The Crown and the Sword tros-2

by Douglas Niles

  “Damn!” snapped the dwarf. Dram nodded to Coryn. “I’d better go have a look, see if we can get it up and firing again.”

  “Good luck,” she said. “I’ve got things to do. See you later… maybe.”

  The dwarf nodded and took off at a jog. For the first time, he became conscious of his own fatigue-he was sweating like a blacksmith on a summer day-and when he reached the disabled bombard, he had to stop and lean against the frame for a few moments just to catch his breath. The smoke clogged his lungs, and he felt grit on his tongue and in his nostrils.

  He saw immediately that the rear axle of the heavy wagon had snapped in two, leaving the bed sagging to the ground and the barrel canted upward toward the sky. “I’ve got some spare axles,” he told the crew captain. “You work on getting this thing jacked up, and I’ll send a replacement up from the supply park.”

  Although he was reluctant to leave the scene, he didn’t trust anyone else to make sure the proper piece was sent forward, so he departed at a trot. The replacement wagons, as well as spare powder and ammunition, were parked beside the newly made road, several hundred yards down the back side of the ridge, since there hadn’t been enough room for all of them on the summit. It would take only a few moments, he hoped, to bring the spare part forward.

  He moved quickly and after a moment had moved from the stinking, stinging cloud into a mountainside meadow of bright flowers, a splashing brook, and-most amazingly-fresh air. But he couldn’t pause to enjoy it, and moments later he was huffing and puffing around the last switchback. He located the wagon with the spare axles in a flash, and he quickly got the attention of several teamsters.

  “Get this up to the ridge,” he ordered. “Take it right to Number Two.”

  “Gotcha, Chief,” replied the wagon drivers-humans who had been farming on the Vingaard Plain, but they had signed up to make good money working at the Compound. They quickly headed for the pasture to collect a team of draft horses.

  Satisfied, Dram turned back up the hill. He could only move at a walk, and beside the brook he decided to stop, kneel down, and take a refreshing drink of cool water.

  It was a drink that would save his life.

  Coryn felt a tingling sense of alarm. Something was terribly wrong, and that something involved magic. She spoke a word and immediately disappeared from sight. Cloaked by invisibility, she strode behind the thundering bombards, peering through the smoke with her magical acuity. She didn’t know the nature of the threat, but every one of her senses told her to beware.

  She enchanted herself with spells allowing her to detect magic and also to see invisible objects or beings. She knew the damage these great weapons were doing to the enemy army, and she did not think that Ankhar or his Thorn Knight would allow this assault to proceed unchallenged. But what could they do? How would they strike?

  A breeze came up, incongruous and even refreshing; the gentle wind served to clear some of the smoke away, though each new volley spewed fresh, stinking, sulfur-tainted fog into the air. But for a moment she could see all the bombards at once as the five active weapons were rolled into place for another shot. She could see, too, a team of hill dwarves frantically working the screw of a huge mechanical jack, lifting up the bed of the disabled bombard.

  The white wizard saw someone coming directly toward her-it was the little gnome, Sulfie-and Coryn nimbly moved her invisible form out of her path. Sulfie was hurrying to one of the massive ammunition wagons, where casks of the black powder were stored, to be brought forward as needed to the bombards. Coryn watched her go then stiffened.

  Something else was moving toward that wagon!

  Her magical sense was tingling, though she couldn’t make out the details. It was a shapeless thing, like a blob in the air-not exactly invisible. Abruptly that cloud took shape, and she saw the Gray Robe of a Thorn Knight appearing. He had traveled up here under the concealment of magic, rendering himself by potion or spell into a gaseous cloud of ephemeral vapor that cloaked him until he arrived at the site of the thundering battery.

  The Gray Robe’s hand was already raised, and he cast a single, lethal spell before Coryn could react. A tiny pebble of light appeared at his fingertips, a little marble-sized glob of fire that drifted, unerringly, toward the powder wagon and its great stack of casks. Sulfie was up on that wagon, barking orders to several hill dwarves as they manhandled the large kegs of black powder.

  “No!” cried the White Robe. She raised her own hand, her lips shaping a spell that would strike the Thorn Knight down-but in that same instant the man disappeared, teleporting himself away from there.

  In the next breath, his fireball spell exploded.

  Jaymes was watching the progress of the battle with satisfaction. He sat astride his roan with several signalmen; the Freemen of his bodyguard were also mounted and arrayed protectively around him. They were atop a low elevation that gave him a good vantage over the field. He could observe the battery in action, and he also had a good view of the charge of the knights. Coryn had left his side to go keep an eye on the cannons, while General Weaver charged ahead with the heavy cavalry. Generals Dayr, Rankin, and Markus were at the heads of their respective armies, awaiting orders.

  The effectiveness of the bombards had exceeded the lord marshal’s wildest expectations, and the charging knights had wasted no time in utterly destroying the line of pikes. Now the knights were checked momentarily, as they swirled through a melee with Ankhar’s wolf-mounted goblins. But the heavy horses showed no fear of the snapping, lupine jaws, and the countercharge failed to deter the mounted men.

  Jaymes gestured to three signalmen, who snapped to attention.

  “Raise the banners for the Sword, the Rose, the Crown,” he said. “Signal a general advance.”

  The men dutifully hoisted their pennants, the battle flags snapping and blowing as the breeze grew stronger. They dipped their poles forward and repeated the signal. Jaymes was satisfied to see the three great columns respond immediately, thousands of infantry starting toward Ankhar’s army at a steady march.

  A clap of thunderous noise suddenly overwhelmed all the chaos of the battle. It was louder by far than any volley of the guns or, for that matter, anything Jaymes had ever heard. The lord marshal twisted in his saddle and looked toward the ridge.

  He saw the aftermath of a tremendous explosion, a vast column of smoke churning into the sky. Several wagon wheels spun out of the murk, and one of the massive barrels tumbled into view, rolling down the ridge like a runaway log. Other things were flying through the air, too, and he grimaced with the realization that they were bodies, dozens of gunners, teamsters, and others caught up in the blast like rag dolls.

  He knew that Dram and Sulfie had been up there. His next thought was that Coryn had been going to that place as well.

  “He did it!” cried Ankhar, pumping his fists in the air. He watched in exultation as the ridgetop exploded and all the enemy’s terrible weapons erupted with all the violence of a volcano. Fire spewed into the air in great, roiling balls, and smoke billowed and surged upward so quickly that, in moments, the pillar of darkness extended more than a mile into the sky.

  Ankhar blinked in surprise as Hoarst materialized before him. “Well done!” he roared, only with difficulty resisting the urge to embrace the man.

  “Yes-the weapons are destroyed, and those who wield them have been killed,” Hoarst reported. He staggered slightly, and the half-giant reached out a hand to support him. “Is that enough to win the battle?” Hoarst asked, his voice a hacking croak.

  “No,” Ankhar conceded. He gestured to his stepmother, who crouched on her haunches nearby, as he addressed the wizard. “But it was a tremendous blow, and now we are ready for the next step. Make ready your wand.”

  “I am ready.”

  “Laka will release the king. You will drive it forward.”

  “I will give the device to you,” the Thorn Knight objected. “You should carry the wand yourself, my lord.”

  �
��Me?” Ankhar responded, shocked.

  “You can do it exceedingly well, I am sure,” Hoarst replied, coughing spasmodically for a moment. He wheezed, recovered his breath, and looked at his skeptical commander. “There is no magic use required. Simply brandish the device. The repulsion spell is inherent and will drive the elemental king away when you confront him.”

  “And you?” growled the half-giant, squinting at his Thorn Knight suspiciously. “What will you do?”

  “I will seek out the enemy commander, the lord marshal. It may be that I can strike him down with my magic-as he tried to strike me down with an arrow to the heart.”

  Ankhar pondered this for a moment then threw his head back and laughed, a great bray of sound. “Very well. I will hold the wand, and you will seek the enemy commander. And we will let the king do the wholesale killing!”

  Hoarst removed the slender stick of wood and handed it to Ankhar, watching closely as Laka opened the lid of the ruby-covered box. Instantly the twin specks of fire emerged, swirling upward, glowing brightly against the backdrop of a sunny sky. The shaman cackled with glee as a great spume of black smoke billowed upward, following the twin sparks into the sky. That was when the massive torso took shape, blocking out the light of the sun. The limbs of tornado and cyclone stretched outward and down. Sound wailed, a shrill keening of wind and water, and a deeper, more visceral power.

  And once again, the king of the elementals took shape upon the surface of Krynn.

  CHAPTER TWENTY — SIX

  TRIUMPH AND DESTRUCTION

  Jaymes saw the black vapors coalesce into the familiar humanoid shape, towering high above the raging battlefield. The lofty, clifflike face solidified, its cavernous sockets glowing with the fires of the Abyss. Those burning eyes swept across the field, flaring in anticipation of the killing to come. The sound of a whirlwind filled the air, a roar that kicked up dust and debris around the conjured giant’s lower extremities.

  It was ghastly, terrifying. The monster, so long vanished, had returned in the service of the enemy commander, of that much Jaymes was certain. How Ankhar had regained control of the creature, or where it had been in the meantime, Jaymes did not know.

  He did know that all of his plans for this battle would have to change. The huge column of black smoke that was conspicuous on the ridgetop marked the vulnerable spot where Coryn, Dram, and Sulfie had been directing the battery. And now this monster from the depths of the world, unassailable and incomprehensible, flicked his eyes in that direction.

  The lord marshal had spurred his horse toward the front as soon as he discerned the looming shape. Now he rode directly toward the conjured monster, Giantsmiter in his hand, a look of cool detachment-utterly concealing his acute sense of despair-upon his face. He let his men see him ride past, their lusty cheers doing nothing to improve his confidence.

  The struggle now raged along the front for a mile or more, the two armies entangled along that whole distance. The armored riders of the Solamnic Army, led by the Rose Knights of Palanthas, had formed close ranks to meet the charge of the wolf-riding goblin cavalry. In a bloody clash, the savage riders and their lupine mounts fell steadily back. Many riders and mounts fell on both sides. Wolves snarled and bit at the hamstrings of the knights’ warhorses, and the horses kicked and stomped their tormentors. Goblins and knights clashed desperately with clanging swords.

  Meanwhile, the infantry of all three wings of Jaymes’s army drove into Ankhar’s force, pressing the hobgoblins and ogres hard. Arrows from archers on both sides plummeted into the melee, striking indiscriminately. Here a company of ogres pushed ahead, stretching the Solamnic lines; there, the Kaolyn Axers plunged through many lines of hobgoblins, gleefully hacking at their ancestral foes. The result, everywhere, was a great mass of fighting warriors with little organization or apparent pattern.

  As yet, the elemental king hadn’t moved, and most of the men of Jaymes’s army-engaged in fighting enemies only a few feet in front of their faces-had not taken stock of the great figure behind them. Here and there Jaymes heard a groan of dismay or a cry of abject terror, and as these sounds grew more numerous, he knew it was only a matter of moments before the morale of his troops was shaken by the monster in their midst.

  The cold hilt of the sword in his hand was not comforting-it could do little against the looming, otherworldly presence. His loyal Freemen, the two dozens knights of no sign who had sworn loyalty to him personally and now rode alongside him, did not show any hesitation to accompany their commander on his steadfast advance. Captain Powell had his own broadsword bared and held the blade across his lap, ready for use.

  But Jaymes had no plan. He skirted the pockets of furious battle as much as possible, fixing his attention on the solidifying figure of the elemental. Now he could see the lashing tendrils of its liquid limbs, and he knew it was preparing for an attack. On the far side of the action, the lord marshal reined in, watching and waiting for the being to move.

  “What can we do, my lord?” Powell asked, reining in close, his low voice urgent. “We Freemen are yours to command.”

  “I know,” replied the lord marshal. “I wish I had an order for you. I fear that our only course will be to harry and flee, but that idea galls me more than I can say.”

  Something glimmered off to the side, barely a dozen yards away. It was the Thorn Knight in the gray robe, blinking instantaneously into view. Jaymes saw that the man’s hands were gesturing, his eyes flashing hatred as his gaze focused on the lord marshal.

  “Beware of sorcery!” cried Powell, wheeling his horse around and raising his sword. But he was on the wrong side of Jaymes and could only attempt to shoulder his commander out of the way as he spurred his mount into a charge toward the Thorn Knight.

  “Kill the Gray Robe!” shouted another of the Freemen, spotting the enemy magic-user. He and a companion spurred their horses toward the man, who took little notice of them as they galloped threateningly toward him.

  Instead, the Thorn Knight stared at Jaymes for the length of a breath then gestured and shouted a guttural sound. Jaymes’s roan whinnied and reared, and something solid struck the lord marshal in the solar plexus, knocking him from the saddle. The wind was driven from his lungs as he slammed to the ground.

  The pair of Freemen reached the Gray Robe but, with a final gesture, the Thorn Knight disappeared a moment before they could cut him down.

  Gasping for air, Jaymes sat up painfully as he tried to catch his breath. The roan was nearby, looking at him with upraised ears, nickering curiously. Sergeant Ian of the Freemen reached him, helping Jaymes to rise unsteadily to his feet and brushing the commander’s tunic.

  Only then did Jaymes see the other knight, who was wearing the white tunic of his personal bodyguard. The Freeman was obviously dead, still and blue, his eyes locked open in an expression of… what? Not horror or fear, as the lord marshal would have expected. Instead, the knight’s dead face was frozen into a leer of great, almost inexpressible joy.

  “He was killed by death magic,” Captain Powell suggested, dismounting and looking ruefully at the dead Freeman. “This was Sir Benedict. He tackled you, drove you from the saddle before the wizard’s spell could reach you. It was he who took the blow.”

  “Taking the magic on himself instead,” Jaymes realized, shaken. “A very brave man.”

  He wanted to say more, much more, but now the elemental king started to move.

  Hoarst teleported back to the half-giant, who stood with his emerald-tipped spear planted beside him and the upraised wand in his meaty fist. Ankhar had been glaring in awe and consternation at the fully materialized elemental king and started slightly as the Thorn Knight appeared.

  “Oh, there you are! Did you kill him?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Hoarst replied in his usual unflappable way. “I used a powerful spell, but he is very well guarded. It may be that the lord marshal survived.”

  “No matter,” barked the half-giant. “I am ready to send the
king against the knights!”

  Ankhar swept the wand through a half circle, gesturing toward the elemental, forcing it to recoil, to lumber away from them. “See how it obeys my will!” he crowed exuberantly. “Go! Kill! Attack at once!”

  The force of the magic caused the elemental king to roar and immediately turn away. It lumbered toward the enemy army, kicking through any soldiers hapless enough to find themselves in its path. The battlefield dissolved in terror as the troops of both armies scrambled madly to get out of the way, men slashing at men who stood in their path, ogres doing the same to other ogres. The panic was general and all consuming.

  One cyclonic limb kicked through a group of dwarf axe men, sweeping dozens of them hundreds of feet through the air. A fear-maddened ogre was plucked from the ground by a pinch of vaporous fingers, lifted high above the ground, then dropped, screaming, into a knot of his fear-crazed fellows. Almost as if it were dancing with joy, the huge monster swept from one leg back to the other, spinning faster and faster until the twin tornadoes of its lower limbs melded into one screamingly powerful storm.

  As many goblins and ogres as humans died in this violent vortex, and the line of battle was cleaved in two by the massive monster’s passage. All combatants fled, their petty quarrels forgotten in the face of certain extinction. Horses and wolves raced away at full speed, ignoring the commands of riders who tried to steer them. Back and forth along the front, the monstrous being wreaked its doom until a cloud of dust-shot through with lightning and stinging droplets of water-obscured much of the chaos on the ground.

  Ankhar stood watching, his jaw slackened by awe, as the beast killed and destroyed and rampaged. Only after several moments did he remember the slender talisman in his hand. Finally he lifted the wand, waving it broadly before him and striding purposefully forward. The force of the magic device repelled the king of the elementals, and with a screeching roar-a sound unlike anything in nature-it began to move away.