by David Adams
“You fear us,” Demetrius said, a look of discovery on his face. “We’re getting close and you’re afraid we’ll destroy you.”
The voice laughed again, a bit too fast and loud. “The Sphere? You’re doing me a favor. It is past time I took it back. When I scattered the pieces I was weak and needed time to get used to my host. Now I hand you this piece willingly, and I will reward the one who brings the Sphere to me with anything they desire.”
“We bring it soon enough, demon,” Lucien said.
“I look forward to it. Friend or foe, life or death, the choice is yours. One other thing: Upper Cambry is mine, but after that, my armies can be recalled or unleashed, depending on what you decide. This war need not go on any longer. Whether thousands more must die is now your decision.”
“Your lies become more desperate,” said Rowan, forcing a smile to his lips despite the tightness he felt in his chest. “I think Demetrius has the right of it—you fear us.”
“You I do not fear, Rowan,” said the voice with a touch of anger. “But you are as foolish and stubborn as the others of your pathetic faith. I’ll have your head and feast upon your soul in the end. Perhaps your companions will bring your corpse to me as a gift when they bow down before me.”
“Enough!” Lucien shouted, striding forward. His warblade slashed through the air.
With blinding speed the man grabbed his sword, rose, and spun to parry Lucien’s blow. Just as swiftly, Rowan swung his own sword. The blade sliced through the man’s neck, giving off a spark of white light as it did so.
Even before the body hit the ground, the Mist raced forward. It swirled around them four times, then spoke in a voice like a harsh whisper, the words stretched out. “Fools. You…will…die.” It soared up and away, leaving them alone with the body of the paladin.
Rowan knelt beside the body, moving the head back into its approximate correct place. He laid both hands on the man, saying a silent prayer. When he rose, he said, “I did not know this man, but I will bury him.”
The others pitched in without discussion.
While the grave was being dug and the remains placed and covered, Tala attached the piece of the shard the man had held. She looked at the hole that remained in the Sphere, larger than some of the pieces they had recovered, but smaller than a few. “So close,” she whispered. She stepped a short distance apart from the others and then searched with her magic for the next piece. She pocketed the Sphere with a frown, then waited for the others to finish their task and join her.
Demetrius noted the tired look on Tala’s face, a look he didn’t believe was from physical exhaustion. “I’m almost afraid to ask where we’re going next.”
Tala met his eyes only for an instant, then looked down to where she was pushing sand around with her boot. “Far north, and over the sea. It is on an island a hundred miles or so off the coast of Veldoon.”
The news was met with a dismayed silence. Tala walked away, going to the horses. She stroked the nose of her own mount, while the horse nuzzled her neck and shoulder.
Demetrius watched her for a moment, then turned back to the others. “We’ll need to go back to Upper Cambry and get a ship before the Legion strikes.
Rowan protested, “Surely we must wait until the battle ends and victory is claimed, or at least see the refugees safely across the bay, before we ask for a ship.”
“We are only six. We are too few to tilt the battle in our favor. If we fight and die here our mission dies as well, as does all Arkania.”
“I think you would not be so quick to leave if Upper Cambry was a city in Corindor.”
A sharp retort flew to Demetrius’ tongue, but he swallowed it with an effort. “A leader must make difficult choices. Once decided he will listen to counsel but he will not change his mind if he is not convinced he has chosen a poor course.”
“And who made you leader, Demetrius?” Rowan asked, more harshly than he intended. “I don’t recall swearing my service to you.”
“Maybe he afraid to fight,” Lucien growled.
Demetrius drew his sword in a slow, deliberate fashion. “I have never feared a fight in my life.”
“Should fear this one,” said Lucien. His warblade reflected the red-orange glow of the sinking sun.
“Hold!” shouted Alexis, stepping between them. “Peace!” She glared at Lucien, then Demetrius.
“Step aside, woman,” said the hulking goblin.
“Careful how you use that word, Lucien. Many a male has met his end at my hand.”
Corson had drawn his sword just after Demetrius. He stood there holding it in front of himself, pointing it at no one in particular. “Just a second,” he said to the others. He held up a finger, reminding them to wait. “Tala! Which side will you fight on?”
“I will want to see who is winning, then go with them. What are the sides right now?”
“I’m with Demetrius, as always, although he may not be in the right. But that’s friendship for you. Alexis might be with us now. I guess Rowan’s with Lucien, but he hasn’t drawn his sword yet.”
Rowan forced himself to smile. “Might be I don’t think Lucien needs the help. I’ll let him do the dirty work.”
“Good plan,” said Corson, sheathing his own weapon. “Why risk getting blood on these horribly soiled clothes of mine.”
Lucien shook his head and stalked away, feigning interest in the sunset.
“Too bad we had to send the Dark One away so soon,” said Corson. “He would have loved that little scene.”
Demetrius returned his blade to its scabbard. “It has been a hard day, and I am used to commanding. I apologize if any of you felt I was giving orders. But I still believe the best course is for us to go now.” He paused a moment, then added, “Rowan, I know you want to defend your people. I would stand beside you before I would part ways, even though I would counsel against it.”
“And I will stay. I must. If the rest of you need to go on, I will be sure you have all the time you need to be safely away.” He looked at Alexis, hoping she would understand.
“I’m sorry, Rowan,” she said. “I left my own people to chase the Sphere. We should go.”
“We should fight,” Lucien called, even though he remained with his back to them.
Tala strolled closer. “The quest is vital. It may be our only hope. And the battle may be one we cannot win. We have all faced the Legion before. But if we take a boat and go, we will wonder how many might perish so we can be away. I say we stand and fight, and take the last boat we can, with the duchess’ permission.”
Demetrius looked at Corson. “Three to two, Corson. What say you?”
“I…” He licked his lips nervously.
“Speak your mind, my friend. Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”
“Demetrius, you know I would obey your commands, even to the point of going to my death if you asked it, as your subordinate and your friend. But if you would know my thoughts I say we stay and fight. True, we are only six, but we were only six at Western City, and we delivered that place, if only for a time.”
Demetrius held up a hand in surrender. “We stay then. Rowan, these are your people, so now that we have decided my sword belongs to you and your duchess until we see this through.”
“As is mine,” Corson added.
The call to arms even brought Lucien back. He gave Demetrius a playful slap on the arm, and gave a respectful nod to Alexis. He even managed a wink and a smile for Corson.
“If we are all friends again,” said Tala, “let us try to get back inside the city walls before the Legion arrives. I would feel better about our chances with strong walls around us and an army by our side.”
Chapter 10: The Battle of Upper Cambry
The duchess welcomed them back and satisfied herself with the simple fact that they had been successful in retrieving the shard. She had asked for details only once, but when she saw the way Rowan’s face drained of color at the memory of what had happened on the beach sh
e quickly stated that it mattered little. The yielding of a boat was no small thing, but she did so willingly, given that they were prepared to join the battle and that she understood the gravity of their quest. “Most of the decent merchant ships have joined our small naval fleet. I will have a ship assigned to take you north once the battle ends.” Once the promise of a ship was secured, they sent the horses back home, knowing the steeds could find their way and hoping the Legion wouldn’t find them.
Most of the soldiers welcomed their aid as well. More than a few comments were made about Lucien, usually in hushed tones and with furtive glances. One man who had too much ale was bolder in his challenge, going so far as to proclaim the goblin a spy, and his companions likely traitors who would turn the city over to Solek at the first opportunity. “I’ve seen goblins marching with the Legion. The whole race of ‘em is bent to evil. That’s why they serve Solek,” he had raged. Lucien had taken such insults with a surprising, quiet dignity, his icy stare his only response. That stare alone was enough to cow most men. The drunken man actually drew a blade, but Alexis and Corson interposed themselves between the potential combatants, and the man’s friends dragged him away, calling back apologies as they did so. The next morning Lucien received a formal apology from the man’s commander, who said that the man would have been made to come personally, but that “I feared you might be offended by the smell. He will be working the latrines for the next week.” Lucien couldn’t help but smile at that.
Three days later the survivors from the battle at Bellford started to flow into the city. They told tales of the Legion being greater in number than anything they had faced before, and admitted that they had not held long at all, despite the defenses they had constructed. “They could easily envelop the city here as well,” a sergeant told a crowd of eager listeners, “or simply overrun the walls. They attack with no fear, like a swarm of angry insects. Either way we needed to fall back before they took the garrison whole. We lost many men on the way.”
“What of Captain Sawdel?” someone asked.
“With the rear guard, of course. Never one to ask his men to do something he won’t. He should be here soon, with the Dead Legion snapping at his heels.”
That afternoon the city was alive with preparation. Rowan had found a place for them under a sergeant he knew, a man by the name of Madsen who was grateful for the extra help and even offered his hundred-man command to Rowan, saying, “I seem to recall you outrank me.”
“Days long past. I have another task now, and no wish to command. You know your own men far better than I.”
Madsen had bowed and then introduced himself to each of Rowan’s companions. He complimented and thanked each in turn, and when he took Lucien’s beefy hand in both of his in greeting, a gleam played in his eyes. “I think even the Dead will rue seeing you on the wall. I wish we had time enough for you to teach me the proper use of a warblade.”
“Perhaps after, when enemy lies at our feet.”
Madsen smiled broadly. “Yes! An excellent idea.”
Corson brought news that Sawdel and the final remnant from Bellford had arrived at mid-afternoon. Those unable to fight had been scurrying toward the docks all day, and now did so with renewed energy. Women and some older boys who could handle weapons were accepted into the service, but everyone else was being evacuated, and the duchess had denied far more offers to take up the sword than she had accepted. “A good thing, too,” said Madsen. “Hard enough to keep trained soldiers from panicking when the Dead come over the wall. I don’t need to be babysitting nervous children. I’ll fight to see them safely off, but I’ve no interest in seeing them die next to me in battle.”
The watch sounded the alarm just before the dinner hour, not that anyone was that interested in eating. Madsen led his troops swiftly up onto their section of the outer wall, which formed the northern face of the city. While they were not directly over the main gate, they did have an excellent view of the road as it approached Upper Cambry.
The Dead came across the countryside like a solid wall, appearing in the fading light of day like silent phantoms. The Legion of the Dead had continued to grow in number here in Delving until they were so vast a host that even Lucien muttered unhappy words to himself at the sight of their lines. The front they presented was far longer than the length of the city walls, and was anchored on the bay at the west end. The far left of the Legion line could wrap around the city so as to envelop it. A rider leaving the city for the north now would be hard pressed to escape before the city was encircled, so far into the distance did the Dead army extend, and at fifty or more soldiers deep, they did not appear to be spread thin in any way.
Spy glasses were in short supply, and none of the newcomers was in position to use one. Rowan asked Tala what she could see.
“Their numbers are obvious. Delving, Corindor, and Ridonia are here, and many more that wear no colors at all. They are well armed; most have set aside the poles and scrap metal they find when they rise in favor of swords and spears. I even see some bows. To the rear they bring up ladders, towers, and siege machines.”
“All human?”
“Apparently. I do not see goblins. Or elves.” She turned to the others. “I can spot no demons either. If they are here, they remain hidden in the rear. Victory will not come as easily as it did at Western City.”
Upper Cambry had only a pair of feeble catapults, but these were soon put into action. Even as chunks of rock dropped into their lines, the Dead maintained an ordered attack, the small holes made by the hurled stones quickly filled. It reminded Corson of trying to build a sand castle too near the incoming tide as a young boy, the surf enveloping the towers and melting the walls until there was no sign it was even there. Given their situation, the analogy was far too easy to take literally. The line to the north stopped a hundred yards from the castle wall. A human army would have had to pause much further back to stay out of bow range, but the Dead were little harmed by arrows, and the archers defending the city saved their ammunition. With a precision any commander would be proud of, the line beyond the end of the north wall continued on in a swinging gate movement, until the besiegers formed a line along the east wall as well, and again the extended portion continued until the south wall was covered too. Watching the movement was an agony for the city’s defenders, as they were forced to watch a trap slowly close upon them that they were unable to react to in any way. If not for the bay, the Dead easily could have covered the west face of the city as well. As it was, they had a deep reserve on each face, and the besieged knew that even if they sallied forth and punched a hole in the Dead line, there would be a force ready to plug it up. A small Legion detachment to the south went through the market and to the docks, setting the wood ablaze. As night started to fall, even those on the north wall could see the glow from the flames.
“How many do you think?” Rowan asked Demetrius quietly.
“Fifteen thousand, at least.”
“Twenty,” Lucien said.
“Is that all?” said Corson, trying to sound unimpressed. “Lucien, what say you and I go out and take them on ourselves? You know, make an even fight of it.”
“They run if see us coming. Best wait here behind wall to pull them all into trap.” The big goblin’s tone was light, but his eyes were dark and brooding, never leaving the army that stood arrayed before them.
A horn sounded in the distance, a single piercing note that had more scream than music about it. A half-dozen horns answered, and the Dead Legion began its final advance.
Archers sprang to life across the wall, using arrows dipped in oil and set alight. They targeted not the Dead but rather their ladders and towers, trying to render them useless before they could be employed. The Dead responded, using catapults and trebuchets to fling stone and barrels of oil with fuses that set the liquid aflame as the projectiles burst open. The catapults and trebuchets were well positioned, always staying out of range of the archers on the walls.
Tala had more succe
ss than most with her bow, but even then the fires she started served only as a minor annoyance, being quickly extinguished. The rocks the Legion hurled did minimal damage, and were usually spotted well in advance of striking and could be avoided by the intended human targets. The barrels were another matter, and between fighting the flames that spread far too quickly on the walls, Demetrius saw dozens of the city’s defenders injured or killed by the cruel weapons.
The Dead reached the base of the wall and scaling ladders were slapped into place. Alexis tried to use her spear to tip one back but couldn’t get the leverage and reach she needed. With an effort she could force the ladder away from the wall, but as soon as she pulled her spear away it returned to its original position. Abandoning the attempt, she readied herself to strike the first creature to ascend, always keeping a watch on the incoming missiles as well. She noted the Dead now fired flaming arrows of their own, to strike individuals or relight oil fires that might have been stamped out. Either way it seemed every arrow had a positive effect for the assaulting army, and a deadly one for the defenders.
For a time there was hope they could hold, each ladder having one or two defenders to hack at the Dead that tried to reach the top rung and step onto the wall. But more ladders appeared, and incoming missiles and raging fires forced the defenders to yield, if only momentarily, and the Dead were able to gain a foothold and bring the fight onto the wall itself. And something more dire and foul aided the Dead Legion as well.
Demetrius was the first to see it happen, and even as it did he berated himself for not realizing it had to happen. A man near him, but not near enough that he had learned his name, had been struck by one of the stones hurled by a trebuchet. The blow was instantly fatal, crushing his skull and dashing him to the wall’s surface, where the armies might struggle over his prone form. But as Demetrius hacked another member of the Legion off the ladder, he caught sight of the man slowly rising. His face was a mess of blood and bone, the right side of his skull completely smashed in, his right eye gone. He rose on steady legs, no longer feeling the pain of his wound, no longer knowing his companions of a minute ago, why they fought or even his own name. He advanced toward the living, intent on destroying them as he had been destroyed. Demetrius struck quickly, severing the man-creature’s head with one blow.
