Emperor of Shadows

by Mike Truk

  They turned their demonic visages toward the sky, and then surged up to do battle, the toad guy crouching down to hurl himself up into the heavens with a gravity-defying leap.

  “Scorpions on the giant!” screamed Yashara, running away across the top of the Field Gate. “Move, you idiots, move!”

  The scorpions had been scavenged from across the city, hauled out of moldering armories, stolen from defense posts in the bay, carted in from the rooftops of guardhouses. Still, we’d only managed to secure a dozen. The fucking Family had had more of them than the city guard.

  But now teams of eight struggled to turn them about, aiming their huge spear quarrels at the giant, even as others winched the huge twisted ropes back.

  The giant came at us deceptively fast. It looked like it was moving no faster than a slow lumber, but then it was there, towering over the gate - face brutish, features exaggerated, beard chopped just above the huge breastplate as if it hadn’t wanted to cover the emblem. Eyes as big as dinner plates stared at us all, and its club swept back to rake across the walls and knock us all into oblivion.

  Six of the scorpions fired.

  Somehow, against all odds, despite how fucking the huge their target was, three of them missed. I saw their huge harpoons sail out into the blue, swishing past the giant’s head or missing his torso by yards.

  The ineptness made a king troll want to die.

  The other three hit home. Two clanged off the huge breastplate, doing little to check the giant’s momentum, while the third sank deep into his shoulder.

  Not enough.

  “Duck!” screamed Captain Rory, and the club came across the battlements, demolishing crenellations, shattering scorpions, and sending men flying down into the streets below.

  Rising, I saw the giant check the swing, step back, and stare at the huge gate that was closed before him.

  One kick and he’d blow the whole thing up, ruining our defenses there and then.

  “Pony!” I screamed for the war troll without even looking. I knew he’d be there, that he’d not have been hit by the club.

  I needed him to have survived.

  I ran to the spot right before the giant. The air was filthy with screams, the chaos of war, the endless loosing of arrows, the roars from above, the screams of a thousand throats. I felt Pony loom up behind me.

  “Just like on the Bonegwayne,” I screamed. “Throw me at it!”

  And the gods one and all bless the war troll, because he didn’t even think to question my judgment. He simply grabbed me by the arms, took a sideways, half-turning step, then whipped me around. My feet lifted off the wall, the world blurring; then I was airborne, flying, spinning, cartwheeling through the air right at the giant.

  “Blind Fortunnnaaaaa!” was all I could scream.

  The giant, perhaps more on reflex than anything else, caught hold of me as I flew at him. He snatched me from the air, huge fingers wrapping around my chest and middle. Squeezing tight, he lifted his hand to stare at me, brow lowering in confusion.

  I could barely breathe, my chest constricted, but saw in his dull eyes the moment when he decided to dash me against the wall and be done.

  “Stop,” I wheezed, but the sound of battle swallowed up my voice.

  He raised me high, about to hurl me at the ground from a height of some thirty yards. I strained, managed to wriggle free just a little, and cried out, “Stop!”

  The power in that command was such that everyone within twenty or so yards of us froze, turning to stare at me, from the men swarming around the giant’s feet to the guards picking themselves up along the length of the wall.

  The giant blinked, hesitated, then raised his brutish face to stare at me again in confusion.

  “Put me on your shoulder!” I shouted.

  And, hesitating still, he did so.

  I grabbed hold of a massive lank of greasy hair to steady myself. It was like standing on the back of a plow horse. From this high and out beyond the wall I could see the madness taking place along the line of its curvature. Large ladders were being heaved up against the battlements, ladders without count. My guards were doing their best to repel them, but in the heat of the moment had forgotten what to do - instead of pushing them along the wall so they’d slide down and knock their neighbors as well, they were trying to push them out, or focusing on killing the men who were coming up at them.

  “Knock all the ladders down,” I shouted into the giant’s ear. “And kill as many of the White Lioness’ army as you do so.”

  The giant shivered, trying to resist, but I knew he couldn’t, knew he was mine. When he turned and raised his club, I couldn’t help but give out a fierce cry of delight. Turning to stare over the army at where the White Lioness sat astride her steed, I screamed at her, “How do you like them apples?”

  Too bad she couldn’t hear me.

  But she could no doubt see her prize giant start lumbering down the length of the wall, kicking ladders to kindling, knocking men screaming as they fell, swinging his club in great, bloody swathes through the masses that were pressing now to get away from him.

  I laughed, hooted, really, swaying and holding on for dear life. With glee, I watched as the giant knocked every single ladder apart and left a bloody carpet of broken bodies in his wake.

  Some sense of danger caused me to look up. Perhaps a shadow passing before the sun. Just in time, I saw a handful of pegasi break away from the raging battle they’d been engaged with my demons to come spearing right down at us.

  It seemed the White Lioness didn’t like sharing her toys.

  “Watch out!” I screamed, which possibly wasn’t the most helpful order.

  The giant paused, casting around in confusion. Then the pegasi slammed into us from a forty-five-degree angle, driving their lances into the giant’s neck and shoulders, sinking them yards deep before releasing and swooping away.

  The air became a flurry of feathers, kicking hooves, flashes of plate armor and explosions of blood. More than one tried to impale me outright, but only one got me.

  Their harpoon smashed into me just above the hip, tearing through my stomach and pinning me to the giant.

  A mortal wound, for most.

  I crashed down upon the giant’s shoulder, was held in place by the lance. The pegasi swooped away, their victorious laughter ringing in the morning air.

  “Fuckers,” I growled, sitting up and trying to figure out how to get the lance out of me. It was embedded deep in the giant, rising a good three yards above me.

  The giant let out a bewildered groan of pain and swayed.

  “Whoa, wait!” I shouted. “Don’t fall down!”

  With supreme effort, governed by my will, the giant fought to stay standing.

  It didn’t have long, though.

  In desperation, I drew my blade and hacked at the lance. Chopping, I was blessed that the impact had stressed the wood and caused it to fracture. With a final blow I knocked the top part off, then unskewered myself with a grimace, the wound healing over immediately

  But I was still left with more than ten yards from the wall top and safety.

  The giant was making strange, exaggerated expressions, grimacing and blinking and opening its mouth. Blood soaked its upper torso, and it was swaying with ever more violence.

  “Extend your arm!” I shouted. “Extend it toward the wall.”

  Nearly dead, the giant still obeyed. It reached for the wall, and I wasted no time. I broke out into a wobbly run, racing across its bicep to its elbow; when it started to topple back I put on a final dash of speed and leaped - only to crash against the crenelations, fight for a handhold, and slip.

  My stomach inverted itself as I began to fall. A drop that surely wouldn’t kill me, but put me in the center of an enemy who’d no doubt be enraged by my refusal to die as they cut me apart.

  But a stony blue hand snaked down and closed about my wrist, arresting my fall.

  Pony’s craggy features appeared in the crenel, and with sm
ooth strength he hauled me back up and to safety.

  “Blind Fortuna bless the living shit out of you,” I gasped.

  Pony set me on my feet, took up his hammer, then turned to survey the battle.

  It looked like we were just getting started. The giant’s brutal rampage had but blooded the very leading edge of the attack; even now hordes more were racing forward to cover the fallen, to take up the fallen ladders, to spread out wide to clear an area just before the walls.

  Wait, what?

  “Follow me,” I said to Pony, picking up a discarded blade and running to the section before the clearing.

  Just in time to see a man in white robes step forth, extend his arms, and summon a vast glittering ramp of emerald light which extended smoothly from his feet right to the top of the wall.

  A ramp a good fifty yards wide.

  The White Lioness’ army screamed their approval and began to race up the slope.

  I didn’t even have time to curse, but leaped onto the crenellations, ran across the merlons as if they were stepping stones to close as quickly as possible, and then slid to a halt in the center of the glowing ramp.

  I turned to stare at the charging wall of weapons and frothing fanaticism that was closing with me.

  A moment later Pony heaved himself up beside me, sighed, and clonked his fist against his head. His fist caught fire. He tapped it against the head of his sledgehammer, and it, in turn, went whoosh and burst into white flame.

  “Let’s show them what we trolls are all about,” I said, sinking into a crouch, ready to rebuff the charge, praying desperately that I wouldn’t simply be swept right off the ramp.

  Then Baleric hopped up beside me, his cloak snapping in the wind, his blade luminous in his pale hand, his expression at best mildly engaged.

  “Thank the Hanged God,” I said, rising slightly out of my crouch.

  “Good morning, Kellik.” He sounded as if we’d bumped into each other at the market. “All right?”

  I forced a cool expression, but still, failed to match his sangfroid. “You know. Keeping busy.”

  He twirled his sword in the air, once, twice, thrice, and it thrummed as if vibrating. “Good, good.”

  The rest of his crew stepped up alongside him. The other huge city troll, a vast slab of beef, head encased in steel. The snide red-headed thief, twin daggers spinning between his fingers. The muscled warrior, the sides of her head shorn, her greatsword propped on one shoulder for her first swing.

  The enemy was almost upon us when ghosts arose amongst the first rank, moaning and howling piteously as they wreathed in and out amongst their number. Turning every exposed inch of flesh a brittle blue, they caused men’s hair to stand on their ends, tripping them, tearing terrified screams from their throats.

  Baleric’s sister’s work, I guessed.

  “Well,” sighed Baleric. “Time to get to work.”

  The charge up the ramp had floundered, the ghosts throwing the attack into disarray, and into this mess Baleric charged, footing sure on the glowing ramp, down like a comet to slam into the ranks and annihilate everything in his way.

  The city troll roared its approval and came right after, the other two a step behind. Pony and I shared a glance, shrugged, and charged.

  Pony and I did some damage. Every sweep of his warhammer sent men flying, their bodies bent in all the wrong directions. I’d lunge in right after, stab and chop, then duck back out of the way as the hammer came screaming back around.

  We made an impression.

  But it was as nothing compared to Baleric.

  I caught sight of his handiwork out of the corner of my eye.

  Neko, the Exemplar of the Hanged God I’d fought beside ages ago, would take time to warm up, starting with moderate skills and ramping up to becoming unstoppable the longer he fought.

  Baleric needed no such warm-up.

  Men simply died before him. His face was imperturbable, his blade everywhere, flickering and leaping like a candle’s dancing flame, opening up bodies, slashing through armor, cleaving through weapons.

  He simply walked forward, and where he went, men died.

  The ramp had been too wide, however, for us to stem it entirely. Men ran past us around the flanks, choosing not to close in on our sides but to attack the battlements.

  Casting a desperate glance behind me, I saw Captain Rory in the center of his men, all of them loosing arrow after the last arrow into the charge, causing it to wilt, others one rank behind with swords drawn, ready to step in.

  They’d have to hold the line.

  I lost track of time. Every once in a while I’d be stabbed in the gut, or brained by a club, or impaled through the back.

  It didn’t do much more than slow me down for a few moments. Pony and I killed all who came close. Soon the bodies were piling up around us, the ramp’s surface made treacherous by slick blood. We started to retreat, both wanting to find firmer footing and due simply to the press of the crowd before us.

  Because the enemy just didn’t care about dying, had no hesitation about throwing themselves before Pony’s hammer. They came in droves, died, and came again. Howling, tearing at their clothing, clawing for our faces as they went down, blood fountaining from their mouths.

  Fanatics.

  And there were thousands lined up behind those coming at us.

  We had to get rid of the ramp.

  “Baleric!” I shouted, having lost track of him.

  There was no response. No room for anything but swinging my blade.

  Back we went, Pony covered in gore to the shoulders, swinging and swinging until at last the shaft of his hammer broke.

  He tossed the weapon aside, cracked his fists together, and started swinging.

  But the loss of the hammer’s radius meant they could crowd in around us in greater numbers. I might survive a dogpile, but Pony, war troll that he was, could still be torn apart.

  “Back!” I shouted. Stumbling, fending off attacks, we gave ground, till at last, we stood atop the wall once more.

  Our forces were collapsing before the numbers. Purple fire wreathed blades here and there, causing the enemy to miss or trip, but I couldn’t see Netherys. Arrows fell upon the ramp from both sides but seemed to make little impression.

  Heaving for breath, mouth full of thick spit, I looked up and down our lines.

  We were being swamped. We had maybe three thousand men total, with a good chunk reserved to stand just inside the gates in case one of them was burst asunder. Two thousand militia and guardsmen facing an endless horde.

  Morale was on the verge of breaking.

  Blood was seeping into my eyes. I didn’t think it was my own. Six men dogpiled Pony, rushing inside the sweep of his arms to push him back off the wall, all of then crashing down onto the walkway beyond.

  Heaving for breath, I shook my head. I wasting my abilities, swinging a blade. I had to think smart, to think better.

  Dropping my blade so I could cup both hands to my mouth, I shouted, “Kill your allies!”

  This had the desired effect on the ten or so men closest to me - but also caused my own soldiers to turn on each other.

  “Stop!” I shouted, and they froze.

  My mind spun. How to word it? “Kill the Lioness!”

  The ten or so enemy soldiers shuddered, turned, and began thrusting themselves against their fellows.

  My own soldiers ceased fighting, surged up over the battlements, and onto the ramp.

  I pressed forward, shouting again and again, as loud as I could, “Kill the Lioness! Kill the Lioness! Kill her!”

  Within moments I was surrounded by a bubble of men intent on fighting their way back down the ramp. They hacked and shoved at their fellows, ignoring me as I followed right behind.

  Taking deep breaths, I shouted as loudly as I could, pitching my voice to carry. “Kill the Lioness! Kill her now!”

  Everyone who heard me hesitated, twitched in dismay, and then turned to fight their way back down
the ramp. Soon I had a force of some hundred or so men locked in battle with their bewildered friends.

  A buffer zone, but little more than that. While I’d stymied this assault for the moment, it wouldn’t last unless I stood here yelling all day.

  Raking the battlements with my gaze, I saw that our defenses were about to collapse in numerous spots.

  So I ran back, hopped down onto the walkway, and sprinted behind the crenellations, shouting at each knot of conflict I came across.

  “Kill the Lioness!”

  And whoever heard me froze, blinked, then turned to fight their way back down ladders, cursing and stomping on the upturned faces.

  A puff of white smoke exploded before me, and a slender man with a hook nose clad all in white stepped forth to stab his curved blade into my gut. He sneered victoriously at me, but I simply shoved him as hard as I could, knocking him off the parapet and down onto the street below.

  “Kill the Lioness!” I screamed, voice turning hoarse, and wherever I went the tide of battle turned.

  When I finally reached the end of the wall, I stopped, panting for breath, turning to survey my handiwork. The balance had been restored, but only for the moment. Far down the wall, the men whom I’m turned were nearly gone, massacred by their fellows.

  Was this to be my answer to the Lioness’ numbers? To run up and down the wall, bellowing like a madman?

  There had to be a better way.

  I stared down into the large courtyard inside Field Gate where several hundred guards stood ready, hunched behind their shields, staring in dismay at the thundering doors. If only we’d had more time to prepare!

  A huge gout of flame burst from the top of the wall, washing its way down the exterior; scores of men screamed and fell from ladders, which lit up like kindling. Master Hieronymus, unleashing his powers at last.

  And there, Blightwort the necromancer, hurling bolts of purple flame at each man who appeared above the battlements.

  Inspiration. “Blightwort!”

  The necromancer didn’t hear me, so I ran over, threading my way between fights. “Blightwort! Animate the dead at the base of the wall! Have them pull down the ladders!”

  The gaunt-faced man nodded and raised both hands, words of power falling from his lips.