Gabral led the charge through the lower town, with the king’s army pounding behind him. They raced toward the wide stone bridge and the host of makrasha scrambling into a defensive formation there. Two crimson-robed shadeleeches stood at the fore.
His whole life had led him to this moment of glory when he would prove his worth as bearer. The honor he was about to win would raise his family name to the highest levels.
To his left, Harafin raised a hand and wheeled away from the main host. Most of Gabral’s original command followed him, along with about a third of the king’s troops.
Gabral exulted at the battle plan that placed Harafin and anyone else who might threaten to steal his glory onto a different path. He alone would lead this charge, he would stamp out the enemy.
Gabral galloped toward the bridge, with the army in tight formation behind him. He extended the Mace like a lance, and blue flame exploded around the weapon, then rolled back over him. Areli and another Jagen Stalwart flanked him, followed by a company of outriders.
They thundered onto the bridge like an avalanche of steel.
In that moment, the bridge exploded with crimson fire. The roar of flames drowned out all other sound, and the sharp tang of sulfur billowed into the already smoke-filled air, making breathing all but impossible. Gabral galloped through the inferna, grateful that he rode a mount trained for battle and unfazed by magic.
Flames concealed everything, and he heard the rest of the army rein their mounts to a skidding halt.
This moment belonged to him alone.
Gabral charged out the far side of the flames, flanked by the stalwarts and a few soldiers of the vanguard protected by a sentinel shield.
“Glory, and the Emperor!” Gabral cried.
Makrasha bared fangs and raised weapons. Gabral’s force collided with them with a resounding crash. The warhorses churned the front ranks of makrasha under their steel-shod hooves, leaving a bloody tangle writhing on the ground amidst high-pitched howls.
Gabral smashed down Makrasha pressing forward to rip him from the saddle. Blue fire splashed in all directions and the smell of singed flesh gagged him.
Makrasha on all sides recoiled from the power of the Mace. The two Jagen Stalwarts spurred through the gap toward the shadeleeches.
Gabral cursed. They were capitalizing on his battle prowess. He should be the one to strike down the shadeleeches.
Makrasha tried to block the stalwarts, but a volley of arrows from the outriders of the vanguard cut down their front ranks. Gabral leaped off his charger, landing in the midst of the tightly-packed makrasha with an explosion of blue fire that sent monsters tumbling away.
Bows thrummed by the hundreds. Fires crackled behind him. Men and monsters alike screamed, rending the airs with their cries.
It was glorious bedlam.
Soldiers pressed in the opening behind Gabral to engage the makrasha in close combat. Swords and axes flashed in the early morning sunlight, and fresh screams punctuated the sickening sounds of steel rending flesh.
One of the shadeleeches threw a wave of darkness at Areli as the Jagen Stalwart closed on him, but the spell dissipated around him. Areli slammed his mace into the fellow's face, crumpling him to the ground. His fellow stalwart decapitated the other shadeleech.
The flames blocking the bridge winked out, and Areli raised his fist in victory.
A deep roar drowned out all other sound, and a halimaw leaped the front ranks of makrasha and landed beside the pair of Jagen Stalwarts.
Gabral grinned. This was an opponent whose defeat would catapult him to fame around the empire.
Areli struck the halimaw with his mace, but the heavy weapon left no mark on the monster’s thick hide. It plunged one clawed fist through Areli’s armor and deep into his chest. He screamed and shuddered with agony.
It ripped Areli’s heart out.
His body fell to the ground, still twitching, with his lifeblood gushing over the halimaw’s feet. The monster ignored the bleeding corpse and turned toward the second stalwart.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Gabral arrived first.
He smashed the Mace into the monster’s chest. Fire splattered in all directions, driving back makrasha and soldiers alike, and staggered the halimaw.
With a snarl, it snatched Gabral off the ground and pulled him into its deadly embrace, as if to squeeze the life out of him. The beast reeked of blood and evil magic.
Gabral increased the Mace’s fire. Although not actually burning, the monster cringed back from the flames. Before Gabral could strike again, it threw him over the ranks of soldiers. He crashed onto the center of the bridge.
The monster leaped the other soldiers, who cowered from its fury. It ignored them, intent only on Gabral.
As it arced high into the air and plunged toward him, a lance flew across the bridge and drove half its length through the monster’s torso.
“Good shot,” Gabral shouted as he climbed back to his feet. At least the sentinel Hathor knew how to deal with halimaw. That wound would slow the monster enough for him to finish it.
The halimaw crashed to the bridge next to Gabral, and he slammed the Mace into the beast’s throat. The shock of the impact rattled his arm and numbed his hand. The weapon gashed deep into the monster’s neck.
It howled in pain but struggled to its feet despite the lance protruding from its chest and back. Gabral struck again and again, bashing its face repeatedly, puncturing its skin in half a dozen places.
The monster swept him up in its gigantic arms again, and tried to bite his head off. Its gaping maw scraped across the burning shield of the Mace’s power, inches from his head. The reek of its fetid breath gagged him. It was so huge, radiating so much raw strength that for the first time Gabral felt a flicker of fear, despite the Mace’s protective shield.
That fear enraged him. He would not fear this spawn of evil! This was exactly the type of battle he was destined to win.
Gabral twisted in the monster’s grasp, freed his right arm and hit the halimaw again on the head. He punctured one of its eyes, and it reared its head back, splattering Gabral with hot blood.
It overbalanced and fell against the bridge’s balustrade. Unable to break free, Gabral hung in its arms over the raging river.
“Why won’t you just die?” he shouted, and hit it again.
Men and makrasha battled around them in a desperate contest to secure the bridge, but none ventured close to the titanic struggle between Gabral and the halimaw.
Gabral pulled his other arm free and drove the Mace into the monster’s throat with both arms. It fell against the railing again, and with a sharp snap the rail gave way. The halimaw toppled over the edge, dragging Gabral with it.
Even as they fell, Gabral struck it in the throat, then again, and a third time. With the last blow, the Mace ripped into a major artery and blood sprayed far out over the water in a crimson wave.
“Victory!” Gabral shouted into the uncaring wind.
They hit the surface, and the raging torrent dragged them both under.
# # #
“Did you see that?” Kevlin cried.
“That was Gabral,” Ceren said, also staring at the frothing water in horror.
“We can do nothing for him,” Harafin said.
Kevlin reined in his mount on the western side of the ruined town and spared a glance at the fighting still raging at the upper end of the bridge.
The king’s charge had faltered, and the tight confines of the bridge prevented him from deploying the full force of his army. Screams of pain and flashes of magic punctuated the struggle.
The king’s force would win through eventually. All of the makrasha were clustered around the bridge and that desperate battle. None had been spared to watch Kevlin’s company since there was no way for them to cross the river at the blackened, broken ruin of what had been a wooden bridge.
Kevlin turned from the raging battle toward the second makrasha army high on the slope above the town. The keep of Il’Aicharen towered over the valley, with makrasha clambering up its walls.
How in the name of the Lady can there be so many?
Harafin shouted, “We make for the keep. Kevlin must reach Antigonus. Nothing else matters.”
I will not fail.
There would be no other chance. Everything had led to this final effort. He would get the rock back to Antigonus. Nothing would stop him.
“I can’t swim that river,” Jerrik growled, pointing at the churning Ujutus. His hand clenched the shaft of his huge axe as he stared at the fighting. He clearly wanted to be a part of it.
“We will not be swimming.”
Harafin raised a hand. The air above the river shimmered and coalesced into a blue-green arc of light that spanned to the far bank. Harafin spurred his horse across the bridge of light, and the rest of the company followed close behind.
Kevlin held his breath all the way over and refused to look down. Riding on light was fine for sentinels, but he’d have preferred taking the stone bridge.
On the far side of the river, the rear of the makrasha army turned to meet them. Fifty monsters moved to intercept Harafin as he galloped toward the upper road.
Harafin pointed at them and shouted a word of power. The entire band of monsters halted midstride, as if frozen in place. As they galloped past, Kevlin stared in awe at the monsters stuck in the spell like flies in a spider’s web.
Kevlin rode close behind Leander, flanked by Drystan and Jerrik. Behind him rode Ceren, who wore an oversized mail shirt and a look of fierce determination. Indira rode behind her, with Adalia at her side and soldiers crowded close around them both.
Kevlin called to Harafin, “Can’t you use that spell on the makrasha by the bridge?”
Harafin shook his head. “I do not have the strength to hold so many.”
“Can’t you use the latent power all around us?”
Ceren glanced at him in surprise and Kevlin suppressed a smug smile. He couldn’t help a surge of pride. Maybe he was starting to retain a little of what Harafin had taught him.
“There is no latent magic,” Harafin explained without slowing. “Rhisart sealed the heart of the mountain, and the battle up at the keep is draining away what little there is left.”
Kevlin frowned, wondering how badly that would limit Harafin’s ability. Hopefully he had enough power to get Kevlin to Antigonus.
Unopposed, they clattered out of the upper town and made for the winding road up to the keep. Makrasha were assaulting the walls and magic flashed between the two forces in a constant barrage. Sounds of the combat drifted down the slope and spurred them on.