Rage overcame revulsion. The soldiers who rode behind Will Stellan looked down at the slain bodies and prepared themselves to ride over the dead. They charged through the market square and onto the wide road which corkscrewed up the citadel.
The entire city smoked from the Tarzark assault. Bodies littered their path but they rode on, turning their faces away from the grisly scenes around them.
The wall surrounding the second level reared up before the army and Will saw that although the gates were open, there were Tarzark soldiers guarding the entrance. Too late, the Tarzark saw the rabble of huge birds and their howling riders thundering up the incline towards the wall. There was no time to close the gates. The Tarzark drew their weapons and stood their ground. The first riders crashed into them and they cut the Tarzark down in a flurry of clawed Yangtul feet and flashing sword blades.
Taz and Will led the charge up the hill. The road wound tightly now, through the higher levels of the city, past once palatial town houses, many of which had been reduced to rubble. Upon seeing the extensive damage, Will realized that there had been more at work here than just catapults and steel. The Tarzark sorcerers’ command of magic was legendary and the air was thick with it.
Jennadil and Gywna rode to Will’s right. Jennadil’s face was set in such a fierce expression he was barely recognizable as the devil-may-care wastrel that Will had once caroused with. Jennadil held the reins with one hand, a sword in the other—and his staff was strapped across his back. Behind him, Gywna Brin had unsheathed her Wraith Sword. She crouched behind the wizard, her eyes glowing.
The closer they got to the palace itself, the more Tarzark they encountered. Many of the stragglers were injured or dying, while others were guarding the area. Most of them fell under the onslaught of enraged Orinians and Ennadil atop birds so frightening that even the Tarzark cringed before their glowing red eyes and viciously hooked beaks. Those who did not fall were left behind as the army thundered through their midst.
Finally, the palace wall hove into sight. A huge granite barrier, it rose up before the domes and towers of the dove-colored palace beyond. The heavy gates lay in pieces before the wall and the portcullis had been breached. A throng of fighting Tarzark and Orinians surged around the entrance to the palace. From the looks of things, the Tarzark had just broken through the gates.
Will shouted the Serranguard battle cry and, for a moment, the fighting before them froze in time. All heads turned to see the tide of Yangtul bearing down on them.
Hope had arrived—and not a moment too soon.
***
Myra edged forward on her stomach to the edge of the parapet and notched an arrow into her longbow. The courtyard below was a battlefield. The Tarzark surged into the wide square through the destroyed gates, overcoming the Orinians who tried to defend the palace. It was difficult to get a clear shot of the Tarzark directly below her. Myra risked shooting one of the Orinians—so she directed her aim to the flood of Tarzark who were pushing through the gateway—a mass of huge scaled bodies, hungry for Orinian blood.
Myra released the first arrow and then another and another; her aim true. Next to her, Dael also used a long-bow with unerring accuracy. Their arrows thudded into the Tarzark. Some fell and some staggered onwards, but Myra and Dael’s efforts made little difference to the sheer volume of Tarzark now surging into the palace.
They were vulnerable on the edge of one of the palace’s lowest towers. The Tarzark would already be rampaging through the ground level, slashing through any resistance they encountered. If the numbers had been evenly matched, it may have been a fair fight between the Tarzark and the Orinians. What the Orinians lacked in size, strength and blood lust, they made up for in skill, agility and tenacity. However, there were now thousands of Tarzark inside the palace against a defending force of hundreds.
Screams and shouts from below warned Myra that the Tarzark had now reached the first floor. She pulled back from the edge of the parapet and caught Dael’s eye. He too had drawn back from the edge. Tossing aside his long bow, he pulled out his sword.
“Arrows are no more use to us Myra. It’s time you baptized that blade of yours.”
Myra drew Theo Brin’s ceremonial sword from its scabbard and with her other hand pulled the smith’s dagger free from its sheath. She had no experience in hand-to-hand combat. She was neither tall nor strongly built but the smith’s advice came back to her then: to fight a monster she had to become one. Myra swallowed and found her mouth was dry.
She was not sure she could.
Myra exchanged glances with Dael. The Bounty Hunter nodded at her and touched the blade of his sword against his forehead in a silent salute. Neither of them spoke. Myra nodded, not breaking eye contact with Dael as she did so.
Then, turning their backs on the cold winter sky, they ran downstairs.
***
Gywna jumped from the Yangtul’s back and into the middle of the melee. Her Wraith Sword came alive in her hands as it had when she fought the Morg; its blade glowing silver. It hissed as it cut down the first Tarzark warrior who fell upon her.
It took Gywna mere seconds to register that fighting the Tarzark was a completely different matter to fighting the Morg. The Morg were quick and wily. They had used dirty tricks and speed to outsmart their opponent. The Tarzark used brute force. The huge broadswords they wielded would have been too heavy for even the strongest Orinian or Ennadil male to use properly two-handed, but some of the Tarzark held one in each hand and swung them at their quarry like meat cleavers. Blood splattered against the granite wall surrounding the palace. The din was awful. The stench of death and fear was everywhere.
A red haze settled around the edges of Gywna’s vision. No Tarzark who came within reach of her blade stood a chance. Gywna fought with single-minded fury. If she was to die today, she wanted her last day alive to mean something bigger than herself. She was the daughter of a City-Lord. These were her people the Tarzark had slain and before they cut her down, she would avenge their deaths.
Despite her merging with the Wraith Sword, Gywna could not fail to notice that they were hopelessly outnumbered. Some of the soldiers fought from astride their Yangtul but many had chosen to fight from the ground. Their initial rush had caused a ripple of alarm among the Tarzark. The reptiles were not given to panic but, having never set eyes on the Yangtul before, they had shrunk back under the onslaught. Still, it was not long before they realized the band attacking them was not as big as it had initially appeared. When more Tarzark pressed up from behind, they hemmed the newcomers against the palace wall on all sides.
Gywna spied Will, Taz and Lassendil nearby. They had also abandoned their Yangtul and were fighting on the ground. She could not see Adelyis or Jennadil anywhere.
The Tarzark were terrifying this close. Gywna’s nannies had read her many chilling tales of the Tarzark and their deeds when she was a child but Gywna had never imagined they loved war as much as this. The beasts fought with savage joy. Even as Gywna cut them down, they roared in her face and impaled themselves further on her blade. They challenged her until the life drained from their eyes.
Gywna gradually moved around so she was fighting back to back with Will, Taz and Lassendil. She saw the skill with which Will Stellan handled his sword. However, it was clear he was in pain; his face was white and pinched and his movements stilted. The Tarzarks’ attacking style required an aggressive countering. Each time Will lifted his arms high or twisted too sharply, even more blood drained from his face. Gywna moved to his side. If things continued like this, it would not be long before a Tarzark blade slipped under his guard.
On and on they fought. Sweat streamed down Gywna’s face and neck, down her back and in-between her breasts. The Wraith Sword allowed Gywna to fight on without dropping from fatigue, but she could still feel the pull of exhaustion like a dark shadow under the magic that kept her on her feet.
The others were rapidly tiring, even Taz
whose fighting style was similar to that of the Tarzark. Gywna had sustained a few gashes but Will had received a deep wound to his left shoulder. Luckily, he was right handed. He fought on but Gywna could see he was steadily weakening and beginning to sway on his feet.
Gywna’s first signal that the fight was seriously turning against them occurred when she caught sight of the fluttering of blood-red capes further back in the heaving mass of Tarzark. Grull had brought his sorcerers forward. They were his ultimate weapon, when steel and arrows were not enough.
The Tarzark had a large group of defenders pinned up against the palace wall, and the sorcerers were slowly pushing their way through towards their quarry. They would have them surrounded within moments.
“Lassendil!” Gywna shouted. “We need to get into the palace!”
Lassendil nodded. His face shone with sweat and his dark hair flew around him as he moved with sinuous grace through the bloodshed. Back to back, the four of them—Lassendil, Taz, Will and Gywna—sliced and hacked their way towards the gateway. They reached the swirling tide of friend and foe that surged in both directions through the entrance, and shoved their way through.
They managed to get inside the courtyard, just as an explosion hammered the outside of the palace wall. Magic crackled through the air and caused the fine hair on the back of Gywna’s neck to prickle. The Wraith Sword hummed in response to the magic that now flowed around her.
Gywna turned her back on the terrible wails of pain coming from beyond the wall, while next to her, Will Stellan bent double in pain.
“Can you go on?” Gywna moved in front of Will to shield him from the Tarzark who were now circling the four of them.
“Yes,” Will replied between gritted teeth. He straightened up and Gywna saw the blood seeping from under his leather breastplate. He saw the direction of her gaze and smiled grimly. “Don’t worry about me Gywna, I’m tough.”
“I’m sure you are,” Lassendil interjected, “but not immortal. Can you fight?”
Will nodded. Then, there was no more time for talk. The Tarzark fell upon them—and the only thing that mattered was survival.
***
At times such as these, Jennadil regretted turning down Will Stellan’s offer of sword-fighting lessons.
He dodged the lethal swipe of a broadsword and broke out in a cold sweat at just how close his head had come to parting from his shoulders. Although Jennadil could use a sword, he was no match for the Tarzark who came at him from all angles.
Jennadil looked around in vain for his companions. After Gywna had leapt from the back of the Yangtul, Jennadil had lost sight of her. So much for their promise to look out for each other—he could have done with her help right now.
Nearby, a group of Ennadil swordsmen were being skewered, one-by-one, on Tarzark blades. Adelyis fought next to him, but she was also close to being sliced in half.
Jennadil caught sight of the advancing line of Tarzark sorcerers to the right of where he and Adelyis fought. Red-winged birds of prey, they moved towards a group of Orinians who were fighting near the gates. Suddenly, a flash of silver light detonated against the palace wall. White heat and choking dust billowed in a noxious cloud and the screams of the dying rippled across the crowd.
Jennadil used the moment of distraction to sheath his sword and pull his staff free. Adelyis was without her staff, after losing it to the void with Morgarth Evictar and Arridel Thorne—and there had been no time to fashion a new one.
Jennadil and Adelyis’s gazes met in wordless understanding.
Taking Jennadil’s cue, Adelyis re-sheathed her sword and in a broad sweep of her arms created an orb of fire, which she flung at the approaching Tarzark. The orb exploded and the howls from the Tarzark overtook the screams of the dying humans near the wall. Jennadil followed up her attack before the Tarzark had time to rally. A whip of green fire shot from the end of his staff and curled around the staggering Tarzark. Pandemonium erupted amongst the Tarzark ranks. They had not expected this.
The line of Tarzark sorcerers turned from their prey against the wall, and their gazes fixed upon Jennadil and Adelyis. There were at least fifty of them. Their fury was palpable, as was their arrogance when they saw that just two figures faced them—a wizard and a witch.
The time for hesitation and diffidence had passed and, not waiting for the sorcerers to strike first, Jennadil attacked. Blistering energy erupted from Jennadil’s staff and the sound soared above the din of battle and echoed around the palace itself.
Fiery green tongues wrapped themselves around the Tarzark sorcerers and seared their skin. Joining Jennadil’s attack, Adelyis sent clouds of white smoke billowing from her fingertips. If the Tarzark could not see them, they would be harder to kill. Bolts of hot white energy ricocheted around Jennadil and Adelyis, gouging craters out of the ground.
Side by side, Jennadil and Adelyis edged back from the Tarzark sorcerers. Even though they could not see them, Jennadil knew the sorcerers would now be advancing through the fog.
Witch and wizard sent volley after volley of the most powerful magic they could both conjure: whips of flame, orbs of fire, hot acid and poisonous vapors – they hurled it all. Their magic had inflicted serious damage at the outset but like a virus that morphs when its host finds a new way to attack it, the Tarzark sorcerers swiftly discovered a way to shield themselves. Tarzark sorcerers had not fought against Orinian or Ennadil wizards in centuries, and they had no way of knowing what these two were capable of. Yet, the Tarzark possessed a dark, swift magic that was as sharp as a dagger blade and much more lethal.
“Adelyis!” Jennadil shouted as white fire billowed out towards them. “Shield us!”
Adelyis closed her eyes and muttered an incantation. She bent double and a blue sphere rose from her clasped hands and settled over the two of them. White fire splintered against the bubble and rained like milky lava over the huge crowd fighting before the palace wall.
The fog was clearing and Adelyis crouched low, concentrating with the effort to keep the protective bubble over them. Out of the mists, the row of sorcerers loomed. To Jennadil they appeared like giants, as if they had suddenly grown much taller and fiercer. Their jaws were open wide as white fire poured from their fingertips.
In their midst Jennadil caught sight of another figure, broader and larger than the other Tarzark. He was a massive beast, clad in leather and metal, and a glittering cape hung from his broad shoulders. Jennadil was awestruck; so this was Grull. Even carrying numerous cuts and slashes from three days of battle, the Tarzark king was formidable; perhaps even more so for he wore his wounds like badges of honor upon his scaly hide. He carried himself with the power and arrogance of a being born to dominate others.
Grull gave Jennadil a look, communicating that if the wizard had stood within arm’s reach the Tarzark king would have ripped him to pieces. He shouted commands at his sorcerers in a foul, grating tongue. The sorcerers responded by letting forth a blast of incinerating heat that flattened anything in its path.
Men fell like corn stalks in a gale. A hammer blow hit Jennadil and Adelyis and threw them clear across the battle-strewn road. They collided with a building on the far side of the thoroughfare and only the protective shield prevented them from having their brains dashed out on the hard stone.
Jennadil hit the cobbles and felt the wind gush out of him. Gasping, he scrambled to his hands and knees to see the Tarzark sorcerers gather in a semi-circle around him and Adelyis. Executioners tightening the noose—soon the whole world became grey-scaled bodies and swirling red capes.
“Adelyis!” Jennadil croaked. He grabbed his staff and shuffled backwards, dragging Adelyis against him. Her blue eyes were enormous on her pale face. Her dark hair flew about her head like a halo. She suddenly appeared far more fragile than Jennadil had previously realized. Adelyis was a naturally slender woman but the trials she had endured since the Morg had first abducted her had taken their toll. Her heart-shaped
face was gaunt and the arm he gripped was stick-thin.
“We’re not going to make it unless we join our powers,” Jennadil got to his feet, pulling her with him. “I know it’s dangerous but there is no other way!”
Adelyis surprised Jennadil by not bothering to argue with him. She reached out and grabbed his left hand in her right.
A rush of heat that caused them both to gasp followed the shock of the coldness of their skin. Every nerve ending on their bodies came alive and suddenly all their accumulated fatigue, fear and desperation dissipated. Jennadil felt as if he had just awoken from a long sleep.
The Tarzark sorcerers were almost upon them now. They raised their arms to deliver the final blow.
Jennadil and Adelyis merged their power and the ‘enhancement’ sang through their veins in a rush that was even more powerful than the first time they had experienced it. Energy shot up through their bodies from the roots of their feet.
Then, they pointed their free hands out towards the sorcerers, who were barely five yards away, and unleashed their combined power.
It was as if a giant thunderclap had exploded in the middle of the fracas. One moment, fifty Tarzark sorcerers were poised to kill them, the next they were groveling on the ground, howling in pain and clutching their faces. The force of the thing that hit them had killed those nearest to Jennadil and Adelyis outright.
A deep silence fell amongst the battleground then. A hollow silence so deadly and still that the very beating of Jennadil’s heart echoed in his ears. He was aware then of the wintry sun glaring down upon them from a monochrome sky, of the chill breeze on his heated skin, of the metallic stench of blood in the air. He was filled with a power that transcended his mortal body.
Time slowed down. The sorcerers were struggling to their feet. King Grull was crouched nearby, bellowing at his warriors to attack the witch and wizard. Jennadil looked down into Adelyis’s face and saw his own exhalation mirrored there. She was a goddess in her flowing blue robes and her mane of dark hair rippling down her back.
The Children of Isador Page 32
