It was the single largest attack the Frostborn had launched against their enemies so far, and it was nothing more than a distraction.
The captains of the Frostborn themselves gathered nearby, holding their magic ready to strike.
“When will you unleash your attack?” said Lord Commander Kajaldrakthor.
“Not yet,” said Imaria. “Not until the assault has fully engaged the defenses. I suggest you keep the frost drakes on the ground until I strike. The more ice you can throw against the gates, the better.”
“This counsel is sound,” said Kajaldrakthor. He turned and gave commands to the other Frostborn.
Imaria settled herself to wait, watching the locusari and the towers advance. Already the defenders responded, storms of crossbow quarrels falling from the walls, the ballistae and the catapults hurling missiles at the siege towers.
Some of the medvarth and the locusari perished beneath the rain of missiles.
Imaria did smile then.
Many, many more soldiers were going to die before this was over…and once she was victorious, neither life nor death would have any more meaning.
###
“Brace yourselves!” roared the knight commanding the section of wall west of the gate tower.
Gavin followed the knight’s order, his shield raised, Truthseeker ready in his hand, while Kharlacht lifted his greatsword. Around him waited seven other Swordbearers, soulblades ready, and Antenora and Camorak stood behind them. Their tactics had proven effective against the last wave of Frostborn assaults, so Arandar had ordered the army to repeat them. The catapults and ballistae had disabled two of the siege towers, sending them crashing into ruin to the ground, but the remaining eight rolled forward. Fifteen of the icy poles had reached the ramparts, freezing to the battlements and allowing the locusari to scale the walls.
The heat from Antenora’s sphere of fire beat against the back of Gavin’s neck. Spearmen and men-at-arms stoody ready, a wall of shields facing the approaching tower, a row of crossbowmen behind them.
The tower shuddered closer, only a few yards from the battlements.
Any moment now, the ramp would fall.
Gavin took a deep breath, his heart thundering in his ears, Truthseeker’s power pulsing through him.
The steel ramp fell with a screech, and Gavin braced himself for the charge.
Except the medvarth didn’t charge. A row of the creatures knelt at the top of the ramp, and another row stood behind them. The medvarth held javelins ready to throw, and in perfect unison, they hurled their weapons. Gavin snapped up his shield in time to deflect a javelin, the iron point rebounding from the dwarven steel. Other men were not so lucky and perished beneath the missiles.
With a roar, the medvarth surged forward. The lead warriors raised shields and locked them together, leaping off the ramp and into the fray with precise discipline. The Frostborn must have learned from the failures of their previous attacks. The wedge of medvarth drove back the spearmen, their raised shields deflecting the crossbow bolts even at point-blank range.
Gavin charged the medvarth, flanked by the other Swordbearers. They worked in teams, one Swordbearer hammering at the shields of the medvarth, a second Swordbearer driving his soulblade through the gaps. A Swordbearer next to Gavin knocked a medvarth shield out of line, and Gavin stabbed with Truthseeker, plunging his soulblade into the medvarth’s ribs. Heartened by the Swordbearers, the spearmen charged into the fray, stabbing with their longer weapons. The crossbowmen rushed to the ramparts and fired, loosing quarrels into their enemies from the side. The medvarth warriors were better armored than the previous assaults, and many of the crossbow quarrels rebounded from the warriors’ heavy steel plate armor.
Step by step they forced the medvarth back towards their ramp, though many spearmen and swordsmen fell. At last, they pushed close enough that Antenora could level her staff and hurl her ball of fire. It soared over the heads of the medvarth and landed atop the ramp, detonating in a snarling bloom of flame. The top of the tower splintered open, and for an instant it looked like a horrible flower with burning timbers and shrieking medvarth instead of petals. The metal ramp pulled free from the burning wood, dragged by its own weight, and fell to the ground.
Gavin stepped back, breathing hard, the tower burning like a torch on the other side of the battlements. More towers were rolling forward, and the endless columns locusari kept charging.
“To the next tower!” said one of the Swordbearers, and Gavin followed as they ran towards the next siege tower.
###
Arandar watched the fighting.
There was, in truth, little for him to do, and it chafed at him. He wanted to take Excalibur and wield the ancient soulblade against the warriors of the Frostborn, but the High King’s place was to command the battle, not to fight in the front line. If he fought for his life, it was because the battle had gone as badly as it had during the fight against Tarrabus or the fall of Dun Calpurnia.
Yet for now, the fight was going well.
The medvarth storming up the siege towers and onto the ramparts were more heavily armored and drilled than the ones they had fought earlier, but the men of Andomhaim still had the advantage. Corbanic often rotated the defenders, fresh men coming up to take the place of those who had been fighting. With the entire army trapped inside the city, they could ensure that the medvarth and the locusari always fought rested men when they reached the battlements. Whenever the medvarth gained a foothold, Qhazulak ordered the Anathgrimm into action, and the spiny orcs waded into the melee with savage glee. Many of the Anathgrimm wore cloaks of medvarth fur and necklaces of medvarth claws collected during their bitter fighting in the Northerland, and Queen Mara’s warriors were eager to win additional trophies.
While the army of Andomhaim was suffering casualties, they were inflicting appalling losses on the Frostborn. If this continued, sooner or later Arandar would break the siege and the Frostborn would have no choice but to retreat to the Northerland. And if Ridmark was indeed bringing the dwarves and the manetaurs, the Frostborn would find themselves trapped between three different armies at once.
Yet Arandar knew the Frostborn were not fools. They would realize the danger they faced. Which meant they would try something to turn the odds in their favor.
Hence the dark spell gathering behind the catapults.
He just wished he knew what Imaria was going to attempt…and Arandar feared he would find out sooner than he would have liked.
###
“Even our resources,” said Kajaldrakthor, “are not limitless.”
“No,” said Imaria, watching the fighting, the shadow of Incariel hissing in pleasure at the carnage along the ramparts. The men of Andomhaim were giving a good account of themselves. Every time the medvarth or the locusari managed to gain a foothold, the Swordbearers or Queen Mara’s pet orcs charged into the fray, clearing the ramparts and letting the spearmen and the swordsmen resume their formations. Even as Imaria looked, yet another siege tower exploded into fire, the top bursting open to rain flaming debris and burning medvarth onto the ground below.
“Neither are theirs, Lord Commander,” said Imaria. “The hour has come to strike.”
“You are ready, then?” said Kajaldrakthor.
“Yes,” said Imaria. The massive assault was hammering into the ramparts, locusari and medvarth pouring onto the battlements of Tarlion, even if the defenses were holding. “I must ask you to follow my directions precisely, Lord Commander. The shadow will only weaken the defenses for a short time, and the conflicting elemental attacks must be applied in that precise moment.”
“It shall be done,” said Kajaldrakthor.
Imaria nodded and looked at the nine cogitaers standing over the nine prisoners. “Begin.”
The cogitaers obeyed, beginning spells to summon and focus magical force. The prisoners screamed into their frozen gags. Imaria supposed it was just as well that she had started the spell now because the prisoners’ limbs were tu
rning black from frostbite inflicted by their frozen shackles.
No matter.
Imaria began the spell, tracing designs in the air before her, her fingers trailing shadow. The power of Incariel surged through her, the power that would undo all law and restriction and inflict eternal freedom and madness upon mortals.
The shadows trailing from her finger turned into a torrent. The power built inside her, growing and growing, as much as she could hold.
And still she needed more.
“Now!” said Imaria.
The cogitaers finished their spells, raised their hands, and brought daggers plunging down.
The screams of the captives ended as the daggers entered their throats, and dark magic surged from the sacrifice. The cogitaers’ spells captured the harvested life forces, and they poured into Imaria’s spell. Imaria permitted herself a smile, and she twisted the spell. She reached through the strands of magical power, seized the lives of the nine cogitaers, and yanked them into the vortex of spells. The cogitaers let out shrieks and collapsed, their bodies withering into ash, and Kajaldrakthor glared in her direction.
It was too late, though.
Imaria threw back her head and screamed, and the shadow of Incariel erupted from her. It poured from her in a widening torrent, a cone of darkness hurtling towards the northern gate of Tarlion. She felt the shadow strike the mighty wards, felt even the powerful spells start to shudder under the unraveling, draining power that she had unleashed.
“Now!” said Imaria. “Now! Work your magic!”
Kajaldrakthor and the other captains of the Frostborn began casting a spell, combining their power. The frost drakes screamed as they took to the air, and the khaldjari began scrambling over their engines, preparing to fire.
###
The darkness pulsed outside of the walls, and the Sight stirred within Mara.
The vortex of darkness expanded, drawing more power into itself, and she realized that the terrible force was directed towards the northern gate.
“High King!” said Mara. “The spell! It’s coming for the gate!”
Arandar drew Excalibur, the sword bursting into white fire, and the other Swordbearers among his bodyguard followed suit. Master Vesilius and the other Magistri began preparing defensive spells, but compared to the power outside the walls, even the fire of the soulblades seemed like candles against an ocean of shadow.
A cone of darkness erupted from behind the trebuchets, hurtled across the battlefield, and slammed into the gates. It would have washed over the wall and into the city, but the translucent wall of pale light that Mara had seen earlier sprang into existence, absorbing the fury of the dark cone.
Except the wall of light began to buckle and sputter, pushed inward beneath the mighty weight of the shadow.
“Get back!” shouted Mara. “Get back, now! If that touches you, it will kill you.”
“You heard her!” said Arandar. “Move!”
The lords and knights turned, heading for the western tower and ramparts. One of the men-at-arms did not move fast enough, and part of the cone of shadow washed over the battlement and brushed him. At once it reduced the poor man to a withered corpse, his armor and sword rusting away.
“Go!” roared Corbanic, shoving some Magistri who were not moving fast enough.
They retreated through the western tower of the gate and onto the rampart. A burning siege tower stood a few yards away, the rampart carpeted with dead men and medvarth. Mara looked towards the gate. She couldn’t see anything through the armored bulk of Qhazulak and the other Anathgrimm escorting her, but the Sight was not bound by the physical world. The Sight showed her the shadow pouring against the ward, the defensive spell bending inward from the pressure…but it didn’t look like it would break.
Then half of the Frostborn trebuchets released at once, fireballs soaring over the field and towards the gates. Sixteen balls of fire streaked across the sky, leaving trails of black smoke. Four of them fell short, exploding in the scarred field. Three more hit random spots along the wall, erupting in spurts of flame.
The remaining nine hit the gate at once, exploding in a huge ball of roiling flame and spitting smoke. Even from this distance, Mara felt the heat of the explosion, and the entire wall trembled.
“It didn’t break the gate,” said Dux Tormark, looking at the fire of the explosion. “The gate held.”
Cold power flared before Mara’s Sight.
“The Frostborn are casting a spell,” she said.
An instant later a huge lance of blazing blue fire cut across the field and struck the gate. The air at once turned from hot to freezing, and the flames went out, quenched as a thick sheet of ice covered the gates. A loud cracking and groaning sound filled Mara’s ears, and again the ramparts shook.
With a surge of alarm, Mara realized that the cracking sound was coming from the stone of the wall itself.
“What are they doing?” said Constantine.
“It’s how you break a boulder,” said Tormark, his voice grim. “Pour boiling water over it, and then snow, over and over again until it cracks…”
The other half of the khaldjari trebuchets released. This time eleven of the sixteen missiles struck the gate, exploding in a howling firestorm. Again, the air became boiling hot, and the sudden variation made Mara woozy.
She still saw the harsh flare of the cold magic of the Frostborn.
“They’re casting again,” she said, but someone else shouted a warning as twelve frost drakes dove from above, unleashing plumes of white mist towards the gate. Their breath struck the gate at the same time as the lance of cold fire from the Frostborn. The magic and the freezing breath combined to sheathe the gate in ice, the superheated stone screaming with stress as the ice spread across it.
And then something snapped.
There was a colossal cracking sound, and the northern gate splintered like a dropped vase. Shards of broken stone tumbled in all directions, and the gates themselves shattered and fell in ruin. Power flared before Mara’s Sight as something magical unraveled within the gate, and a portion of the wards on the northern wall rolled up like a scroll, leaving the central third of the wall unprotected.
For a moment, shocked silence fell over the battlefield.
Even the attacking medvarth and locusari seemed stunned by the scale of the destruction. Mara stared at the wrecked gate in horror. It was now a massive pile of rubble, which would slow the advance of the Frostborn into the city.
But it would not slow their advance for long…and they no longer had protection from the magic of the Frostborn.
“Dear God,” said Prince Cadwall.
“Sir Corbanic, send men to the northern forum at once,” said Arandar. He showed no sign of alarm, but his face had gone hard. He had looked that way as they fled Urd Morlemoch, as the Warden’s creatures closed around them for the kill. “We’ll have to hold them there. And the portable ballistae. Have the…”
“Here they come!” said Master Vesilius, casting a spell. “Take cover!”
The frost drakes circled around for another pass, breathing more plumes of freezing white mist over the ramparts. It happened so fast that Mara did not even have time to travel away. Master Vesilius and the other Magistri raised their hands, white light bursting from their fingers, and the pale dome of a ward appeared over their heads. The mist washed over the light and hardened into ice, and then shattered into a rain of jagged chunks. Mara raised a hand to cover her head, but the chunks missed her.
Further down the walls, Mara saw ridges of ice that had formed on the ramparts, entombing the men frozen within them. Yet the men of Andomhaim had fought back, and two frost drakes fell from the sky to crash into the earth, pierced with ballista bolts.
Drums boomed from the Frostborn host, and with a roar that seemed to split the world, the medvarth surged towards the city.
###
Imaria released the shadow of Incariel, looking at the shattered ruin of the northern gate. Lord Commander K
ajaldrakthor had been annoyed when her spell had killed his pet cogitaers, but now he had larger concerns.
“All storm legions will advance to the northern gate,” he said. “Locusari warriors first, and then the elite medvarth. The locusari scouts will attack the ramparts, focusing upon the crews manning the siege engines, and the frost drakes will come in the second wave. The cogitaers will advance behind the medvarth and bring their spells to bear against the enemy.”
Around Imaria the vast host exploded into motion. Waves of locusari and medvarth charged towards the walls, while the khaldjari swarmed over the siege engines, moving them closer to the city. In the haste of the massive attack, the Frostborn had forgotten that Imaria was there. Like everyone else, they had underestimated her, forgetting about her in the face of their more pressing concerns.
She drew on the shadow of Incariel and traveled away.
###
Tarrabus Carhaine watched the shattered northern gate.
It was beginning. Nothing could stop the Frostborn from seizing the city and killing its population. Tarrabus could have saved them. The shadow of Incariel would have made them into gods. Instead, they had rejected the truth he had brought them.
Fine. Let the fools die. He would watch their fate and laugh.
And when the Frostborn razed the Citadel, Tarrabus would be free…and he would take the shadow of Incariel and bring vengeance upon those who had ruined the glorious vision of the Enlightened.
He stood at the window and watched the fall of Andomhaim begin.
###
“Send all the reserves to the northern forum,” said Arandar, jogging along the ramparts to the stairs as he gave orders. “Master Vesilius, keep the Magistri on the walls to ward the ballista crews. We’ll need them to shoot down the frost drakes.”
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 28
