“It shall be as you say.” Cerador turned and spoke briefly to a young woman. She and five other monks turned and sprinted off into the smoke and flames. “May the rest of us have the honor of escorting you to the fortress? I believe that is where you will need to go.”
“Aye. Let us make haste. I would like to enter the fortress unnoticed if possible, so we will travel on foot. Can you all keep up?”
The monks nodded, grinning widely. Nera smiled and turned questioningly to Endira. The elf nodded, and Nera felt her expending her own psionic energy to quicken her metabolism and speed.
Nera took off running as fast as a galloping horse, heading toward the citadel. Knowing she should conserve her energy, she didn’t want to teleport to the fortress and alert her foes. Her opponents, the quarreling brothers, were powerful and crafty. Her rogue nature cautioned her that if she could approach them unawares, that would be best.
Nexus passed around her in a blur of smoke, fire, and desperate fighting. Endira seemed to have no difficulty keeping up with her.
The monks simply surprised her. She couldn’t sense any magic from them, yet they maintained some mystical inner focus and simply ran like the wind. A staff or fist or elbow would lash out frequently as they went, clearing the way of attackers.
They arrived at the fortress in a few minutes to find the great gates locked shut. Nera couldn’t sense any magical battle taking place—one or the other of the brothers must have already prevailed, she surmised.
She struck the gates with her iron hand, which despite her shapechanged form, remained with her. The gates resonated with a deep boom and swung open before her. The portcullis rose up smoothly on oiled tracks as the counterweight dropped.
The way inside was clear.
***
Flaming arrows lanced out of the sky into the defenders, loosed by the erinys flying overhead. Fiends with leathery, batlike wings bobbed overhead, occasionally dropping down to snatch warriors into the air with their powerful talons and carry them high overhead, where they’d let them fall to their deaths.
Wyat grunted as a claw rent the mail on his thigh, opening a large gash. He responded by splitting the demon’s skull with his longsword. Glancing around, he noticed the Nexus Watch crumbling, the demons pressing through their faltering formation.
“Hold the line!” he shouted, dropping another fiend with a blow that hacked open its throat. “Steel Rage to me! Fall in and reinforce the Watch!”
An arrow sailed past his ear and thunked into a drolnac which had skittered up behind him unnoticed. Rand nodded at him and swiftly drew another arrow.
Wyat whirled, ducking low, his longsword sweeping out. The fiend reared back from the arrow in its chest, forelegs stabbing at the big man. He hacked one off and deflected the other with his shield. Another of Rand’s arrows sank into one of the beast’s eyes, and it wobbled and fell. Wyat hacked off its head for good measure.
He fell back, waving his men closer to the gates. The situation was turning grim. The volunteers and conscript lines had broken between the Rage and the Watch, causing the Watch to falter as its flank was exposed. He didn’t know what had become of Endira, Yosrick, and Waresh, who had been with that group. The mercenary company holding the Watch’s right flank had been nearly decimated also.
Arrows and spells still rained down on the horde from atop the walls, but they were much less frequent. The erinys and flying demons had taken their toll, picking off the defenders positioned there. Even as Wyat watched, a handful of drolnac began scaling the wall fifty paces to his left, behind the lines of the enemy.
Balor’s balls, we’re about to be crushed. He wondered what had become of Nera. After she had simply disappeared into thin air, he hadn’t had much time to think of her. The uncanny way the spear that had been on the verge of impaling him had simply vanished made him wonder if she was about. He knew as soon as he’d seen the spear that it would’ve struck him dead. It had been an arm’s length from his chest when he saw it. Then it had simply ceased to exist the next instant, leaving only a puff of black dust in its place.
Wyat had no time to ponder that, for the Solites were marching forward to reinforce his left flank. The paladins’ armor somehow shone even in the gloomy Nexus twilight.
His eyes widened when he saw Idrimel among them. The priestess strode confidently forward, head held high, her platinum hair shining beneath her helm. Her ethereal beauty took his breath away—in that moment, her celestial nature was much more apparent than her human blood.
Her presence seemed to rejuvenate the troops. The Solites sang out a battle hymn, and scorching rays of light lanced into the horde, causing them to shy away from the burning radiance. The paladins’ swords were deadly, sweeping through the ranks of the horde like scythes through wheat.
“Commander—” A loud voice choked off in fear.
Wyat whirled and saw a terrifying sight. The fearsome vezarun he had seen earlier had torn into the right flank of the Steel Rage. The fiend was wielding a greatsword in each hand. Even as he watched, it hewed a man completely in half at the waist. With the other hand, it beheaded a man, taking his fruitlessly parrying sword arm with the same stroke.
“You whoreson! Fight me!” He raced along behind the line, calling for a handful of men to join him. Del, Rand, and an elven warrior, Harethuil, fell in with him.
Rand loosed an arrow, which thunked into the monster’s thick back. It fought on—the arrow might’ve been a mere bee sting. The beast was twice the height of a man and covered with reddish-brown scales, its feet ending in giant cloven hooves. It wore the skull of a bovine creature as a helm—only its glowing eyes were visible of its countenance. Horns as long as Wyat’s arms stood atop its head. Banners of a parchment-like material were wrapped around its horns, fluttering as it moved, and on them were glyphs painted in blood. Wyat had a sickening suspicion that the banners were fashioned of human skin. A thick tree trunk was strapped to its back.
Men fled before the raging monster. It bellowed something in the fell speech and unleashed a miasma around it with its breath.
Wyat shuddered, remembering Xavulak had done the same to him in the Abyss. Men who couldn’t flee quickly enough fell to the ground, blinded and covered in sores.
The greater fiend crushed the wounded beneath its hooves. The greatswords scythed outward, cleaving through anyone foolish enough to dare remain within its reach.
And then its path to the gates was clear. Sensing victory, the vezarun lumbered toward the city, its great strides leaving Wyat and his men far behind. Roughly a score of drolnac followed, streaming through the path it had cut through the lines.
Wyat threw a dagger in frustration. It glanced off the vezarun’s thick scales. Two more arrows struck its back—one splintered and broke off the tree trunk, and the other glanced off its shoulder.
The fiend ignored them. “Hear me, mortals! I am Gaemnohr, and I will bring the gates of your feeble city crashing down around me! I will crush your men, defile your women, and devour your young!” The deep, booming voice echoed off the walls of the Funnel, fanning terror among the defenders.
“We can’t let it get through the gates!” Wyat said desperately.
“We’ve got bigger problems!” Del cried, his voice cracking. He grasped Wyat’s shoulder to turn him around.
The horde was pouring through the wide gap where the center of the defenders had stood before being routed by Gaemnohr. The remnants of the Watch and mercenaries had been driven aside, their backs now to the city walls.
Wyat’s jaw dropped. The defense had just failed spectacularly as a result of Gaemnohr’s lone charge. He glanced over his shoulder to see the demon with the tree trunk in hand, which he now realized was a battering ram.
Gaemnohr bellowed a command in the fell speech, and the end of the ram, which was fitted with a metal cap, likely Abyssal iron, and carved into a snarling fiend’s head, glowed with red energy. The fiend stepped up, hoisted the ram, and slammed it into the gates.
The boom resounded like thunder, nearly deafening as it echoed off the Funnel’s walls. The gates shuddered but held. The drolnac clustered around rattled their blades together in anticipation.
Wyat turned again, aware that the four of them had no chance against the onrushing horde, now fifty paces away and closing fast. His three men loosed arrows into the charging horde but without effect.
Just when he was about to lose hope, a small figure broke free of the floundering defenders and raced out into the open ground, unnaturally fast for having such short legs, and stood facing the charging horde by itself.
“Who in the Abyss is that?” Del asked.
“That’s Yosrick!” Rand shouted.
“Balor’s balls—what is he thinking?” Wyat asked. “Yosrick, fall back here!” He prepared to run to his friend’s aid.
The gnome waved him back, though. In his hand, he held a yellowish object that looked like a spiral animal horn. Yosrick lifted his visor, and Wyat saw he had a broad grin on his face.
“I forgot all about this in the Abyss! Watch—or listen, I should say!”
“What’s that fool doing?” Wyat muttered.
Yosrick turned and put the horn to his lips. The hundred or more fiends were within ten paces of him now, the gnome seconds from being trampled to death.
He calmly took a deep breath and blew into the mouthpiece.
A deep peal thundered from the horn, drowning out even the sounds of Gaemnohr smashing on the gates. The charging horde was instantly leveled flat like tall grass before a wicked gale. The closest fiends, including some of the flying ones, were hurled backward, sent sprawling and crashing to the ground.
A swath of the horde in a conic shape about a hundred paces long and forty at its widest point had been flattened and knocked senseless.
Yosrick whooped in excitement, pumping the air with a fist.
The rest of the armies stood frozen, momentarily astonished.
“That crazy bastard!” Wyat shook his head in admiration, unable to restrain his smile.
Then the defenders recovered and, voices raised in battle cries, quickly cut down the rest of the few remaining fiends opposing them and closed the breach. They went to work slaughtering the senseless fiends, a renewed spark of hope giving them a burst of courage and vigor.
Wyat turned to his stunned men, grinning. “That little fella will surprise you. Let’s stop that big whoreson!”
Just then, Gaemnohr unleashed another strike against the buckling gates. They were blasted off their hinges in a spray of mortar and broken steel. The defenders within, having the unenviable position of preparing themselves to meet the incoming assault, were crushed or swept aside by the huge gates as they flew inward. The drolnac surged past, laying into the few Watchmen still on their feet.
“Wait up! Can’t let ye younguns have all the fun!” Belgar came puffing up just as Wyat’s group started towards the gates. The elderly dwarf was clearly winded, face red. His chain-mail shirt, generously donated by Zita, and stout hammer were both coated in ichor.
“Come along then, old friend! The city needs us—its gates are open wide before the enemy.” Wyat led the charge against Gaemnohr, who had tossed aside its ram and was hefting its greatswords once again.
As if receiving a silent signal, the drolnac swept through the square, ignoring the guardsmen still trying to mount a defense and attacking the officers and wounded who were set up at the rear. Barristal’s colorful curses rang out as he tried to rally his troops.
Gaemnohr advanced into the square. Defenders who hadn’t seen the vezarun in action were quickly hacked to pieces. A few guardsmen tried to flee, but they were trapped between the fearsome Gaemnohr and the drolnac, the latter of which cut them down. Most just tried to gain some distance and bring their ranged weapons to bear, though they proved fairly ineffective.
Idrimel and I only defeated one of these with her magic and me wielding Redeemer, Wyat thought grimly. Now I have neither—merely a handful of soldiers, one barely more than a boy, and an old dwarf.
“Reiktir’s bloody beard, that’s an ugly sonofabitch!” Belgar grunted, hands on knees as he tried to catch his breath. “Ye think we can take it?”
“Honestly, no,” Wyat admitted. “But we’ve got to make the attempt.”
“Aye. I reckon we could use a wizard to have much of a chance, much as I hate to admit.” Belgar spat on the ground, showing what he thought of having to rely on a wizard.
They were standing near the shattered gates, watching as the defenders rained arrows and crossbow bolts at the vezarun. The creature pursued a limping soldier and hacked him in twain as they watched.
“We don’t have a mage, unfortunately,” Wyat said.
“I am no mage, but perhaps I can be of some aid?” The clear voice sent a shiver running down Wyat’s spine.
He turned to find Idrimel behind them. Her beautiful face was calm, pure blue eyes confident. Her ichor-stained mace was in one hand, holy symbol in the other.
Belgar looked at her dubiously a moment then grinned. “Anything that ugly would have to flee in the face of such beauty.”
Idrimel blushed at the dwarf’s compliment, then Wyat was clasping her on the shoulder.
“Gods, I’m glad to see you well,” he said honestly.
“And I you,” she replied, holding his gaze a moment before looking toward the vezarun. “Sol blessed us while in the Abyss. Let us send this fiend back to join its kin whom we defeated.”
Gaemnohr had turned around, searching for more soldiers to slay, and was focused on their small group. Baleful eyes glared at them. Wyat could feel its palpable hatred and lust as it noticed Idrimel.
“Face me, vile fiend!” Idrimel cried. “Sol will smite you back to the Abyss!”
The demon roared a challenge and charged at them, its hooves pounding the ground like hammer blows.
“Probably shouldn’t get it too pissed off, lass,” Belgar muttered nervously.
However, Idrimel stood firm. She raised her hand, displaying her holy symbol, and a beam of pure golden light streamed from the sun disc, striking the fiend in the chest.
Blackened curls of flesh flaked off where the light struck it. The vezarun bellowed in fury and pain but continued its charge. A trail of ash floated in its wake.
Harethuil, who had given it a wide berth, jabbed Gaemnohr in the ribs with his spear as it passed. The fiend swiped with its arm in irritation, shattering the spear. Rand fired an arrow into its chest, but it kept coming, barreling straight at Idrimel.
She chanted louder, standing unafraid before its wrath, and the ray of light intensified. Gaemnohr howled as its chest blackened from the holy light. It slung one of its greatswords at Idrimel in rage.
Wyat stepped in front of her, shield raised. The blade cleft his shield and pierced his gorget before ricocheting away to the side. It all happened so quickly that Wyat simply saw a blur and found himself lying on the ground, blood spurting from his neck. He clutched at the wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood.
Del bellowed an oath and slashed at Gaemnohr. The veteran’s blade hacked into the fiend’s belly. It brought its remaining sword down, lopping off Del’s sword arm with a powerful cut. He fell with a cry, blood pumping from his wound.
Gaemnohr had its sword raised to cut down Idrimel when Belgar slammed his hammer into its knee, shattering the joint. The fiend’s leg buckled, and it fell heavily to hands and knees a couple paces from the priestess. After a moment, it bellowed in fury and raised its greatsword, intending to strike down Idrimel and the unbearable holy light she was casting.
Belgar raised his hammer for another strike, bringing it down on the elbow of the fiend’s sword arm. The joint gave way with a crunch.
Rand hacked at the fiend’s back with his sword. Harethuil joined him, his short sword stabbing repeatedly.
Ichor pumped out of Gaemnohr, but it crawled forward on its hands and knees, seeking to slay Idrimel with its last act. It snarled and cu
rsed in the fell speech. Wyat gagged from its breath, which reeked of carrion, when the fiend approached within a couple paces of him.
Idrimel’s mace was glowing with golden light. It flared like a comet as it cracked down atop Gaemnohr’s head. The skull helmet the fiend wore split apart from the blow.
Wyat grasped the horn of the split helm, which had fallen across his legs. With the last bit of his strength, he reversed the horn, rolling over to his side, and drove the tip through the fiend’s red eye.
The demon convulsed, claws gouging huge clumps of the ground as it fought to get up. Idrimel’s mace smashed its skull again, splitting it open. As before in the caverns in the Abyss, golden motes flowed across the fiend from her strikes, enveloping its head and neck in holy fire, which further burned it. Gaemnohr wailed, overwhelmed, and tried to curl up to avoid the pain.
Rand, Belgar, and Harethuil hacked, pounded, and stabbed at it until it lay still.
“We did it,” Wyat whispered as darkness overtook him. He fell back, and the last thing he saw was Idrimel’s concerned face, eyes as blue as fonts of holy water.
“Wyat, stay with me…”
Chapter 31
Waresh felt Heartsbane’s grip on his mind weakening. The axe’s sentience had been shattered, and its magic was fading. The knowledge came as both a concern and a relief to him.
Don’t ye die on me now, ye bastard axe! Right in the middle of a damned war—Reiktir’s beard! Once he was able to consider a bit, his stance changed, and optimism dared to creep in. Mayhap I can be free of this damned thing… free to pay penance and perhaps redeem myself in the eyes of Reiktir. Would that I had never picked Heartsbane up from that damned wyrm’s hoard. Nay, would that I had never led that cursed expedition in the first place. Then Tarni would be alive, as would Kalder and me other mates. As would me parents and many other innocents…
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