of them holding a severed hand on a plate. The middle finger was adorned with Gavin’s emerald ring.
The goblins slid the hand into a burlap sack and handed it to one of the spies. “Master says take this to your king. And he says King Sharvek of Skaal is next.” The goblins escorted the terrified man outside, and Boric stepped into the foyer. “Put the other one with the commoners,” he ordered another goblin. When the goblin had left, Boric said to another, “Find me a nurse. Gavin’s leg needs attention. And when you’re done with that, get me another hand from one of the corpses. Somebody fat and hairy like Sharvek. Just in case they need more convincing not to mess with us.”
No further convincing was necessary.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Just after sundown the next day, Boric, Brand, and Leto climbed over the pile of debris blocking Salarat Pass and walked out onto the plain where a circle of torches blazed. Inside the circle a table and chairs had been set up. Seated on the far side were the kings of Avaress, Blinsk, and Ytrisk. Yoric sat in the middle, with King Rapelini of Avaress on his right and King Jeddac of Blinsk on his left. Four knights stood guard on the edges of the circle.
Yoric got to his feet as the three approached. “I demand you release our men,” snapped Yoric. “Taking hostages is a violation of the Code of Nobles.”
“So is attacking a peaceful country,” said Brand.
Yoric continued undeterred, “And I demand that you dismiss this… thing from our midst.” He was glaring disgustedly at Boric.
“I don’t believe it’s up to you to determine the makeup of my delegation, Your Highness,” said Brand. “Now if you would be so kind as to sit, we can discuss how we are going to resolve this unfortunate situation.”
Yoric, grumbling, sat down, and Boric, Brand, and Leto sat across from the three kings. Boric had replaced his cloak — again — and done his best to repair his wrappings, but he couldn’t blame Yoric for taking offense at his presence. He looked like a badly designed scarecrow and, thanks to Milah pouring an entire bottle of perfume over his head, smelled of wildflowers and death. He had given up trying to swat the flies that buzzed around his head.
Brand cleared his throat and began, “The Kingdom of Brandsveid condemns without qualification the unjust and immoral assault on its sovereign territory by the — ”
“For Grovlik’s sake,” grumbled Jeddac. “What do you want in exchange for releasing our men?”
“We have three demands,” said Brand, who seemed relieved to be able to cut out the formalities; his eyes were watering from Boric’s stench. “First, you withdraw all of your troops back to their own respective kingdoms. Second, you pledge never to mount another attack on Brandsveid as long as our armed forces remain inside Salarat Pass. Third…” Brand paused to scowl at Boric, who nodded almost imperceptibly. “Third, we demand that Yoric confess to the murder of King Boric, abdicate the throne of Ytrisk, and hand himself over to the legitimate King of Ytrisk to be sentenced for his crimes.”
Jeddac gasped and Rapelini’s mouth fell open. “This is outrageous!” bellowed Yoric. “I had nothing to do with Boric’s death. And I am king because Boric’s own will named me as his successor.”
“That will is a forgery,” said Brand. “This one is genuine.” He produced from within his cloak a rolled-up sheet of paper bearing Boric’s seal, which he showed to the three kings. He handed the paper to King Jeddac, who broke the seal and began reading.
“I, Boric son of Toric, being of sound mind and body, yadda yadda yadda…okay, here we go: I name as my successor to the throne of Ytrisk, my son by Milah of Avaress, Leto. Leto is a very intelligent, hardworking young man with a bright future ahead of him. I believe he will make an excellent king.”
“Who in Varnoth’s name is Leto?” growled Yoric.
“That would be me,” said Leto. “I suggest you keep reading.”
Jeddac frowned at the paper. “That’s all there is to…oh, wait. ‘P.S.: If I am stabbed in the back by that coward Randor, my murderous brother Yoric is responsible. P.P.S.: Yoric may try to fool you with a forged will. Don’t fall for it. This is the real one.’”
“As you can see,” said Brand, “it’s dated the very day that Boric died. It’s witnessed by me and the kings of Skaal, Peraltia, and Quirin.”
“This is absurd,” Yoric protested. “Boric couldn’t possibly have met with those three kings the day he died. They were hundreds of miles away! And how convenient that this will was supposedly witnessed by the very same kings that you now have in captivity. You probably put them on the rack until they agreed to sign.”
“I assure you,” Brand said with a smile, “no torture was necessary. You may just have to accept the fact that your fellow kings don’t like you very much, Yoric.”
“You see?” said Yoric. “He’s practically admitting that this will is a forgery! And although you may have secured the signatures of the other three kings under duress, I can tell you for certain that Boric’s signature is forged. The loops on the ‘B’ are all wrong.”
“Really?” asked Brand, taking the will from Jeddac and studying it intently. He held it in front of Boric. “What do you think?”
“Looks real to me,” said Boric.
“And how would you know, wraith?” growled Yoric.
Boric pulled back his hood and carefully unwound the wrappings covering his face. The three kings recoiled in horror at what they saw.
“Because I’m Boric,” he said, his rotten flesh contorting into a horrific grin.
Jeddac and Rapelini agreed to the terms.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Boric stood once again on the balcony of the top level of Kra’al Brandskelt as the first light of dawn gathered above the mountains to the east. The armies of the Six Kingdoms were retreating across the Wastes of Preel toward their homes. Among them was the newest king, Leto. Yoric was in chains in a wagon at the rear of the convoy.
“You did it, Boric,” said Milah, coming up behind him. “You made peace between Brandsveid and the Six Kingdoms.”
Boric nodded wearily.
“Brand isn’t too thrilled that you’ve made Leto King of Ytrisk, though.”
“He’ll get over it,” said Boric. “It’s good for him to have a little friendly competition. Anyway, I owed it to Leto. And to the people of Ytrisk. He’ll be a good king. He promised me that his first official action as king would be to revoke the proclamation of exile against the Witch…that is, against his grandmother, Anna.”
“You’ve done
something remarkable, Boric,” said Milah. “You’ve opened up the possibility of a bright new future for the Land of Dis.”
Boric peered into the glow on the horizon. “Too bright for me, I’m afraid.”
“We’ll find a cure, Boric. A way to break the enchantment.”
Boric shook his head. “I’ve already found the cure,” he said.
“What? How?”
Boric turned to face her. “Your husband, Brand, he’s not a bad guy,” said Boric. “But he needs to be careful, or he’s going to turn into the very thing he hates. You need to watch him, make sure he does the right thing.”
“I’m not following you, Boric.”
“He wanted to slaughter all those people, Milah. After going on about how there were better ways to solve problems than violence, he wanted nothing more than to obliterate any threat to his regime. And frankly, I kind of wanted to kill them all too. I only stopped him because it seemed counterproductive. And cowardly.”
“So Boric the Implacable has become a believer in peace?” Milah teased.
“I’m not sure I’m a believer in much of anything anymore. I’ve just become a lot less enthusiastic about killing things.”
“Disenchanted,” said Milah.
“Yeah,” said Boric, stepping toward the half wall separating him from the abyss below. “I need you to give Brand a message for me,” he said.
“Of course,” replied Milah. “But why don’t you just…”
“Tell him that the sword isn’t holding onto him. He is holding onto the sword.”
With that, Boric drew Brakslaagt one last time. He held it for a moment over the wall and then released his grip. The sword fell from his hand and disappeared into the abyss. Boric turned away as the first rays of the sun shot across the eastern sky.
Disenchanted Page 19
