“Of course—go, you tower of bones. Do me proud, and I will command the pit fiend to restore you to life. I will personally lead the reserve forces into the fight when needed. You needn’t worry about them. They will be well commanded.”
A shudder slithered up the fleshless spine of the skeletal warrior. The thought of this bag of water leading anything didn’t please him. In centuries past, Brittle had controlled a hundred wizards like Marcus and had forced them to do little more than ensure clear weather. Now, he was forced to follow such a man’s orders.
Although the skeletal commander hoped the mage wouldn’t lead the reserve units to disaster, Brittle gave up the notion of depending on that portion of the army to do anything worthwhile. He marched down the hill to lead the waiting army.
Up on the rise, Marcus was still giddy with anticipation. His armies had to win today. Bane wouldn’t tolerate many more delays. In the few communications the pit fiend had had with the god, Marcus learned that some of the other captured cities had also managed to resist the god’s grasp. He was relieved that Phlan wasn’t the only city holding out. One town filled with spellcasters had even managed to transport itself back to Faerun. The Red Wizard hoped the distraction of the other cities would help fend off the god’s wrath until Marcus could conquer Phlan.
The wizard’s mood was dampened slightly as he surveyed his troops. “Where is that fourth squad of mercenaries? I thought we counted about fifteen hundred human troops coming up to the tower. I hope that pit fiend didn’t eat them or something. It would be just like him to eat the best troops. Well. No matter. It’s time to put the fear of Red Wizards in the hearts of my enemies. Xanotos, kartaalomi, tysrius flarigraasi!”
The upper third of the huge cave was suddenly filled with a ball of fire thousands of yards tall and wide. The blinding light of the magical flames blasted forth as bright as the sun. The inferno at the top of the cavern gradually began to form familiar images and scenes.
The flames writhed and created blood-red towers and gates identical to the walls and towers of Phlan, which rested a mile below on the floor of the cavern. More flames took the forms of molten figures of men, orcs, ogres, and trolls, taller and more powerful than the real things. The scorching armies charged against the flaming towers and walls high in the sky. A magical battle began between the flaming forces representing Phlan’s guards on the walls and the molten armies of the Red Wizard. In seconds, the molten forces tore down the gates and broke through the walls, streaming into the city like a river of lava.
“A splendid effect!” sighed Marcus. The spell was a bit more than he had planned, but if his magical show of power frightened the defenders and inspired his own troops, his efforts were well worth the cost of his magical reserves.
Waves of searing heat blasted down on the Red Wizard’s army. The trolls, particularly vulnerable to fire, cowered in fear. The orcs, ogres, and humans stood at sweaty attention, frightened by the display. Hundreds of skeletons raised hollow eye sockets to the flames, showing no expression on their fleshless faces, but nonetheless impressed.
“Stupid wizard,” hissed Brittle, “now I have to use the ogres to get the trolls moving. And he’s destroyed any element of surprise we might have had.”
The skeletal leader commanded powerful ogres to move toward the gibbering trolls. Trolls were awesome fighters and difficult to kill, but fire prevented them from regenerating damaged limbs. The lumbering green creatures feared fire above all things. Gods help him, if Brittle survived this fight, the enchanted commander wouldn’t ask to be made human again. Thinking unspeakable thoughts, the skeleton imagined it would ask for the heart of the wizard instead. The undead leader snorted a dry chuckle at the thought as he directed the army to attack the gates of Phlan.
The defenders of Phlan were unimpressed by the magical display. None knew why their town had been taken by the gods and sent to this place of evil. None knew when their torture would end. But all knew how to fight, and the force rising against them wouldn’t be much trouble. They had endured worse.
“Think they’ll attack over here, Ston?” Tulen asked, spitting a chaw of tobacco over the wall.
“Naaa, looks like they’re goin’ after the Death Gates again. You think they’d learn after the last time. Them trolls are nasty, though. My brother Dorel got eaten by a troll in the hill giant battle we had a few years back.”
“Shouldn’t be much of a problem this time, Ston. That cleric Tarl sent a bunch of boar skins full of blessed oil over to the gate the other day. That’s one smart priest if you ask me.”
“I know what you mean. That sorceress wife of his has been cooking up ail kinds of magical defenses. And, boy, is she something to look at.” Ston snorted a laugh.
“I hear tell our wizards and clerics can’t figure out where the gods stuck us. Whaddya think?”
“I guess I’m not surprised none. Wizard stuff ain’t normal. But they’ve usually got an answer for everything. If the gods want us in Faerun or in the Nine Hells, well, then that’s where we’ll have to be. Mark my words, we’ll be back fishing on the Moonsea before the year’s out. Tarl has the Warhammer of Tyr, and his god is a tough one to trifle with. If we hold off these attacks, we’ll be fine, you betcha.”
“Looks like things are heating up over there. What say you and me hustle over and join in the fun?”
“Commander Billings would have our butts for breakfast if we tried leaving our posts. The gate attack could be a diversion for something bigger somewheres else. Remember the fire giant battle? The army of giants that attacked here and a hundred umber hulks burrowed underground and attacked on the other side of the city? Nobody ever saw ’em coming. Now, where would we be if some of those wall defenders had left their wall and come over here to share in the fun?”
“Damnation, you’re right. Hate to admit it. What say after our shift here, we go and ask old Billings to be transferred over to the Death Gates. You and me being sixty years old should have some say in where we defend Phlan.”
“Now there’s an idea. Especially if that ugly Red Wizard is going to lead any more armies against us.”
At the Death Gates, the battle was warming up. Marcus’s mercenary troops, hauling ladders and siege engines, slowly approached the walls around the gate. The northernmost entry into the city, this main entrance had been built and rebuilt over the stormy, war-torn history of Phlan. Now, this gate was larger and better fortified than any normal gate.
Two huge gatehouses of red Dragonspine stone stood a hundred feet apart and jutted out a hundred feet beyond the walls. The three-story towers were crowded with archers, and equipped with cauldrons of burning oil and small catapults. The double-door gates rose thirty feet. Each was made of aged oak, bound with thick bands of iron to strengthen the doors. The effort necessary to open and close the gates required huge counterweights and pulleys.
Behind these towers, a deadly passage connected with another set of towers embedded in Phlan’s walls. The passage could be showered with arrows or burning oil by the defenders of the city. Even if the attackers broke through the outer doors, they faced the passage of death and another set of double-door gates lined with arrow slits, allowing the defenders to pepper the passage with feathered death.
The last assault by Marcus and his army had barely scratched the first pair of gates, but the wizard was convinced the battle would be different this time. The siege towers rolled grimly toward the walls. In the last attack, rolling towers like these had been burned by catapult fire attacks before they’d reached within a hundred yards of the gate. Now, flaming shot bounced off the magically protected surfaces of the steadily moving siege engines.
“They’re fireproof, fools,” Marcus shouted from behind his army. He ordered his nightmare into the sky and watched the battle from a hundred feet off the ground, remaining far enough away to be out of range of most spells and stray catapult loads. “You won’t be burning my siege towers again!”
Hordes of ogres pushed the engin
es of destruction. The six siege towers moved faster and faster toward the walls. A hundred heavily armored troops were hidden in each tower. The ogres and the men inside became more and more eager to face the defenders of Phlan. When the siege towers closed in on the walls, small bridges would be lowered. The troops inside could stream over the protective wall, attacking Phlan’s troops.
Six loud crashes erupted suddenly, and the towers fell, crushing hundreds of men unlucky enough to be in the vicinity.
“What in the name of Bane himself?” Marcus couldn’t believe his eyes.
A chorus of cheers arose on the walls.
“Did you see that, Ston? It worked! I told you it would! The wizards dug a bunch of pits fifty yards from the walls, and every tower smashed into one. Wahoo!” Tulen hopped up and down with glee.
Marcus fumed. Now he could see the clay-lined pits that had been cleverly covered so the weight of a few men wouldn’t spring them. The full weight of a heavy siege tower was needed to break the covering. The wizard’s flameproof towers lay in splinters.
“They’ll pay! Those fools will pay for every day of delay they’ve caused me. I’ll burn them in eternal fires!” Marcus began to wheeze and tried to calm himself. “This is a just minor setback. My own little surprise will get them. Just wait and see.”
Marcus watched from on high as arrows, crossbow bolts, and catapult rocks rained down on the mercenary troops as they rushed the gate, spurred on by the fearsome troops behind them. For a while, they made headway behind the army’s mantelets. These mobile wooden walls rolled ahead of the troops and absorbed most of the deadly missiles. But as the attackers got closer, many of the heavy crossbow bolts found their way through or around the mantelets to find soft flesh behind the wood. The mercenary numbers were quickly reduced.
None of the defenders paid much attention to six axe-wielding troopers running slightly ahead of the other mercenaries. These warriors looked like all the others, but the missiles that approached them bounced inches away from their battle-hardened bodies. To the defenders on the walls above, the shots simply looked poorly aimed.
The axemen easily reached the first gate. Instead of hacking at the oak walls, they dropped their axes and drew small scrolls out of silver tubes. Each warrior glowed with magical protections as he read spells specially designed to blast open the gates.
Too late the defenders recognized the men for the spellcasters they were. A sheet of burning oil poured from the top of the gate in an attempt to burn the mages or at least foil their spells. The oil poured off an invisible magical barrier and fell to either side of the spellcasters. The Death Gates opened, groaning, and the attackers rushed into the tunnel. The next gate was in sight. With leaders such as these, surely the enemy couldn’t fail.
Three hundred of Marcus’s mercenaries that remained outside the gates ran into the tunnel. Anything had to be better than the rain of death outside. Orcs, ogres, and trolls rushed in, hurling rocks, arrows, and sling bullets at the defenders. The fighting grew more intense.
In the tunnel of death, three of every five men died from arrow wounds as they tried to approach the second gate, which stood only a hundred feet away. The six wizards reached the gate without so much as a scratch. Their spells found the locks and bars of the inner gate. As the portal swung open, the mercenary swarm smelled victory.
From their position on the wall, Ston and Tulen could see the gates open, exposing the broad inner streets of Phlan to the enemy. Filling the streets, prepared to greet the enemy, were wave after wave of pikemen all set to receive the charge. At the front was their leader, a warrior-cleric wielding a glowing blue hammer.
“Welcome to Phlan!” Tarl shouted.
Brittle recognized the gates for the death trap they truly were. He had laid siege to such places in ages past. His human troops had been directed to make the initial attack so he could get his elite army close enough to execute his own tactics. At his command, the ogres pushed the trolls toward the walls on either side of the gate. Brittle strode ahead of his troops to the red walls, attracting hundreds of arrows and crossbow bolts, all bouncing harmlessly off his enchanted bones. Another dry chuckle testified to the advantage of not having flesh.
Watching from on high, Marcus couldn’t believe what the fool, Brittle, was doing. The remainder of the troops could stroll right into Phlan! Instead, the ogres were herding the trolls to the walls where they could be easily shot by arrows.
“Roast his bones, that fool Brittle. Now I have to go in and save him and my army.”
The Red Wizard commanded his nightmare to circle over the troops at the rear. Swooping down over the warrior skeletons, the nightmare snorted smoke, its red eyes blazing. Marcus bellowed at the reserves and ordered them forward. A clattering army of armored bones creaked across the field. As they moved, Marcus cast spell after spell of protection. Little flames of magic burned over the bodies of all the skeletons. Other spells increased the speed of his small force, allowing them to swing their weapons faster. The wizard hid himself in a tower of intense flames. As he commanded his troops into the valley and toward the gates, he lost sight of what the rest of his army was doing.
The ogres had teamed up and were tossing trolls to the tops of the walls. The trolls landed hard, but weren’t harmed by the impact. In the entire history of Phlan, this tactic had never been used against the stone walls. Within moments, fifty green, seven-foot-tall trolls were clawing and biting the defenders.
While the trolls waged their battle, ogres and orcs raised the long-forgotten ladders and climbed up onto the walls without resistance. Brittle was the last to climb up. His toothy mouth grinned at his exceptional strategy.
Tarl and the Warhammer of Tyr battled the enemy spellcasters while pikemen decimated the mercenaries. The strategy had been practiced often by the Death Gate guards. Tarl gave the signal for a sheet of burning oil to fall behind the attackers, cutting off their retreat. Then the cleric moved in for close combat with the six enchanted wizards. Hundreds of pikemen slaughtered mercenaries to the last man. Neither side considered surrender. In this battle to the death, there could be only one survivor.
Far above Tarl’s head, Phlan’s spellcasters stood on an enchanted rainbow. Using a spell that had required decades of research, the men and women stood astride a ten-foot swath of energy. Beneath the feet of every priest and wizard, the path matched the chosen color of the spellcaster’s energy. Ten-foot blocks of green, blue, orange, yellow, purple and a myriad of subtle hues alternated in the path of protective magic. Lightning bolts, balls of fire, swarms of magical hornets, showers of ice, and other enchantments rained down onto shrieking monsters.
Ston shouted to Tulen over the clashing and ringing of the battle. “You should see it, Tulen! The magic stuff is broiling everything it hits! And the trolls are getting hacked to little green pieces! Ooh, there goes an arm! There goes another arm—and a head! Come on, guys, set them on fire before they regenerate! You know it doesn’t take trolls long to pull themselves together!”
Most of the trolls were chopped down before the ogres and orcs even got into the battle. A dozen warriors were assigned the task of dousing the trolls’ remains in oil and setting them ablaze. The stench was nauseating.
But soon the ogres were smashing into the organized lines of defenders on the wall. As the armored, pig-faced orcs entered the battle, Brittle felt a surge of confidence. Casualties were high, but his troops were holding rank and showed no sign of retreat. The frenzy was so thick that he no longer worried about his troops routing.
Then Brittle noticed something he hadn’t expected. Another red stone wall stood a hundred yards farther into the city, and another, and another farther in. This blasted city was ringed with walls! Brittle hoped the Red Wizard had some brilliant fallback.
Meanwhile, Marcus was enchanting himself with magical strength. Astride his steed, he led the skeletons to the outer red stone towers. He couldn’t imagine failure.
“Ubinosis erronazanz blutuphonk
rar!”
The gates that had stopped him before were blown to bits, crushing ten skeletons.
“There! Those gates won’t be a problem again.” The wizard smirked.
Arrows, crossbow bolts, and rocks all turned to dust as they struck the magical flaming barriers around the Red Wizard and his steed.
Black magical flames burst from Marcus’s fingertips and burned the bodies of the dead mercenaries to ashes. The floor of the deadly passage, choked with bodies moments ago, was now covered in black soot. All Marcus could see now was the open gate ahead of him. Finally, victory would be his.
“This is how war should be—with me in triumph! Where is Brittle, that fool? He could learn from this!”
Marcus rode proudly into the city of Phlan on his snorting nightmare, a sulfurous cloud surrounding him. To his left and right stood massive squads of defenders. But they were too far away for Marcus’s spells of destruction to reach.
Only a lone man, a warrior-priest, stood before him.
“I’ve seen you before, priest. You caused me trouble in the last battle!”
Tarl saw only a pillar of flame, but knew the Red Wizard spoke from within. He looked around the city quickly to assess the situation. Everywhere, Phlan’s defenders ably challenged the hordes of monsters and soldiers. Far above him, the magical ribbon wove across the sky, rainbow energies surging down on the enemy. Tarl picked out Shal’s shade of purple and sighed, knowing that she was safe and her efforts were making a difference. He turned back to the Red Wizard.
“What have you done to the city of Phlan?” Tarl shouted. Sweat coated his forehead as he swung at a few undead soldiers who got close enough to worry him.
“Puny human! My warriors will destroy you!” Marcus ordered his skeletons forward to attack the priest.
As the mass of clacking, enchanted bones approached the cleric, he lifted his hammer. The holy relic glowed with a blinding blue radiance. Tyr’s power was strong in Tarl. The nearest attacking skeletons instantly turned to dust at his feet. He knew no fear. Rank after rank of skeletons approached and were destroyed in mere seconds. A heap of dusty armor and weapons lay at the feet of the cleric as he gazed into the center of the flaming pillar.
Pools of Darkness Page 10
