Ten minutes later, they charged.
All pretense at stealth gone, they galloped across the clearing with four large globes of amber light floating overhead like miniature suns.
In the center of the group, Harafin flung open his hand. A bolt of blue-white lightning, thick as his palm, arced across the field and exploded against the closed gates of the fortress. Although expected, it still proved an awesome sight, and dots of light danced in Kevlin’s eyes from the after-effects of the flash. Dust and debris erupted into the air, momentarily blocking his view of the gates.
Even before the echoes faded, Wayra and her kestrels attacked in turn. Rippling sheets of lighting, interspersed with individual bolts, ripped the air and slammed into the fortress. Peals of thunder nearly knocked Kevlin from his saddle.
The wall disintegrated.
Thick timbers, engulfed in flames, exploded into the air and covered the scene in a dense pall of smoke. Wood screamed as it splintered, and the entire fort groaned under the onslaught.
Wayra’s misguided attack still angered Kevlin, but even he had to admit her force was very effective at their work.
May the gods grant Antigonus is still alive.
It was a slim hope, but he clung to it harder than he did to the saddle of his galloping mount.
Nikias raised the Bladestaff and whooped with excitement.
Gabral glared at him, raised the Mace above his head, and shouted the traditional battle cry, “For the Light and the Empire!”
Kevlin and the Tamarri soldiers in the company all echoed him.
“Kamen Seig!” Jerrik bellowed the Donarri war cry from the left flank where he led a company toward the north end of the wall.
Drystan responded from the right flank where he led an identical company south. “Elu Falas Ke Gairahan!”
Every Einarri soldier responded in unison. “Ke Gairahan!”
Nikias glanced from one group to the next, then shouted, “For King and the Lady!” Then he glared at Gabral galloping slightly ahead of the rest of them. “Hey, I’m supposed to lead the charge.”
Gabral ignored him. Nikias spurred his mount harder, but only managed to pull even with Kevlin, who rode just behind the colonel.
The smoke cleared to reveal the damage. Most of the wall had been reduced to piles of charred timber. The two small buildings flanking the gate still stood, forming an alley into the main fort. One side of the gate was simply gone while the other hung open, twisted half off its hinges and engulfed in fire. Behind the gate, makrasha scurried through the charred wreckage.
At that moment, Adalia and her archers rose from their hiding places far ahead of the horsemen and unleashed the first volley from their bows. The hunters had taken a significant gamble by approaching far closer to the fortress than had been discussed, no more than fifty yards from the wall. Kevlin could imagine their terror as they lay in the grass with debris falling all around them from the top of the cliff.
Yet the hardy folk clung to the plan and fired. The first volley dropped half a dozen makrasha, and the second did the same. Although few in number, the archers proved their skill.
With most of the defenders’ cover gone, they kept a steady stream of deadly missiles hurtling through the debris, striking down makrasha with nearly every shaft. Even the vaunted archers of Freyarr would have been hard-pressed to do better.
Nikias whooped again and called out to Kevlin, “You're lucky Wayra didn't let me come after you this morning.”
If he can fight half as good as he boasts, he'll be unstoppable.
A robed figure carrying a staff of twisted wood stepped in front of the ranks of the creatures massing in the broken gate.
Tanathos, Kevlin assumed at first, but this shadeleech was shorter and their eyes glowed white. After another second, he realized it was a woman.
She pointed her staff at Gabral, who rode at the head of the assault force a couple hundred yards from the fort. A bolt of red energy shot from her upraised staff and streaked toward him.
Gabral was prepared. With a yell, he extended the Mace. Blue light spread from it to surround him in a ghostly nimbus of energy. The red lightning struck with an explosion that blasted the colonel right off his horse.
Gabral hung motionless in the air for a split second before falling to the ground. He landed on his feet, furious but unharmed.
Nikias passed so close that he nearly clipped Gabral in the head with one stirrup. “Serves you right!”
Kevlin and Nikias rode at the front of the company, with Leander just behind. The shadeleech again raised her staff.
Nikias shouted, “I’ll show him how to deal with a shadeleech.”
Before he could do whatever he planned, a bolt of blue energy flashed so close past Kevlin that it singed his skin. The magic barreled down on the shadeleech, but struck an invisible shield a span in front of her and careened up into the darkness.
“Wait,” Nikias shouted. “This one is mine.”
I don’t think so.
The young man’s boasting fanned Kevlin’s still-smoldering anger, and he focused it on the new target. Kevlin raised his spear, willed the energy still burning in his veins into the weapon, and threw it.
As he released the spear, two more bolts of magic flashed past, cast by the kestrels. The spear shot from his hand faster than an arrow, trailing blue fire in its wake.
The shadeleech cried out, hands raised, as the kestrels’ magic struck her shield. It shuddered under the double impact, and for a second became visible as a wall of energy. Instead of bouncing off, the bolts flowed up the shield and exploded. The shield rocked.
Kevlin’s spear struck.
It blasted through the weakened shield and drove into the shadeleech’s chest, splashing blue fire in all directions. It punched through her torso and protruded from her back.
Kevlin raised a fist in triumph.
“Hey!” Nikias shouted.
Several makrasha rushed forward to help the injured shadeleech, but a dense, black cloud engulfed two of them. They screamed and writhed within the concealing darkness, dim shadows suffering some unknown torment.
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When the darkness dissipated, the monsters’ skeletal remains collapsed at the shadeleech’s feet. She rose again, then amazingly grabbed hold of the spear in her chest, broke off the shaft, and extracted the pieces from her chest and back.
Leander’s war hammer streaked past Kevlin. The spinning weapon slammed into her, knocking her back into the gathered makrasha.
The beasts along the wall of rubble and packed into the gate raised their crossbows to fire.
They never had a chance. Multicolored fire roared across their lines. Makrasha howled and collapsed, thrashing in agony or beating at the flames in helpless desperation. The beasts at the gate trampled each other in a mad panic to escape the engulfing inferno.
Unopposed, Kevlin and Nikias closed on the gate and the burning creatures clustered there. The fire winked out just before they arrived.
Kevlin’s well-trained warhorse pounded over the charred remains of the beasts, never breaking stride as it closed on the ranks of Makrasha. The still-living beasts re-formed a defensive line twenty feet behind the gate, in the narrow alley that led into the fort. Kevlin’s world contracted until it included nothing but his sword, his horse, and his target.
They struck.
Kevlin’s mount trampled two of the beasts, and the force of impact nearly unhorsed him. As their bones were crushed, the creatures howled in disturbing, high-pitched screeches. On both sides of Kevlin, soldiers slammed into and through the first ranks of defenders.
Then he was slashing at hideous faces and necks, trying to overpower them before they could strike back. The familiar sights and sounds of battle washed over him. The screaming of men and horses, the clashing of steel, the smell of fear and blood assaulted him from every side.
A line of a dozen makrasha in tight formation stretched across the end of the alley. They all bore huge rectangular shields, wider than a man and just as tall. Half of them carried pikes or spears, while the others brandished twin swords. Behind them another fifty beasts filled the near side of the parade ground.
The makrasha were giants, nearly able to look him in the eye as he sat astride his warhorse. Their helmets were rounded on top, with face guards extending down between the creatures’ flat, green eyes as far as their hideous wide mouths. Five short horns protruded from the top. Kevlin’s heart sank as he recognized them.
The Hands of Death.
Members of the legendary elite Grakonian force, they were said to be the personal guard of the Sigrun. The empire had always paid a heavy price to defeat them. It was beyond reason to find members of the Hands of Death in the remote fortress.
He had seen none of them the last time. Had they arrived as reinforcements?
There was no time to wonder about it. Raising his sword above his head, Kevlin roared a battle cry older than the empire.
"For Light and life!"
They charged, with more soldiers pushing through the narrow gate behind. They collided with the Grakonian line like a storm-churned wave flinging itself against the shore, and drove the defenders back several paces.
The line held, the makrasha repulsing them. Screams and curses accompanied the flashing of swords and spears that struck wildly from both sides. The fighting raged intense and brutal, with neither side giving quarter.
Kevlin pounded on the shield of a makrasha and barely ducked the return strike.
This is stupid. We can’t overpower them this way. The alley is too narrow.
A bolt of blue magic burned past his head and melted the creature’s face. It shrieked and clutched at its head while its skin liquefied.
Kevlin retreated from the horrible sight but couldn’t tear his eyes from the creature as it fell to the ground. As its flesh bubbled away, he caught a glimpse of the white of its skull.
Then Leander arrived.
The Hammer stalwart leaped past Kevlin. Ignoring the ruin of the beast still writhing underfoot, he stepped into the gap and struck two mighty blows. Two creatures crumpled to the ground on either side.
The old man snarled like a wolf, and rage poured off him like a wave of blistering heat. His eyes burned with hatred so fierce that Kevlin hesitated to join him.
Another makrasha attacked, but Leander struck it down. His hammer blurred in the air. Leander then raised the bloody weapon and roared, more a howl of animal rage than a battle cry. The sound reverberated in the tight alley, and man and beast alike cringed away from him.
The enraged stalwart stalked forward and smashed another creature to the ground.
Nikias charged past Kevlin, whooping and trailing twin streamers of blue fire. He leaped into the gap, the Bladestaff whistling around him in dazzling, flaming arcs that shredded makrasha on every side.
Like legends incarnate, he and Leander shattered the left flank of the Grakonian line till monsters began fighting each other in their attempts to flee.
Gabral arrived next, speeding through the ranks of soldiers with the burning Mace held high. Men pressed against the wall to give him room as he charged the right flank of the makrasha line. One stepped forward to meet the little colonel, and the Mace punched through its heavy shield and shattered the creature’s chest.
That broke the spell, and Kevlin and the other soldiers launched forward again to rejoin the attack.
The defenders broke.
Makrasha pushed back into the parade ground to get away, but found no escape. Led by Leander and the two bearers, the assault force pushed deep into the enemy ranks and split them into two groups.
A boom from behind the defenders drew Kevlin’s eyes. A huge ball of red fire arced over the creatures and fell toward the soldiers. It was so vast there was no way he could ensure it struck him first so the amulet could nullify it.
Glittering gold light intercepted the fireball and shattered it into a thousand shards. Kevlin breathed a sigh of relief. Sometimes it was actually nice having sentinels around.
Kevlin paused and turned to the north, knowing that Jerrik and his men were coming. The giant Donarri warrior rounded the corner of what had been the stables, roaring like a berserker. Followed by his men, Jerrik charged into the left flank of the Grakonians, swinging his massive battle-axe with devastating effect.
The Hands of Death’s advantage over most Tamerlane soldiers in size and raw power was lacking against Jerrik. Nearly their equal in size, Jerrik wielded his heavy axe in lightning strikes. Inspired by his example, his men attacked ferociously, driving the Grakonians back in a disorganized mass.
At the same time, Drystan and his men swarmed the Grakonians from the right flank. Where Jerrik relied on his size and overwhelming strength, Drystan moved in a deadly blur.
The lanky Einarri warrior descended on the makrasha like a whirlwind. Kevlin had never seen his equal with the spear. Drystan’s movements were as graceful as they were fast, as if stepping to a dance whose music he alone could hear.
Drystan’s men fought to keep up, and one soldier overextended himself in trying to match his captain’s speed, stumbling to the ground at the feet of a makrasha. Without missing a beat, Drystan yanked a javelin from the quiver on his back and hurled it through the open mouth of the beast before it could finish the soldier.
Drystan continued with a spin, using the momentum to strike down another makrasha. The advantage of his unusually long-headed spear became apparent, as he used the weapon equally for slashing and stabbing, flowing from one movement to the next in an unbroken rhythm.
Under the united onslaught, the makrasha lines disintegrated. Soldiers swarmed over them, shouting in victory.
At that moment, the toad-faced shadeleech woman with hideous white eyes stepped through the command building’s shattered front door, followed by a dozen makrasha. She raised her staff and shouted a single word of power that slithered into Kevlin’s ears and down his spine like a snake.
Fire engulfed them from all sides, searing their lungs and skin.
The amulet grew warm against Kevlin’s chest as it captured the magic, but it didn’t quench the flames.
There was nowhere to run, no way to hide.
Then it was gone.
The fire lasted but a heartbeat, more like a waking nightmare than something tangible, yet Kevlin shivered with lingering terror. Thank the gods that the sentinels managed to counter that spell before she destroyed the entire company in a single stroke.
“Your evil power will not avail you,” Harafin declared. The sentinel had managed to climb to the shattered roof of one of the small buildings flanking the gate.
The white-eyed shadeleech raised her staff, and a bolt of magic flashed through the air toward him. It deflected harmlessly away. Whatever shield Harafin used, it remained invisible.
The sentinel leaped off the building. The air beneath him darkened into an opaque slide which he descended to the parade ground to face the shadeleech. Wayra and her kestrels pushed through the ranks of soldiers to flank him.
“I’ll deal with this,” Nikias said, charging from the left, but the shadeleech and sentinels all ignored him.
“I am Harafin.” The sentinel’s voice boomed unnaturally loud, echoing off the walls. “I command you to surrender.”
The woman swayed, as if his words had struck her a physical blow. Her face drained of color until its pallor matched her hideous eyes.
“You will not take me,” she shrieked, then added, “Tanathos, you betrayer!”
Then she threw her arms wide. A dense black cloud descended over the porch and all the makrasha upon it. Inside the dark mist, the creatures writhed in agony and emitted ear-piercing wails. Three heartbeats later, the cloud dissipated and where makrasha had stood, only piles of withered bones remained.
“Beware,” Harafin shouted. In unison, he and the other sentinels raised hands shining with brilliant white light.
Nikias charged past them and leaped for the stairs to the porch where the shadeleech burned with crimson magic.
He reached the steps and vaulted them in a single bound, the Bladestaff flashing down toward the shadeleech.
With a demonic laugh, she exploded.