“Captain!” one man shouted, and Whelan didn’t know if he shouted at him or at his brother. He waited for the swoosh of air and the bite of steel on his neck. Others shouted.
“No,” Roderick said. “No. It is too much. I will not do it.”
The others shouted in joy. Relief flood through Whelan. He rose to his feet. “Do you wish my sword?”
“No, carry it. There is no other man fit to carry the blade. You will lead the knights into battle.”
Whelan obeyed. He helped Roderick over the fence and onto the road. “Have you gathered the knights to face the dark wizard?”
“Daniel insisted the enemy wouldn’t attack until spring, that he only meant to take the Teeth. But he was delirious and many thought he would die. I’ve done what I can to gather the Brotherhood, but the Knights Temperate don’t ride together. They are too deeply divided since you left.”
“Then we’ll ride together,” Whelan said.
Roderick nodded. “As you wish, captain.”
“Captain? I’m not your captain. You are the captain.”
Roderick shook his head, a grim expression on his face. “You’ve proven me a fool, Whelan. Whatever sins you seek Daniel’s pardon for, let them be between brothers. Only you can gather the knights and lead us into battle.”
Whelan nodded. “As you wish.” Together, they helped Hob lift Canute’s body onto his horse where another man tied him down.
Whelan turned to the others. So few to stand against King Toth and his thousands. But it would have to suffice.
He said, “My knights, listen to me. Nothing will divide the Brotherhood, nor turn our swords against each other. We must ride together.” He mounted his horse and stood it next to Roderick and Ethan. “I ride with my brothers to the Citadel. Who rides with us?”
They shouted and banged their fists against their shields. Whelan drew Soultrup from its scabbard. “Then, by the Thorne, we will drive this dark wizard back to Veyre. Come, we ride!”
Chapter Twelve
Flockheart shouted to the riders and they lit from the tower with a flurry of screams and beating wings. Cries of “Ska!” followed by shouts of anger. They’d itched yesterday to avenge their losses at Sleptstock, but held back, knowing they would destroy themselves by fighting too early. The griffins’ delay had made the enemy overconfident.
The dragon flew over the city to the west, not yet joined by the other dragons that flew toward the Citadel from the mountains. A few wasps flew overhead, but the gurgolet was largely unprotected, flying low in the courtyard and spewing hot mud. It had been busy throughout the morning, Darik noted when he saw ribs poke through dry mud. Now was the perfect time to bring down Chantmer’s monster.
Dozens of archers stood in the courtyard, bravely standing under the gurgolet’s attacks. It flew too high to shoot, and they didn’t attack it in any event. They held arrows at the ready, but not yet notched.
The griffins climbed higher, soaring over the gurgolet’s head before it saw the attack. Half a dozen dragon wasps met them. Enraged griffins hunted them down as a falcon might hunt a sparrow. Finally alerted to the griffins, scores of wasps rose from further back in the enemy ranks, but they would never reach the gurgolet in time.
Darik flew directly over the monster as it lashed its tail at the griffins that landed on its back to claw loose clumps of mud. Joffa lurched to one side, easily avoiding one such blow. Daria flew next to him, on a griffin whose rider had been killed at Sleptstock. Darik dropped beside Daria, a flask of lamp oil in his hands.
He hurled the flask, and it broke and spilled its contents along the monster’s back. Daria threw her flask next to his. He took another flask from his cloak, but this one missed, shattering on the flagstones in the courtyard. Dozens more shots, however, found their mark, even while other griffins forced the gurgolet to the courtyard. The gurgolet struggled to climb, but the weight of griffins pushed it down until it flew no more than twenty feet over the archers.
Flockheart shouted to flee, and the griffins lurched away, just as the archers put flaming arrows to their bows and fired. Half a hundred arrows struck the gurgolet at the same time, engulfing it in flames. The monster spasmed to one side, spewing vast quantities of mud. Men in the courtyard screamed. The gurgolet rose sluggishly into the air, listing on one damaged wing, just as the dragon wasps arrived.
Burning fiercely, the gurgolet lurched toward the general direction of the Thorft River from whence it was born. It scattered wasps from its path and barely cleared the walls. Its right wing melted with every flap and within a few hundred feet it crashed to the ground in the midst of the Veyrian army. Camels scattered and tents burned. The gurgolet bubbled hot mud as it died.
Griffins set into the wasps. Overcome with battle rage, Darik threw himself into the fray. Waspcleaver bit deep and often, killing two dragon kin and a wasp. Wasps fell by the score, slaughtered with almost every blow by the overwhelming strength of the griffins. Beast and rider fought as one. Other wasps joined every minute, but they flew into a flock of enraged griffins that set into any and all challengers.
Beyond the city walls, the enemy ranks churned in confusion, fleeing from the gurgolet’s death throes. Darik heard a shout and saw that Hoffan had thrown open the gates, while masses of Eriscoban cavalry galloped along the Tothian Way, straight for the enemy’s heart. Dwarfed in number by the vast foe that covered the plains, Hoffan’s men split the enemy with this unexpected counterattack. The Veyrians who had worked to align Cragyn’s Hammer for another shot fled from their bombast while a few dozen of Toth’s best men threw themselves in front of the charge.
The griffins cast aside the last of the dragon wasps and raced to support Hoffan’s cavalry, shouting at the victory that dangled so tantalizingly within grasp.
And then a roar answered from the east. Darik’s battle rage melted in a single moment. Three dragons flew from the east, fire burning in their eyes and spilling from their nostrils. Another roar sounded to the west, as the fourth dragon joined the battle. The griffins clumped together to hold the dragons for a few precious moments.
Hoffan’s men swept aside Veyrians who blocked their path, and took Cragyn’s Hammer. The cavalry pushed further into the enemy, while dozens of Eriscobans jumped from horses and tied ropes to the bombast and its cart to drag it back to the city. And then the dragons were upon them and the battle turned again.
#
Chantmer the Tall stood at the center of the Thorne Chamber, wrapped in a red cloak. He held a glowing ball of glass in his hands. Markal recognized it at once. It was the glass orb where Memnet the Great had stored his excess power, but Markal had thought it destroyed in the Tothian Wars. Even in the hands of a lesser wizard, the glass would elevate its bearer to the most powerful of his order. Chantmer stored the life force of the gurgolet’s victims.
Hundreds of incense sticks stank the room, the room lit only by their glowing tips, what little light crept beneath the curtains, and Memnet’s Orb. The vast, dark corners of the Thorne Chamber lay cloaked in darkness. Markal could see through darkness almost as well as during the day, but the corners whispered with magic and prevented Markal’s eyes from focusing. The Tome of Prophesy sat opened to one side of the dais. Markal waited just inside the doorway while Narud and the others filed in to stand by his side. The Golden Tower shifted beneath his feet.
“The Order of Fools,” Chantmer said. “And without your precious Nathaliey. So very brave.”
Narud, the most powerful wizard left in the Order, put his left palm face out toward Chantmer, while the others followed his lead. Narud said, “Chantmer the Tall, I hereby rename you Chantmer the Betrayer. By the Thorne and the Wounded Hand, we rebuke you and cast you from the Order. Be gone from this place!”
Chantmer staggered backwards. Uncertainty flickered across his face before washing into rage. Chantmer the Betrayer stood before them, unbowed. “How dare you weaken me at a time like this? Worms!” He lifted the orb over his head. “On your bellies
, worms.” It flashed with light.
An invisible hand threw Markal and the others to the floor. He tried to regain his feet, but felt buried under a thousand pounds of sand. He struggled to breathe.
“I don’t need the pathetic magic of your Order,” Chantmer said. He caressed the orb. “Let me show you the true source of power on Mithyl. The time has come to destroy the dark wizard.”
Markal lifted his head, neck muscles screaming at the effort. Chantmer slipped Memnet’s Orb into the folds of his robe, then pulled out a knife and beckoned into the shadows. A figure stepped from the back of the room, walking slowly toward the dais. Every step cost the man effort, as if his movement was regulated by Chantmer, and it took several seconds to make his way to the center of the room. He took a seat on the dais and Markal got his first glimpse of the man’s face.
“My king,” Markal said, overcome with horror. The other wizards gasped.
King Daniel drew his sword and placed it across his lap as he had done when he was crowned king. He bowed his head and Chantmer stepped toward him with knife outstretched. The other wizards mumbled various spells under their breath, but Chantmer lifted a hand and silenced their tongues before they could complete the magic.
The Betrayer grabbed the king by his hair and pulled his head back to expose his neck, then lifted his knife and spoke in the old tongue, “Cordas speritum na mem dom nevras.” Bind this man’s spirit to the force of my soul. He drew the dagger toward the king’s neck.
“No!” a voice said from the far end of the room. “He is mine!”
The curtain swept open, breaking the darkness. Sounds of combat flowed into the room. A dragon wasp gripped its claws into the window stone, and a man in a gray cloak sat on its back. He sprang lightly from its back and into the room. Chantmer shrank in initial shock, then moved quickly to complete his spell, slicing at King Daniel’s neck.
But as soon as Toth had appeared and startled Chantmer, the force of his spells weakened on Markal and the other wizards. Markal sprang to his feet and threw a shock wave at Chantmer, knocking him from the king, and by the time the wizard recovered, the king had wrenched himself from the spell. Daniel tore himself away from the dais, away from Chantmer’s lunging knife, then backed against the wall with sword outstretched.
“Stay away from me, Betrayer,” he warned as Chantmer moved closer, knife a blur in his hand.
“My servant,” Toth said near the window, drawing the king’s attention in that direction. “Come to me quickly.” He stepped toward the king, leaving his wasp.
Chantmer turned to Toth. He pulled out Memnet’s Orb, and it sprouted light. Light tendrils coalesced into a sticky ball that Chantmer hurled at Toth, striking him in the chest. A mass of sticky thread engulfed the dark wizard like a fly caught in a spider web. Toth fell, clawing at his face. The dragon wasp hissed in anger and fear, part of its tail caught in the web.
Toth burned his way free from the sticky mass before Chantmer could cast another spell. He crouched on the ground and brushed his fingers to one side. Chantmer flew from his feet, while the dark wizard rushed not toward the king, but to the dais. He grabbed the Book of Prophesy, then turned toward King Daniel. Toth’s blow would have killed another man, but Chantmer returned to his feet and sent a beam of light shooting from the orb.
Meanwhile, the Order of the Wounded Hand kept busy. Two men produced flaming swords, while their left hands shriveled. They sprang toward Daniel, getting between the king and the two enemies and dragging him toward the door.
Narud stretched his arms as feathers sprouted on his neck and back. The transformation completed itself in an instant and he became a giant eagle. The dragon wasp hissed when it saw the eagle and flew to attack. The eagle darted out of reach and swooped down at Toth as he prepared a spell to cast at the two wizards rushing King Daniel from the room. Narud clawed at the man’s eyes and destroyed the spell.
But before the wizards and the king reached the door, Chantmer redirected his magic to send it not at Toth, but at the doorway. The door slammed shut and locked itself. Markal tried to magically pry loose the spell, but Chantmer’s magic held firm.
Toth turned back to Chantmer, ignoring the eagle, the two men with flaming swords, and the remaining wizards, who pooled their energy to attack the door. A slight smile at his lips, the dark wizard braced himself against the spell Chantmer prepared between his hands.
The air chilled noticeably as Chantmer gathered heat to the orb, which glowed yellow, then blue, then dark red in his hands. A gale tore through the Thorne Chamber. It churned from the lofty dark shadows at the top of the room, gaining strength in the vast open expanse. It churned robes and hair and pushed the wizards toward the edge of the room. Narud the eagle and the wasp spun around, unable to land or control their flight. The gale swept away the words spoken by the Order. Chantmer the Betrayer built a vortex between his hands, a spell of such power that none had cast it since the Tothian Wars. At last, the spell could grow no larger. Chantmer shouted in triumph and released the vortex.
The gale hit Toth with its full force. Bits splashed free and burst into the wizards at the door, drawing the air from their lungs and throwing them to the ground. The king struggled with his sword, trying to reach his feet but failing. Toth absorbed the attack, drawing power into himself like he was filling his lungs with sweet-smelling air. At last the vortex disappeared. Narud and the wasp fell to the ground. The light in Chantmer’s hands winked out.
Toth laughed, while Chantmer shrank in fear, face turning pale. The dark wizard’s voice was husky with power. “You are not Memnet’s equal, my friend. You failed to protect yourself while you drained magic from the gurgolet’s victims. Instead of destroying me, you have merely fed my power.”
He strode across the room to Chantmer, who trembled weakly “And now, slave,” Toth said. “I will bind your soul.”
Left hand still holding the Tome of Prophesy, Toth put his right on Chantmer’s shoulder. The man screamed and struggled to free himself. His eyes bulged and blood streamed from his nose and ears while he writhed under Toth’s hand.
Markal had never cared for Chantmer, had grown to hate him, but at one time the wizard had believed in the Order as much as any of them. Whatever had turned him to lust power didn’t mean he deserved to become Toth’s wight. While the others remained on the floor, Markal regained his feet and threw himself at the dark wizard, drawing his magic even before he knew what spell he would cast.
Markal had felt such moments before, when the magic coursed through his veins with such strength that he tasted what more powerful wizards felt. But always before, the magic leaked away at a moment of doubt. But today, his anger and force of will burned so strongly that the full strength of his magic flowed from his limbs, crackling in the air.
And it came to him, the perfect spell. His arms turned into long thorns, dripping poison and sharp as the tree that had impaled the Martyr. He threw himself at the two men, prepared to send these two evil men to the Harvester.
Toth pulled away from Chantmer and lifted his hands to defend himself. Markal buried his left thorn into the man’s chest. Toth reeled backwards and gasped, trying to free himself. Markal shoved the thorn further in, its poisoned tip touching the man’s heart. Toth slumped to the ground, dead.
Then, pulling free, Markal turned to finish Chantmer the Betrayer, who stood with mouth agape. But Chantmer had one final trick. Memnet’s Orb flared in his hands, and Chantmer wrapped his cloak around his shoulders, then bled into the air, leaving Markal to stab at nothing. A puff of red smoke trickled along the ground, leaking out the window and leaving the tower. The orb fell uselessly to the ground, rolling into a corner.
A blue figure stood where Toth’s body lay, more solid than a wight. Taller even that Chantmer and wearing a gray robe inscribed with cartouches, it struggled to pick up the Tome of Prophesy, but couldn’t get its fingers around the book. When it stood upright, its eyes burned with hatred. It sped toward the door, reaching for K
ing Daniel. But the other wizards threw themselves in front of their king, making signs of warding. The tip of Toth’s fingers touched Daniel’s hand, but then it was driven back.
“You haven’t won,” Toth said. “Tonight I will find another body and Cragyn’s Hammer will bring the Golden Tower to the ground. My dragons will turn the Citadel into a wasteland and I will put every man, woman, and child in Eriscoba to the stake. And I will have the book anyway.” It sped from the open window.
Narud returned to human form, while the thorns on the end of Markal’s arms returned to their proper shape. One hand shriveled and blackened. King Daniel took his sword and killed the wounded wasp, then joined the others in appraising Markal with new respect.
Markal said, “If the Citadel falls, it won’t be under Toth’s magic. He is drained of power.” He smiled. “The perfect time to hunt his soul.”
#
But while Toth lost the battle in the Golden Tower, his armies regained the road outside the city.
Four dragons roared fire on the Eriscobans at Cragyn’s Hammer. Griffins poured in from every side, but the massive beasts shrugged away the attacks and pounded at the cavalry to drive them from the bombard. Dragon wasps came from all directions to press the griffins.
Toth’s army regained its courage when it saw the dragons. A band of Kratian nomads turned the attack first, charging their camels into the fray. Mammoths came from further back, storming along the road and sweeping their metal-capped tusks back and forth to clear their path. Veyrian cavalry and footmen swarmed back into the fight.
Within minutes, the Eriscobans faltered under attack from air and ground. The camel riders overtook Cragyn’s Hammer and fortified the bombard while the mammoths and cavalry drove the Eriscobans back toward the gates. Darik saw that they hoped to flank the Eriscobans and reach the gates before Hoffan’s men shut the gates and barbicans behind them.
Prize secured, the dragons turned on the embattled griffins. One huge beast turned its head in Darik’s direction and bellowed a cone of fire. Joffa ducked out of the way. Flames crisped the hair on Darik’s arms, but he was otherwise unharmed. Others were not so lucky, including Flockheart. He fell to the ground, burning and entangled in Brasson’s tether. Both griffin and rider landed in the midst of the enemy, and were swarmed over by men with swords. Others fell all around them, and dragon wasps surrounded Daria.
The Free Kingdoms (Book 2) Page 19
