“Simply put my lord, you are the last line of defence to stop a swarm hitting the castle. If we’re expecting an attack below then we need you below. We will call you if there is a chance that your services would be needed on the surface. But here you can keep the king defended and if I heard correctly, then you have a chance of catching Leridan before he reaches the king. You can prevent Damara Benaga from getting killed.” The Karayan eyed the strong elf cautiously, his yellow eyes glinting with a hideous fire. Chroniison had the sensation he might just be crushed into the ground beneath him for his words, but then the Karayan produced a grunt. With a soft swear of disbelief at the attitude of these beings, the Karayan stepped through the gate after Damara and Chroniison then turned to the other nobles. “There is a chance we might die on the surface or this side of the King’s Bridge. Say your prayers to Nabuto my friends… it is time to meet the Stained Ones…”
And with that everyone parted ways….
Upon the surface the army was already busy defending the first dam and slapping back the beasts that were hammering through. The great cavalcade of demon, orc and wily hobgoblin were put at a disadvantage behind the water and the dam; their trollish Grunts and Bulgas were scrabbling with stone to block the Viren’s flow and burst into the tunnel system beneath. Already the Deep Elves had flooded the lock and the tunnels around there and sealed up the entrances so that only water was dug out. At each tunnel being uncovered, a torrent of water would shoot the Bulgas out into the main river and the swamp and the water never stopped pouring out. The demons were too preoccupied with forming magic shields of glittering golden spider webs to defend from spells than to coordinate the efforts. Some of the thin Hobgoblin were already clambering up the walls to overcome the dam and they were met by sharp arrow bolts to the knee or nose and would fall off, but a few were making it over and engaging the army protecting the magic archers. All beasts had eyes suited to the darkness caused by the spores, but as was part of the magic shield created by the Mage Circle, the whole of Virenheim was lit with magic-filled crystals that permitted the archers to identify their foe.
Hobgoblins were not much for fighting, barely five-foot-two and better designed for rifling through city dumps than engaging with swords and shields. Their dagger weapons were cleaved from their hands and their yellow and orange bodies cut in half with ease, but their example was encouraging the more dangerous orcs to try. With the demons covering them, the trolls and Bulgas forming bridges within the deep water, the grey-skinned beasts were pulling up great ladders to clamber over the walls and breech the first line of defences. The moment it was noticed, the arrow messages were cast about and black tar and waste from the sewer system was poured down the sides of the dam walls to stop clambering figures from easy access. The archers were also encouraged to stop picking targets on the wall and aim for anything moving in the water with a steady series of volleys. The magic bombardment was pulled back towards the town as a few of the elf soldiers advanced with spears for the wall and swords to pick off the goblins. Their job was to keep the magic users protected, but if the first dam was knocked open as before, then the magic users were to fall back and leave the soldiers to deal with the first assault alongside the wall archers before the next section of army stepped forward to close it off.
This was the regular kind of attack, but with two additional attacks in progress the magic users would have to go straight to the second dam before they engaged the enemy once more. Standing guard with archers along the second wall, Jarl Kelvis eyed the beginning of the battle with concern. His father would be below to secure the escape route for the king to the sanctuary but always he had his son up on the wall to show the commoners they were willing to sacrifice everything for the king’s safety just like the rank-less. His choice for that position though was simple, men in the second dam wall were statistically less likely to die as the rapid churning waters deep below kept most armies from crossing over. It also helped to be an archer and in the higher positions where they could see escape routes. For Jarl, his position was even safer as he stood on the northern band of the wall that held no bridge and a massive deep gully between it and the army barracks roof opposite… no one got hit there and Jarl stood with a bow aimed at the narrow lines of invisible bridge that breached the gulley in preparation for anything. He was with the other young lords of the households and was grinding his teeth as he heard them chatter.
“They said it was a typical attack – here we are in these ridiculous grey and blue robes with red hoods, black veils and all skin covered because of the damn spores and nothing is even happening! Normally in a regular attack we’d have seen one or two stray orcs rushing at us by now, this is boring!” Sindrik Malphas was always an irritating noble at the best of times! He was Lord Caphoni’s only cousin and only because his mother had been the first born of Caphoni’s uncles and aunts did Sindrik get to boast and fuss from a higher position than Caphoni’s own nephews. Sindrik was rotund, about as fat as an elf could just about get on the Virenheim diet and like his father he was used to spending all day polishing gems for trade or decoration. He lived a pampered life without too much hassle and his words were making everyone uncomfortable.
“Can’t you just be grateful it’s not so bad that they need to risk noble lives yet! We’re being hit at three different angles, but our magic is prevailing… surely this is the power of the stone!” Young Master Gilfony Alagpo was the High Priest’s grandson and the highest ranked member of that household these days. Like all those families that became noble through links to the church, his whole line had adopted the religious name Alagpo until the time when old age overcame, and the High Priest died. At least, to be more religiously worded, that was until the point the body had been given up to Nabuto and they reverted to lesser nobles under the secondary title of Udig- and whatever their original surname was. Gilfony was a brave elf and good friends with Jarl and Damara. In their earlier days he could have been a rival for Damara’s affection, he had always been her protector in the lessons where the ages could mix and in her religious studies he had been her guiding hand. However, when the opportunity had come for him, the arrangement with Jarl had been made and the situation was not to be argued. All that was in the past though, for right now he was sullen. “Don’t forget… the nobles are the last to die and the peasantry the first to touch Nabuto in glorious sacrifice. We should not consider their efforts as paltry and should be hoping for the chance to fall in the service of the king’s defence.”
“It sounds like you’ve been listening to the traitor’s old talk… glorifying the unclean blood… I can’t believe someone like you would dare to repeat such rubbish.” Sindrik grunted beneath his mask and Jarl’s eyes widened in surprise to hear such a thing. He still could not believe that Anouk had done anything wrong or indeed that anyone could ever doubt a Benaga. He felt conflicted as he watched the motions of Hive Demons up ahead being warded off so easily by their soldiers at the North Wall. Like Gilfony he recalled when Anouk had been the one to smash through ranks of swarming Hive Demons with her flaming sword roaring and terrifying the beasts into retreat. She had been slashed and stabbed, little more than a bloody mess at the end of it with all that remained of her squad, but she had gotten there in time to save everyone from the stemming fingers and the possessions. He wished he had her courage and more so her luck in such matters, but Gilfony was loath to let the words of Sindrik go unpunished and made a rude notion with his ears to mock Sindrik’s own heritage.
“If there were a brain in that fat head of yours, you’d realise just how unjust that thought is. Female or no, Anouk is Lord Benaga and would never be a traitor to the king or to her people. We should all be thinking about her approach to this battle and how she might face this enemy!” But this declaration caused an outcry amongst the nobles and they all began to squabble amongst one another. Jarl listened to them in irritation, his eyes pinned on the bridges; the youngsters ignored their commanders bellowing for silence and a full fight migh
t have begun had a messenger arrow not zipped through the air with a whistle to stab into the stone beside the captains. Everyone paused to listen, but by then they could feel a heavy depression in the air, like being on a storm front.
Even as their commander trembled to unfurl the letter, to the north the Hive Demons appeared vanquished, with the orcs, goblins and demons backing up towards the swamp edge. The attack on the Rice Wall to penetrate below continued, but it was clear the beasts were waiting for something to remove the First Dam. The trees in the distance wavered in an amber haze and a flurry of arrows were being sent to every section of guard and soldier about the wall with high-pitched whines as something in the air seemed to squeeze them. The guards were calling everyone up to the Second Dam Wall and everyone to prepare for battle immediately. It was not often the First Dam was breached and yet this reaction was new to the younger members of the kingdom, but to the older it was nothing new and an omen of woe.
As Jarl and his companions galloped through the stone fortifications to the ramparts of the barracks, they stared out at a golden glow in the distance. Highlighted against the grey and black sky filled with spores, something made of coiling red fire and golden fluid was sliding out through the dark forest. Where the light was intense everything living about it seemed to melt away and the air seemed to coil about in a vortex, as if this thing was the epitome of the end. Jarl trembled in terror at the stale stench in the air as something like a skeleton made of different creatures with organs pulsating visibly beneath a thin membrane of molten lava for skin, slid out onto the marsh. Where it touched the water, the swamp boiled instantly into steam and screams came from all life that had once existed there. Even the Gefafood that had been there a century boiled alive within their scale armour and the being slid onward, its body slowly supping up the corpses from the water as it seemed to be trying to form a stronger body so it could fight.
It was something that had not been seen in nearly half a century, something the younger elves could not help but whimper at… but as it finally strode out into plain view there was only silence as the heavy realisation of their danger sank in.
“By Nabuto, what manner of fouling is that?” Jarl gasped, but none of the captains would answer as they all stared out at the creature in total despair. Some whispered to their god for help, but when sanity retook them, and novelty was replaced with panic, they shook themselves into readiness. The generals on the wall looked to one another, spoke briefly and then insisted all arrows be laced with magic and everyone be prepared to shoot at it and nothing else. The beast could possibly destroy the first dam and the upper city, but it could not get through the second! Everyone was trembling, everyone was scared and down below the elves leaving the Upper City were already starting to panic as the great bovine-skull reared up over the edge of the First Dam and gave a screech! At first the sound was so low it cracked rocks alone before shaking the bones and rising into something more harrowing that urged them to grab their ears and bite down against the agony. Some elves screamed back in response and others felt their eyes, ears or noses bleeding!
The elves fleeing that area of the First Dam were scrabbling for safety now, the cry of Arch-Demon shrieking about their ranks as they galloped to the narrow bridge. The doorway was only just slightly open, beings barged and jostled to get inside, their bodies trembling as they gripped each other, unwilling to fall to the depths or indeed to be left alone. There were no men near that first dam, but it was taking time to get into the second dam and there were still orcs and hobgoblins upon the ground. Where they were still scuttling, and the militia were standing in defence of the bridge, elves were fighting with swords, spears and whatever they could manipulate to be sharp to cull the fiends. They tried not to look up at the beast with piercing red eyes within deep-set sockets that stared down at them, with its great cavernous jaw of teeth and the abyss leant dangerously against the great stone of the wall. The liquid acid and flesh that spewed off the creature’s body was slowly eating away the form of the gate and the militia were quite sure they were about to be rushed by whatever was left sitting behind it.
Amongst them an aged elf warrior named Takerus was keeping his squad in position with their few bowmen at the back, a pair of mages with staffs at the ready just behind them and men with pikes and shields at the front. He knew they would be nothing against the menace working its way towards them, but they would at least be suitable in taking down the waves of orcs and goblins that would coming flooding in ahead of their master. Until the Arch-Demon had formed his true hide with wings and a weapon, he would be vulnerable to the magic of the Mage Circle and the orcs would be trying to take down every magic user present. Already the shield over the armies beyond the wall was breaking down as the demons around their master were being ripped into his patchwork body to make him stronger. Takerus could tell that the Hive Demon attack to the north had been a ruse to weaken the defences of the dams and that those beings would now be rushing back to form part of this master. He was thankful that the archers and mages on the walls were still knocking out demon bodies and orcs before the wall was broken, but with the Rice Wall being pummelled by those wretched beasts, there was no way there would be enough magic to hold them back from entering the King’s Tower from below and stealing the stones.
“Mensor… you need to get through to the underground and pass the message onto the Karayan that the Core had to pull back their defences to the king’s side. The rest of Virenheim can be forsaken so long as the king is protected – go now.” Takerus turned to his oldest friend and lieutenant in the group who was not only a great swordsman but fast, the gentleman nodded his head and then bolted. Takerus watched him go and then grimaced when he identified his son standing in the front row of his little group with his shield raised and his club ready and bristling with magic. Takerus was going to be a grandfather in two months, the stress of the spores had probably meant his daughter-in-law had given birth when reaching the sanctuary and it was important that his son would be there to help. Though Mensor was the father of that woman and likely to survive, Takerus was quite sure he did not want to lose his child. With a nervous shudder, Takerus turned toward his son and called to him. “Dalrik, please follow Mensor – just in case the break-in has already occurred below.”
“But father, I’m a good soldier, surely I’m of more use here taking out the monsters. I can do whatever you want here… please don’t force me to hide like a coward!” Dalrik snarled in frustration as he looked toward his father and then a hobgoblin came shrieking past, only for Dalrik to smack it firmly in the head. He gave a growl of irritation as it dropped on the ground dead and turned towards Takerus with a sneer of frustration. Dalrik gave a snap of irritation when his father shook his head and pointed a finger towards the gate. Dalrik then snarled in defeat before nodding his head and turning to move to the dam. Takerus shook his head gently in frustration before sighing in dismay with a soft groan as he turned back towards the scene of the monster breaking in.
All around him his people were starting to scream and howl in fear as the great hulking mass of the Arch-Demon lifted itself upward from the dam walls, it’s body gaining a little more strength as it absorbed a few more demons. The process of absorption was disgusting to say the least, demons stripped bit by bit from where they stood and forming the protective flesh about its shoulders and a limb, the mess boiling and squirming as it screamed to fuse into place. The smell it produced and the hissing glare of brilliant green steam that erupted from the point of the seam within the flesh as it mashed together, made the stomachs coil and the elves back up. Then, as it seemed to grow stronger, the great cavernous mouth opened slowly and then closed, causing the beast to flop with a resounding crash into the wall, breaking the stone to rubble, making the whole ground shake so that the elves fell onto their knees and those being pushed on the edge of the bridge stumbled and were cast down into the depths with violent screams as the very earth seemed to rattle beneath the dam’s collapse.
The mages looked panicked and there was the mention of an Arch-Demon and Damara could not believe it as she galloped after them to the roof. The glass dome at the top of the tower would not only show off the situation outside, but there was also the likelihood that the king would be there and if Damara was not there before the rest of the mages, she would be closed off and unable to save the king. She also knew it was the one place in the whole of the kingdom where Leridan would ever have seen the king and had the chance to get in!
Traitor to the King Page 40
