Heinrich rose from his throne. The audience was clearly over. As the hall descended into a nervous murmuring, Alexander looked at Annika and Dieter, who reflected his concern in their faces. Whatever plans the Celestial wizards had seen were now unfolding. The wizard felt his foreboding grow.
Alexander screwed his eyes up against the haze, and tried to make out the nature of the enemy they faced. Along with Dieter and Annika, he was high up on the west face of the main keep on a great stone balcony. Heinrich and his captains of war were all around them. It had been only a few hours since their arrival at the castle, and the lord was still distrustful of their intentions. But Heinrich had not been able to keep the anxiety entirely out of his expression. As the scale of the threat became clearer, it was increasingly obvious he was concerned about the survival of the castle. In such circumstances, a wizard, witch hunter and knight were not allies to be casually cast aside, so Alexander and the others had been ordered to join the captains on the balcony to survey the coming battle. Keeping a low profile, Morgil had accompanied them also. He stayed in the shadows as much as possible, speaking little, seemingly preoccupied with his own thoughts.
Below them, the sides of the castle fell away in sheer cascades. The thick outer walls were below and in front of them, maybe forty feet down. Men crawled over the battlements preparing weaponry and hauling cauldrons of boiling oil to the ramparts. All eyes were drawn across the undulating land to the west. The hills rose and fell like waves, marked only rarely by pockets of scrub. Less than two miles distant, a sea of bodies was moving. They were moving quickly, and the sound of a beating drum was audible even from such a distance. Tattered banners waved erratically as the host moved. It was hard to make out details, but their numbers were considerable. There were far more soldiers out on the plains than Alexander had seen evidence of in the castle.
Morgil peered into the distance.
‘The scouts were right,’ he said quietly to Alexander. ‘They bear the device of Chaos. They’re humans. A rabble, but numerous.’
Watching the approach with a stern expression, Lord Heinrich took a deep breath.
‘They’ll be at the walls soon enough,’ he said, seemingly to himself. ‘Something is driving them hard.’
He turned to one of the soldiers next to him.
‘Captain Hanneke,’ he said crisply. ‘Get all the gunnery we possess on the west-facing walls. I want volleys of fire to keep them away from the gates as long as possible.’
He turned to address the others.
‘We’ll seal the gates, keep them from scaling the walls,’ he said. ‘There are too many to risk an encounter in the open. If Fassbinder were here, it might be different. But given the few men we have here, we have no option. Messages have been sent, recalling all troops to the castle. Until they arrive, we must hold out.’
Dieter shook his head, shot Annika a glance, and an understanding seemed to pass between them. The witch hunter approached Lord Heinrich. After the encounter in his hall, they had learned to tread carefully around him.
‘With respect, my lord,’ she said, keeping her voice as unassuming as possible, ‘I believe we’re being manipulated into this. The attack is designed to keep us penned-up here while the real work is done elsewhere. We told you of the temple and the summoning we prevented. We must assume that the place has been retaken by now. If we delay here, this man Rachsdorf will finish what he has started. Only your forces stand between him and his goal of bringing a force of darkness into the world. The longer we are detained here, the closer they will come to fulfilling their objective.’
Heinrich threw his hands in the air in exasperation.
‘Is there no end to your insolence?’ he exclaimed, utterly without humour. ‘Witch hunter, my patience is rapidly running out. You have told me about the abomination at the temple, and if things were otherwise I would lend you a whole company of warrior priests to go and root it out. But, as you may observe, we are a little busy with our own problems for the present. Now, you can either make yourself useful in the defence, or take your chances outside the gates. I’m sure those outside would welcome you with open arms.’
He gave her a chill smile, and swept from the balcony into the innards of the castle, pursued by his retinue.
Alexander gave Annika a wry look.
‘This is going well, isn’t it?’ he said.
Dieter started pulling the leather straps of his armour tight.
‘No use complaining,’ he said. ‘There’ll be plenty of work for us here.’
Annika nodded, pulling her pistol from her holster.
‘Indeed. But whatever the noble lord thinks, this castle is not what they’re after. If we survive this, we must convince him to release more troops to take the temple. And somehow persuade him Grauenburg is behind all this without getting ourselves executed. And then worry about the war to come.’
She turned to Morgil.
‘Not what I expected,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
Morgil looked over the battlements towards the surging mass of cultists. He pulled his axe from its bindings on his back and hefted it lightly in his hands.
‘Worry not,’ he said, gazing at the approaching tide of cultists with a savage look in his eye. ‘I was at fault for allowing myself to be drawn into this. But there is hunting here, and my vengeance will come one way or another.’
The keep was lit by flame. For over an hour the mass of cultists had assaulted the gates, throwing themselves with abandon at the heavy, buttressed archway. They were possessed with manic energy, drooling and screaming as they pressed forward. From the battlements, Alexander could see the wide-eyed, crazed looks on their faces. Bodies of the dead lay heaped at the foot of the walls, and the ground was slick and sodden with gore. The roll of the drums was maddening and unceasing. Out of the range of the archers, teams of frenzied cultists pounded the great hide-bound instruments.
The army was mostly composed of foot soldiers. They were poorly armed with an assortment of crude weapons. Even from his high vantage point, Alexander could see many of them bearing the marks of mutation. But there were more formidable warriors in their ranks, companies of heavily-armed marauders. They were being held in reserve by the army commander, who was content to let his expendable fanatics take the brunt of the first attacks on the castle. At the rear of the host, huge wagons had been drawn up out of reach of the defenders’ arrows. Machines of war were being unloaded and reconstructed. In the very centre of the army there was a cluster of robed figures. They seemed to be urging the others on, driving their unnatural bloodlust. It was impossible to make out features in the confusion, but Alexander could swear that one of them bore the aura of Rachsdorf. So the sorcerer had survived the collapse of the temple.
Alexander turned his gaze from the horde below him and looked along the long, narrow ramparts to his right. He was on the outer wall. The defenders mostly crouched behind the high battlements, clutching what few arrows remained. Captain Hanneke was marshalling the defence of the outer perimeter and occupied the ramparts over the gate itself. Heinrich himself had remained in his high tower, overseeing the defence from his vantage point. The vast central keep soared into the air, blackened by the balls of flame which had been hurled upwards at it. Even now, fresh arrows streaming with smoke soared over the high walls and into the courtyard beyond. Fires burned everywhere, and men rushed back and forth with paltry buckets of water trying to douse them. The walls had not yet been breached, but it had been a close run thing. Ladders and hooks had been thrown up against the sides of the castle. Like rats, cultists swarmed up them, only to be pushed back, screaming, by the defenders on the ramparts. Darts were flying thickly from the attackers, and any defenders putting their bodies above the protective crenulations even briefly were at risk of the wayward shafts thudding into them. Cannonade and gunnery fire cracked out at regular intervals from the walls, but it seemed to do little to dent the fury of the horde.
Dieter and Alexander had been assigne
d to the defence of a section of rampart south of the gates. Heinrich’s soldiers regarded the wizard with some distrust, but they followed Dieter’s orders without question. The wizard turned back, gazing at the furious horde through the gaps between the battlements. He clenched his new staff tightly. The wooden shaft had been lent to him, and it was weak with age and misuse. There had been a Bright wizard in Lord Heinrich’s employ until recently, but he had succumbed to the plague. His staff had been preserved, as even the ungifted knew what a powerful weapon it could be. The unfamiliar instrument felt awkward in Alexander’s hands. It took time to attune oneself to the harmonies of a new staff. Any old stick would not do. A wizard’s staff was bound with spells and warded against the ever-present lure of dark magic. Over time, a wizard learned to unlock the power within the weapon, to use the particular properties of wood and iron to best effect. Using a dead man’s staff was difficult. But it was better than nothing.
He rose briefly to his feet, swirled the instrument around his head to pick up momentum, and hurled a spitting ball of fire into the air. He ducked down quickly. A hail of arrows shot through the air where his head had been. They were poor shots, but the cultists seemed to have an infinite supply of wickedly-barbed darts.
The ball of fire exploded in mid-air, dividing into hundreds of smaller orbs. The lesser spheres further divided, multiplying like animals, scurrying around in the air, falling to earth like the sparks from a blacksmith’s forge. When they hit fabric, leather or wood they burst into fresh life. The points of light and heat were searing. From below, Alexander listened to the frantic screams with a grim pleasure. A difficult spell, but its wide range made it worth the effort. As scores of cultists dropped their bows in horror, stung by the sudden heat, the hail of arrows over the ramparts slackened.
‘Now!’ came Dieter’s booming voice behind Alexander.
All along their section of the battlements, men rose and fitted arrows to their bows. In a single, disciplined volley, darts rained down from the castle walls, spinning into the wailing mass of flesh below. Fresh screams punctured the air, and the momentum of the assault faltered. The men ducked back down behind the protection of the rampart as Alexander’s unnatural fire died out. The torrent from below resumed.
Alexander turned in the direction of the speaker. Dieter crouched in the lee of the walls, smiling coldly.
‘Good work,’ he said, his eyes alive with the fire of battle. ‘Another one?’
Alexander grinned at him, already preparing a fresh fireball.
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘But I warn you this is tiring work. Just one more, and then I’ll need to give some thought to that sorcer…’
Before Alexander could finish, a huge crash startled both of them. Dieter rose to his feet, then ducked down again immediately. A rock sailed over the battlements and careered into the keep beyond. Stone blocks smashed, raining rubble down on those below.
‘Catapults?’ hissed Dieter.
Alexander pushed him aside roughly and squinted through the narrow gap. Heavy wooden stone-throwers had been dragged forward through the rows of baying cultists. They were hideous, ornate contraptions, banded with black iron and decorated with grotesque symbols of Chaos. Teams of slaves dragged them into position, and their spiked brass wheels tore the earth as they came. Human skeletons hung from the impressive beams, swaying eerily as the mighty machines hurled their deadly contents at the walls. Unadulterated, they would perhaps have been little threat to Castle Heinrich’s defences. But each catapult shimmered with dark magic. In the daylight, the effect was insubstantial, but Alexander’s eyes were capable of seeing further than most. They were encased in a writhing aura like a nest of translucent snakes. Something had been done to them, or bound to them, to augment their power tenfold. Rachsdorf and his cabal had been busy.
The stones continued to smash into the walls. All over the ramparts, men scrabbled to get to safety. Captain Hanneke’s voice was raised, ordering them to stay at their stations. Before Alexander could react, a fresh series of rocks soared up into the air. One landed a few feet away, clipping the top of the parapet, smashing the walkway behind and sending a dozen men screaming to their deaths. The entire section of the wall buckled, and masonry showered into the courtyard behind them. Dieter grabbed him and hauled him away from the gaping hole. More stonework collapsed. Men withdrew from the teetering rampart as best they could, but many lost their footing or were felled by the arrows streaming upwards once more. The gap at the top of the wall widened as more blocks toppled to earth.
Ladders sprung up from the far side. The cultists raced up them, caring little for the treacherous stonework tumbling all around them. They poured up over the shattered space at the top of the ramparts and surged up in either direction along the precarious walkway. Further along the walls, the cascading stones had ripped fresh holes in the masonry. All over the castle, the defenders were struggling to maintain their grip on the parapet.
‘A breach!’ roared Dieter, unsheathing his sword and striding forward. ‘To me!’
The men around them surged towards the gap in the ramparts. Lumbering along the surviving section of walkway, Dieter barrelled into the first of the cultists to arrive on the parapet, swinging his mighty sword with abandon. Blood flew high into the air. Bodies were flung down on the courtyard below, smashing with a sickening crack as they hit the distant stone. More cultists clambered up the ladders and on to the parapets. None could get past Dieter, but other defenders were slower to react. On the far side of the breach, the cultists were making progress.
Alexander rose and prepared a cast. A series of screaming firebolts left his hands. But the spell had been too hastily made. A few bolts found their target, hurling intruders from the walls. But most fizzled out, falling from the air harmlessly. The wizard cursed himself, and started work on a fresh cast. There was no time for such mistakes. The numbers of cultists in the breach grew. Arrows whined over them from below, slamming into the defenders trying to stem the tide. More heavy rocks rose high into the air, crashing into stonework. The castle was being demolished, stone by stone. So much for waiting the assault out.
Alexander rose once more, his staff humming with fresh power. But his hand was stayed. A new presence had entered the fray. Amidst the struggling ranks of men, both cultist and defender, the White Lion had come. He tore a path along the tottering walls on the far side of the gap. With incredible deftness, Morgil sprinted along the parapet and launched himself at the emerging invaders. The speed of his axe-work was breathtaking. Like a shard of clear light piercing shadow, he spun, ducked and leapt through the mass of bodies. The way was narrow and dangerous, but he fought as if there were no steepling drop on either side of him. The cultists, armed with crude halberds and hooked blades, had no answer. They were cut down in droves, flung into either the crush on the far side of the walls or the flaming confusion of the courtyard.
On the near side of the rift, Dieter was making progress too. His style was very different to the elf’s. Like an armoured behemoth, he strode forwards inexorably, wielding his heavy broadsword in both hands, crushing those before him and forcing them back towards the gap in the walls.
The incursion began to waver. Arrows started to fly once more from the keep above, pinning the cultists down and preventing further entry. Slowly, painfully, Dieter and Morgil closed the gap. The last of the cultists was dispatched with a rending blow from Morgil, his body torn nearly in half. Dieter reached the ladder. With a cry of effort, Dieter pushed it from the walls. It teetered backwards, still loaded with men clambering up it, before succumbing to gravity and collapsing back into the crowds beneath.
Alexander looked behind him, back into the courtyard, hoping to see fresh reinforcements coming their way. What he saw sucked the last hope from him. In every direction, the cultists had succeeded in getting ladders up to the top of the ramparts. Huge holes had been gouged in the thick walls by the falling rocks, and wherever the defence was thin, scores of cultists had pressed
forward. Hand-to-hand fighting was taking place all over the castle. It was now only a matter of time. The enemy were in the courtyard, on the walls, hammering at the very stones of the keep.
The situation had become desperate. Finally, Heinrich himself emerged into the courtyard at the head of a company of his knights. Annika was with him, and her distinctive pistol shots rang out in the echoing space. The defenders in the courtyard rallied around Heinrich, but the perimeter was still broken in many places. As Alexander watched powerlessly, a truly huge boulder smashed into the parapets over the gates. Hanneke’s position was obliterated, and shattered masonry fell like tears to the ground.
‘Damn them!’ spat Dieter, a fury born of frustration in his eyes. ‘We must fall back!’
His words were already being heeded. Castle guards were being harried from the walls. Arrows still cascaded down from the upper reaches of the huge central structure, but the outer wall was all but lost. Heinrich had started an ambitious counter-attack across the burned and cracked courtyard, but with every passing moment his men became more and more outnumbered.
‘If we surrender the walls, we’ll never get out of here,’ said Alexander, reluctant to join the rout.
Dieter gave him a grim look.
‘They’re already lost,’ he said.
‘Hold!’ cried Morgil, peering through the narrow battlements. ‘This is not over yet.’
His expression had changed from one of grim defiance to a desperate hopefulness. Alexander paused for a moment, looking around him carefully. Something had indeed changed. The torrent of rocks ebbed, and then stopped entirely. The cultists continued to hurl themselves into every gap and crawl up every ladder, but their numbers were thinning. The beating of the drums had become erratic.
Suddenly, horns blared from the keep. The signal for a sortie had been given. Alexander turned to Dieter in disbelief.
‘Heinrich has gone mad!’ he cried.
Dieter looked torn between his devotion to duty and common sense. The walls were lost, and yet a sortie had clearly been ordered. Heinrich and his knights were already cutting their way to the gates. The entire situation had been thrown into mayhem.
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