“They’re not that smart,” Sir Roger said. Smoke drifted over the battlefield as the musketmen cleaned their barrels, then reloaded their guns. The archers were already stockpiling even more arrows. “And we’re goading them to attack.”
“Necromancers can be cunning,” Emily reminded him. “Shadye found a way to get into Whitehall and... our defenses are flimsy by comparison.”
She glanced back at the sorcerers as an uneasy silence fell over the battlefield. Sir Roger had been keeping the sorcerers in reserve, knowing they’d only be able to cast a handful of ritual spells before they drained themselves. He didn’t know about the batteries. The enchanters were working frantically in their makeshift workshops - a couple had gone back through the portal so they could work in the comforts of home - but it would be a while before they managed to charge a battery, let alone attach it to a valve and let rip. Emily cursed herself again for not explaining the concept earlier. They might not have time to make any use of the batteries before they died.
“Be that as it may,” Sir Roger said. “Whitehall didn’t have cannons. Did it?”
“No,” Emily agreed. “But it did have powerful wards.”
She peered into the distance, wondering if they dared take the offensive. Crown Prince Dater was already chafing at the bit, insisting the cavalry could harass the enemy and keep them on the run. Sir Roger had already firmly vetoed the idea, leading to an achingly polite exchange where both sides had clearly wanted to call the other every name in the book, and Emily had backed him up. The orcs alone would be tricky for the cavalry to handle. A necromancer would wipe them out with a wave of his hand and never even notice.
And yet, a thought kept nagging at her mind. She did have - in theory - a weapon that might kill a necromancer. It certainly should kill a necromancer. Her alternate self had made it work... Emily shivered as the memories rose up to mock her. They weren’t her memories, but they could have been. If things had been different... she’d have become a monster, a tyrant... no, worse than a tyrant. The alternate Emily had been on the verge of destroying everyone for her own sick amusement.
It wasn’t me, she told herself. She was mad.
“Get ready,” Lady Barb said. “They’re up to something. I can tell.”
“My men and I can scout,” Crown Prince Dater insisted. “We need warning...”
The ground rumbled. Emily turned just in time to see the ashy ground heaving as if something was burrowing beneath the surface. She stared as a writhing shape - a giant worm, with teeth so sharp they glinted in the light - burst out of the ground and crawled towards them with terrifying speed. She’d heard the stories of worms mutated into monsters, but... she wondered, suddenly, if any of the knights had spiked armor to keep the creature from wrapping its coils around their bodies and crushing them. She didn’t think so. It had never seemed necessary.
“Musketmen, take aim,” Sir Roger snapped, as more worms burst from the ground. “Fire!”
Emily watched, grimly aware the musketmen wouldn’t be enough. The worms recoiled in shock as the musket balls tore into their flesh, but shook off the wounds and kept coming. A pair of cannons fired without orders, one worm slithering to a halt as a cannonball struck it on the nose; the others kept advancing, opening their mouths to reveal rows upon rows of jagged teeth. They howled in unison, ignoring the musket shots as they crawled forward. Emily heard someone start to panic below her. She didn’t look down. She didn’t blame him.
“Lady Barb,” Sir Roger said. “The worms are yours.”
Lady Barb turned and barked orders to the sorcerers. Emily felt the ritual magic building as the worms reared up, climbing further and further into the sky until it felt as if there was no end to the beasts. Magic flared, brilliant flames rushing over their bodies and melting their flesh. Emily watched, as dispassionately as she could, as the worms died, collapsing in a heap. The soldiers cheered and hollered, but Sir Roger didn’t seem pleased. Emily stared at him, then understood. The bodies would provide cover for the orcs, when they resumed the charge. And it looked as if more worms were advancing underground.
She turned to Lady Barb. “Freeze the ground!”
Lady Barb looked at her, then nodded and started to snap orders. The magic built up again, the temperature sinking rapidly as the ashy ground turned to ice. Emily thought she felt something at the edge of her awareness as the ground became solid, the worms caught and frozen within the earth. Would that be enough to kill them? She wasn’t sure. The worms were huge, mutated beyond all reason. For all she knew, cutting them in half would end with two worms trying to kill them.
“Good thinking,” Lady Barb said. The reserve sorcerers were already moving into position. “What next?”
“We need to get clear fields of fire,” Sir Roger said. “They’re going to resume the charge as soon as they realize they’ve got an opening.”
“We could send out the cavalry to clear the way,” Penny suggested.
Lady Barb shot her a sharp look. “Mind your tongue!”
Emily shared a smile with Penny. She understood perfectly, although she also understood why Lady Barb had reacted so badly. The Crown Prince and his men wouldn’t respond too kindly to being ordered to get rid of the foul-smelling bodies, even if they could. The worms were so large that moving them off the battlefield was a task for magic, not muscle. She frowned as she saw more creatures - mutated animals, some so strange she had no idea what they’d been - heading towards them. Thankfully, a handful seemed vulnerable to arrows.
She smiled, again, when she saw a flock of flaming arrows heading towards a horde of giant spiders. The creatures seemed to panic as they were hit, scuttling in all directions before they were cut down by their own side. Other creatures needed more killing, from giant lice that were practically tanks to blobs of goo that soaked up dozens of arrows as they advanced on the walls. Emily felt a twinge of fear as the orcs resumed their charge, finally heading towards the dead worms and using them for cover. The fighting had lasted barely an hour or two, although it felt longer. They might be on the verge of losing already.
The orcs kept coming, jumping over the worms and throwing themselves at the walls. They moved so rapidly that even direct hits didn’t matter. They might be dead, but the force of their leaps carried them over the walls and into the fortress. Emily saw an orc, an arrow protruding out of his chest, crashing into a pair of musketmen and throwing them off the battlements. They were the first casualties and... she felt a pang of guilt, just for a moment, that she didn’t know their names. They probably wouldn’t be remembered, either. The war reports and stories always made it sound as though the aristocratic generals had won the wars single-handedly. They hadn’t even had cooks with them.
If we get through this, she promised herself, everyone will remember.
The sorcerers roared and chanted and raised their wards, slamming them forward hard enough to pick up the orcs and hurl them back into the distance. Emily hoped one of them would land on the necromancer, although it was unlikely. The necromancer might not even notice. She was surprised he hadn’t joined the fight himself, even though he was powerful enough to end the engagement without further ado. Perhaps he knew she was there. She’d certainly done everything in her power to make sure everyone knew she’d be with the invasion force. But it was impossible to tell if the necromancers had heard. It wasn’t as if she could send them a challenge to do battle.
She gritted her teeth as the orcs kept coming, hurling themselves forward. One of them came right at her and she hit him with a force punch, his body seeming to disintegrate into bloody chunks, the afterimage floating in front of her eyes before vanishing Another landed in front of Lady Barb, only to be decapitated by a charmed blade before he could gather himself and spring. Emily cursed and blasted another orc with a fireball, waving desperately at the reserve sorcerers. They were gathering themselves for another ritual.
I should have charged more batteries, she thought, numbly. Her other self had all
the batteries, the ones they’d charged before they’d separated. We need to get those bodies out of the way.
Master Lucknow ran up to her. “What?”
“Get the reserves up here, then have them move those bodies well away from us,” Emily shouted. It crossed her mind that she was issuing orders to someone who outranked her, but he’d asked her to get involved. “Hurry.”
She knocked another orc over with a spell, watching grimly as more and more orcs scrambled over the worm bodies and leapt. The bodies quivered a moment later, a surge of magic echoing through the air and picking up the dead worms - and the orcs - before throwing them into the distance. There was no way to aim, but it didn’t matter. There were so many creatures that they were bound to hit something. And besides, the only real problem was getting the bodies away from the walls. They’d won themselves more time.
A cracking sound rent the battlefield as the ice started to melt. Emily eyed the ground beneath their feet, wondering if the frozen worms were coming back to life. She’d read stories about worms being preserved in ice, only to be as good as new when they were thawed. Real stories? She couldn’t remember. Come to think of it, the worms were so large they might casually shrug off cellular damage that would kill a human. It was too much to hope that ice crystals in their brains would stop them in their tracks. There were spells that killed by freezing someone’s brain, but the worms were just too big.
“They’re dead,” someone said, more in hope than anything else. “Aren’t they?”
“Let us hope so,” Lady Barb said. She walked up to stand beside Emily as the battlefield quietened again. “They’re trying to think of something else.”
“And we’ll stop them,” Sir Roger said. “The longer they let us prepare, the harder they’ll find it to take us.”
Emily nodded, watching as the dead and wounded were carried back to the portal. The wounded would have a chance, at least. The chirurgeons and healers would do what they could... she hoped it would be enough. And the dead wouldn’t feed the orcs. She caught sight of movement on the battlefield and frowned, narrowing her eyes. A pair of wounded orcs were crawling away from the fort, staying as low as possible. She was tempted to order the nearest archer to hit them, but it seemed pointless and barbaric. The orcs were more likely to be killed and butchered by their own side.
Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as the uneasy silence lingered over the battlefield. The defenders scrambled to snatch something to eat and relieve themselves before the attackers resumed their charge. She watched the sorcerers hastily preparing the next rituals, talking in low voices as they drew runes on the ground and planned the spellcasting. They’d normally be arguing, she knew. The certainty of death on a necromancer’s stone table if they were caught had clearly focused a few minds.
Penny stepped up beside Emily, her forehead shiny with sweat. “What are they doing?”
“I don’t know,” Emily said. She could feel the necromancer on the far side of the battlefield, a whorl of raw power that appeared to be constantly on the verge of breaking free. What was he thinking? Was he the smart one? Or... she reminded herself of what she’d learnt about Shadye, before she’d left the tower. A necromancer didn’t have to be smart, or well-trained, to be dangerous. “I think he’s trying to decide what to do.”
She tried to put herself in his shoes, but found it impossible. Necromancers just weren’t sane. They weren’t even... she shook her head, unable to put it into words. She could understand people with different standards of behavior, she could understand depraved standards of behavior even if she didn’t share them, but necromancers were dangerously unpredictable. Shadye had told himself, time and time again, that he’d meant to lose, that each little defeat had actually been part of his grand plan. And he’d come very close to total victory. She rubbed her forehead as she peered into the distance. The necromancer might walk to the fortress and destroy it, or just keep hurling orcs into the defenses, or... simply do nothing and wait. Their reinforcements were much closer than hers.
Portal or no portal, there’s a limit to how many troops the Allied Lands will send here, she told herself. They won’t risk cutting themselves off from their armies.
She peered north. The mountains were lost in the haze, hidden in the distance, but she knew they were there. Were they still digging? Or had they recalled the armies to crush the fortress? There was no way to be sure, unless... she glanced back at Crown Prince Dater, who was tending to his men. She felt a flicker of respect for the aristocrat. So many of them forgot their men were human too. They lavished more care and attention on their horses.
Penny held out a flask. “Water,” she said. “You haven’t eaten or drunk anything for hours.”
Emily took the flask, checked it was safe to drink and then took a long swig. The water tasted faintly sour, as if it had been purified repeatedly. It had probably been shipped through the portal, along with everything else. The plans had called for drawing water out of the air to supply the troops, but the spells had failed. There just wasn’t enough water in the air to provide enough for their needs.
“Thanks,” she said. She knew she needed to eat, but she was reluctant to leave her post. Half the archers were munching their rations as they kept an eye on the horizon. The remainder were trying to take a nap. “Can you bring me some food?”
“Of course.” Penny started to curtsy, then stopped herself. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Emily forced herself to wait, calming herself as much as possible. The plan was working, so far. The necromancers knew the invasion force was there and they’d already started redeploying troops to crush the defenses and slaughter the troops. They shouldn’t have any trouble drawing more and more enemy troops to them, as long as the walls held. But they were already taking losses...
Penny returned, carrying a salt beef sandwich in one hand and a canteen of water in the other. Emily took it, nodding her thanks as she sat down to eat. It tasted dry, but edible. She’d eaten worse. Penny knelt beside her, looking as if she wanted to ask a question but didn’t quite dare. Emily frowned, waiting for the other girl to say something. It was hard to remember, at times, that Penny was actually two to three years older than her. She veered between youth and a hardness that suggested someone far older.
“It’ll be night soon,” Penny observed. “Do you think they’ll fight in darkness?”
“I don’t know,” Emily said. It was hard to believe necromancers feared the dark - or the things that lurked in the shadows. There was little more terrifying than themselves. But... she didn’t know. “They might use magic to illuminate the battlefield or simply order their troops to fight in the dark. Or...”
She looked down at her hands as she finished her sandwich. “I think it might be time to up the ante.”
Penny glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
Emily pushed as much confidence as she could into her voice. “They call me the Necromancer’s Bane,” she said. It didn’t sound convincing, not to her. She couldn’t tell if Penny was convinced. “It’s time to remind those leeches precisely why they’re scared of me.”
Chapter Twenty-Three (Emily2)
I MUST BE OUT OF MY mind, Emily thought, as she clambered down a rope onto the ashy bloodstained ground. I really must be out of my mind.
She looked around, taking a moment to check the night-vision spell was working properly. The Blighted Lands weren’t completely dark - the clouds seemed to flicker with light, as if it was broad daylight high above - but the shadows were so deep she could use them to hide. The battlefield was littered with bodies, some so badly mutilated that she couldn’t tell what they’d been before they’d been smashed by cannon fire or magic. A handful looked to have recently expired, as if they’d been wounded and left to die. She wondered, as she collected herself, if they’d been the lucky ones. Their bodies wouldn’t be thrown into the feasting pits.
The necromancer is still out there, Emily reminded herself. She could feel him, a nexu
s of power and madness right on the edge of her awareness. Is he waiting for me?
She wrapped a handful of concealment spells around herself, then started to walk towards the enemy encampment. The archers had orders not to shoot her, naturally, but it was quite possible - as Lady Barb had pointed out - that they might see something moving in the shadows and loose a shaft at it before they realized it was her. The attacks had continued throughout the day, leaving everyone tired and jumpy. A number of men had been allowed to go back through the portal for a night of unbroken rest, but the remainder had to sleep in the fort. Emily envied them. She’d caught a nap only a few short hours ago, but she still felt tired. She didn’t want to be outside after darkness. The battlefield was disturbing as hell.
Nothing moved as she walked on. The bodies lay stiff and cold. She shuddered as she saw a dead spider-crab-thing, a nasty hole burned through its shell. It would have smashed down the walls like paper, if it had been allowed to get too close. She shuddered, wondering what sort of dark magic had been used to create it. The necromancers didn’t normally have the focus and skill needed to craft a creature that literally could not exist without magic. The Faerie, perhaps. There was something wrong about the creature, even in death. She didn’t want to believe there was anything remotely natural about it.
A faint glow shimmered in the distance, hinting at campfires and the warmth of the hearth. It brought back memories of camping trips with her fellow students, after Shadye’s death. She felt the light pulling her on, even though she knew walking into the encampment would be suicide. The orcs would tear her to pieces and eat her before they realized who they’d caught. She wondered, idly, if the necromancer knew she was anywhere near. The monster hadn’t attacked the fort personally, out of fear or practicality. If he drained himself dry killing the defenders, he’d leave himself vulnerable to another necromancer. Somehow, Emily doubted the alliance would last if one of them became helpless.
She smiled at the thought, then kept walking. A faint aroma of burning flesh drifted through the air, making her want to retch. She gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to cast spells to mask the stench. They’d interfere with her senses, the last thing she needed when she was too close to the enemy position. She peered into the darkness, watching for the sentinels she knew were out there. Crown Prince Dater had insisted the cavalry could launch a night raid on the encampment, giving the orcs a bloody nose before they turned and ran. Emily thought it would be suicide, but apparently cavalry had gotten away with it before. The necromancer lost nothing by posting guards before he went to bed.
Oathkeeper (Schooled in Magic Book 20) Page 21
