When there were no signs of a fight taking place behind the line, those watching were baffled, but bafflement was soon replaced with incredulity and anger when it became apparent the monsters served Malig’s cause.
At Harold’s order, scouts rode hard to discover their numbers and intent.
. . .
The battle lines on the left of Harold’s army lost any semblance of order as groups found themselves split off from their parent units. Finding small bands of those from the opposing side, new and savage battles began anew. This chaos wormed its way to the center and the mercenary companies Malig had ordered to force some southern movement in Harold’s center found themselves isolated and free of opponents.
The captains of these companies met to discuss options. The conversation had barely begun when a cry went up and many fighters looked to the north.
“Will you look at that!” a passing knight said with a point.
Through the swirling smoke, large and odd-looking shapes loped eastward followed by a sizeable band of knights. The standard at the front became visible.
“It’s Malig,” someone called.
The three mercenary captains looked at one another and shook their heads.
“Demons? Malig has some infernal ally?” one of the captains said.
“It seems so. That amulet he carries, I’d wager it has a connection,” a second said. “Dark magery?”
“I’d say so,” agreed the third. “Speaking to phantoms is one thing. Conjuring demons is another. If so, I can’t say I like this turn.”
“I recall nothing in the contract mentioning demons,” the first said.
“Of course there was no mention,” said the second. “Would we have signed on if there were?”
“Terny would have. Turning on Philip leaves him little maneuver room. The rest of us? I say we disengage at first chance.”
“Aye,” said the third captain. “Not sure bringing infernal creatures to the field is a breach of contract, but most anyone would agree it’s beyond the scope of most such agreements, not to mention the Cataclysm, aye? Fighting in the employ of Malig is one thing. Aiding a Cataclysm is another.”
“Indeed,” the first said. Looking around before pointing at a nearby hillock, he continued. “There. We rendezvous there. Anyone asks, we’re reforming. Worst case, our three companies combined will give pause to any who might object to our leaving.”
Agreeing, the three rode to their respective units.
. . .
Dech led the way into the bailey and it took little time for the creatures from the Underealm to take notice. Bounding on all four limbs in their rush to rend the party into small pieces, the monsters drooled and growled.
Striding directly at them, Dech raised the poll-axe in a ready position and let the rage flow.
Erie shadowed his friend as Dissy and Mayhaps let fly an arrow and bolt that hissed past Dech and lodged in two of the monsters.
A thrust into the chest of the lead infernal had surprising effects, causing the creature to turn bone white and crumble into powdery residue. Dech sidestepped and swung a horizontal slash that destroyed two more. Knowing his weapon was absolutely deadly to these opponents, he attacked with abandon and soon the remainder save for two were simply particulate matter. Seeing their doom in the hands of an armored knight, the remaining pair loped for the tower where Mirkness worked.
An arrow to the head of one dropped it in its tracks, a bolt high in the center of the back felled the other. Knowing that was the last of them, Dech looked to his comrades and found all but Erie ready to head for the tower.
Pulling one of his blades from the skull of the first infernal struck by Mayhaps’ bolt, he wiped it clean on the creature’s hide and nodded at the warder. Tilting his head toward the tower, Dech led the way, swapping his poll-axe for shield before drawing his sword.
Stopping at the threshold leading into the tower, he looked over his shoulder. “Stay close,” he said.
“Hold!” Granum said as he frantically dug into his bag. “I nearly forgot. Mage Wace had these crafted for us. Ward amulets.”
“Now you think of them?” Mayhaps said.
“Wards against derkunblod,” Granum said as he passed the amulets around. “Not that Mirkness might cast from other sources, but if dark and blood is his preference, these may hinder him. Besides, better now than later, yes? In any case, they will blunt infernal spelling to a degree.”
“To a degree?” Mayhaps asked. “What exactly does that mean?”
“It means they are better than nothing.”
Pushing open the door, Dech could smell the freshly cut green lumber used to restore the tower. Enough moonlight lit the area to see a stairway following the curve of the wall to the right. Taking them two at a time, Dech found no one on the next level. Crossing the wooden planks to the other side of the space, he stopped at the foot of the next run of stairs where a golden glow from the level above lit the way.
“I sense a ward,” Granum said. “Possibly a persistent one. Most odd.”
“It is not something I am familiar with,” Dealan said.
“There is no time to study it,” Granum said. “A pity.”
“Has Mirkness noticed us?” Dech asked.
“He has,” Dealan said. “Me, at least.”
“Then let’s not keep him waiting. Spread out once we are up there, space permitting.”
Dech took the stairs quickly and found the area thoroughly lit with well-made lanterns. A high, finely paneled wooden ceiling made it clear to Dech that access to the old battlements in the upper portion of the tower was not a consideration in Mirkness’ restoration. To the left of the stairs was a raised area of stone construction that arced around much of the inside of the tower, its original purpose lost in time. In the center of the floor sat a large dark metal altar, low wooden cabinets lining much of the walls with parchments, scrolls, and books covering most of their surfaces.
Opposite the stairs stood a robed figure half a head taller than Dech, the red glow of his eyes illuminating his darkened and scarred features under the deep hood. Behind him, visible from the outer windows, were the distant trees of the Dark Forest.
Dech moved to the right, clearing a direct lane past the altar to Mirkness, Erie doing the same on the opposite side. Granum led Dissy and Mayhaps to the raised area to stand behind a low wall of stone.
“I found shelter here after our encounter so long ago,” Mirkness said looking at Dealan.
“I wish I had known,” she replied. “You could have stayed here rotting away and we could have avoided this reunion.”
“An order sister,” Olk said disdainfully as he pointed at the emblem on her mantle. “And I thought I was brought low. How humbling it must be for one of your arrogance to be forced into such a role. To serve a nonexistent deity.”
“Humbling, yes. A necessary part of changing my life, but it was by choice. Once I saw what the Gout demanded, I sought my own demise rather than pay such demands again. Another path was shown to me and it is a path I have walked since. The Creator provides, and I need not grovel for favors as you must with Laerdavile.”
“Bah! You knew the Gout and what it provides, yet you turned your back on it. I have fully embraced it. Those two decisions will be your undoing and my vengeance.”
“The Gout takes far more than it provides. You embrace it and do not realize it is your own doom you hold close.”
“You’ll soon see your error.”
“Perhaps. You’ll soon see your confidence is but arrogance.”
“A being who can initiate a Cataclysm can possess both, Constance. The Gout remembers you and your rejection. There is still a price you must pay. A debt owed to it. There is a price Laerdavile must pay as well. A debt owed to me. Not only can I bring doom upon this plane, I can end the Calamity at a time of my choosing.”
“You are mad.”
“No. Laerdavile is compelled by its nature to conquer the Mortal realm, but it understands litt
le of this plane. A weakness and a fatal one, as fatal as your error in coming here.”
“We’ll see who has erred soon enough.”
“Is now soon enough?” Dech said.
“It is,” Olk replied.
Dech responded by launching an attack, Erie charging as well.
Raising a hand, Mirkness swept away a pair of projectiles fired by Dissy and Mayhaps. Repositioning his hands and turning to face Dech, Olk growled in pain as a thrown dirk buried itself in his right forearm. Managing to cast a bar as Dech swung his sword, the grandmage avoided death.
Dech struck the bar field with his shield and pounded it with his sword while Josip moved to circle their opponent. Seeing he might soon be bracketed, Olk cast a force spell of some form that staggered Dech and toppled Erie and sent him sliding across the floor.
Pulling the dirk free, Mirkness tossed it aside and worked at healing his wound.
Seeing an opportunity, Dealan and Granum brought ice spells to bear, a bluish white layer of frigid material building up on the face of the bar field.
Shattering the ice, Mirkness countered with scorching red-orange beams that lanced the air at several points. The stone wall protected Granum, Mayhaps, and Dissy, a shielding spell kept the beam aimed at Dealan at bay, while the nimbleness of Josip and the reflexes of Dech allowed them to dodge the attacks meant for them, the beams scorching long lines on the floor.
Dealan spoke in a tongue unknown to Dech as she raised her hands above her head. Bringing them down rapidly and pointing one palm at the warder and the other at Josip, the two men felt a burning, tingling sensation.
“Additional protection against derkunblod, that’s what you feel,” she called. “Know it is protection, not proof.”
Evidence Dealan spoke true came within moments as Erie tumble-rolled and recovered the dirk he had used to wound Mirkness. Snatching it from the floor, he rolled again as Mirkness lanced a tight red column of light that sliced across his lower legs. Yelping in pain, he gained his feet and sought cover behind the altar. Seeing no damage except to his pants, he smiled cruelly and dashed toward Mirkness once again.
Dech closed and found his shield was resistant to the grandmage’s casting as well. Smelling burning leather, he saw the outer surface of his shield was only minimally singed. As spells and projectiles from his comrades flew at Mirkness, Dech closed, intent on doing harm.
A bar field prevented the attacks from landing, but occupied with fending off the dangers, Mirkness could do little against the two men who drew near with sharpened steel.
Dech hacked at the field several times before taking a step back and lunging at Mirkness with his shoulder braced against his shield. Driving the grandmage back a couple of steps, Erie drove him back another with a flying two-footed kick.
Under great stress, Mirkness cast an oxter sign that sent both men tumbling, but as soon as they were clear, more spells and projectiles filled the air, bound for Mirkness.
“Stay the course,” Granum yelled. “We have more than he can cope with.”
Dech and Erie rose and attacked once again, Josip zigzagging erratically while Dech bore straight ahead behind his shield.
Realizing he faced mortal peril, Mirkness had a critical decision to make.
“He has dropped the ward!” Granum yelled. “I sense no change here. I am baffled as to why he used so much energy to maintain it. Unless it was to—”
Granum’s speculation was cut off by a loud groaning sound from somewhere outside the tower. Red light flashed through the windows followed soon after by a deafening boom. The tower shook and the wood overhead burst inward as a jagged bolt of energy tore and splintered the newly rebuilt structure. Dech scrambled away seeking cover behind the heavy altar as another bolt ripped into the structure, this time casting parts of the thick walls across the floor planks, buckling some of them and shaking the entire tower. Erie rolled and knelt just behind him as stone blocks slid past on both sides of the men. Looking at the positions held by his other comrades, Dech saw no sign of danger there, Dealan now on the raised stonework with the others.
Looking up, Dech saw the sky was fully visible above the tower, the orifice that Mirkness had conjured now distended and belching brownish clouds and more bolts of red-orange energy with otherworldly sounds cutting the air.
“Laerdavile comes,” Mirkness said, his voice oddly cutting through the sounds filling the tower. A peek around the altar revealed the grandmage looking skyward as he stood amid wreckage of the walls and roofing, apparently untouched by the destruction.
“He speaks true,” Dealan yelled.
A horrid fluttering sound grew steadily until the source of the noise became apparent—winged creatures soaring past the now open structure of the tower shrieking and howling, thousands of them.
“We must form an alliance if we wish to survive what comes,” Mirkness said.
“As much as I am loath to say this, I fear he may be correct,” Dealan yelled in reply.
“And I fear the abbess is correct,” Granum shouted.
Dech looked skyward once again and grimaced inside his helm. Standing and looking at Olk, he shouted over the noise. “Do you have a way of wounding the Lord of the Vile?”
“I do,” he replied. “An alliance then?”
“If the Lord of the Vile shows, yes.”
“It is already here.” Mirkness threw aside a broken panel from a nearby cabinet and lifted a spear from the clutter. Little more than a red metal spearhead affixed to a black wood shaft, the weapon was basic and unadorned. Hefting the spear in both hands, Olk said, “This shall prove quite effective.”
This still works to my purpose, Malig thought. The timeline is not as I hoped, but it may well serve. A Malig victory is still possible, but ending the Cataclysm makes things far more difficult to achieve what I wish. Given the situation, I must send Laerdavile back to the Purge, destroy these allies, and plan anew. All is not lost.
A cyclone of creatures circled in the air above the tower as a thunderous clap shook the ground. Descending from the orifice in a flash of red, a swarming dark cloud entered the broken structure.
Mirkness backed toward the others in the tower and said, “It comes.”
The cloud swirled with the howling of a fierce winter storm, tightening and then coalescing into a vague bipedal form. A flash of dark red flame burst from the form and produced dark smoke that soon drifted clear to reveal a being half again as tall as Dech. Its eyes glowed red and dark vapor exited the nostrils at the end of a short snout. Coal black scales covered the monster’s body, crisscrossing black straps with golden inlays adorned its torso, with long limbs and a heavy musculature, the Lord of the Vile was a truly fearsome creature.
Ignoring all but Mirkness, the monster spoke. “I would have granted you power beyond your dreams, Olk Mirkness,” it said in a deep grating voice filled with fury. “After granting you refuge and allowing you to serve, you lead a rebellion amidst a Dark Crusade.”
“I serve no lord,” Mirkness replied defiantly. “Power granted may be revoked. I’ll carve my own way or die before I serve another man or monster.”
“So be it. Die you will.”
“Remember, this being before us is immortal in the Underealm, but not here,” Granum said. “Powerful, yes, but wound it significantly and it will be forced back to its own realm, just like its avatar.”
Laerdavile switched its gaze to Granum. “You know much, human. Enough to warrant a death.”
“You may find some of us mortals are not so easily killed,” Granum replied in a resolved voice.
“Or I may not,” the monster replied.
. . .
Chapter 32
Sir Oliver sat astride his destrier next to his sovereign and looked over the field of battle. A lull on the right of the line had occurred as each side withdrew and reformed while archers dueled with one another and sought to harry those straightening their lines.
“The Underealm creatures close. If we defeat
them while Malig’s forces are tied up here on the right, we carry this fight,” King Harold said.
“I agree, Sire,” Oliver replied with a dip of his head. “What do you propose?”
“A suggestion Lord Arundel provided. The left and center hold and occupy those directly opposing them despite the chaos. Here, on the right, we engage and destroy those from the Underealm with a charge of knights. You will swing out to the north beyond them while I hold here, a feint at flanking Malig’s line that might draw the infernals toward you. If not, the demons will move to the gap between us and try for our flank and when they do, you charge. As you engage them, I shall charge their flank when they turn to contest you.”
“A bold strategy. If we fail, we might lose this battle, Sire. I will lead the charge, but the timing will be most difficult given the smoke and rolling land.”
“Boldness courts failure. It also brings swift victory. I will attack as planned. You have my word, Sir Oliver. Nothing more.”
“I’ll not question your wisdom as Sir Dech did. I need nothing but your word, Sire.”
“Then you need nothing at all. The word of a king or queen is worth less than the breath needed to utter such drivel. The man who is king may be honorable, but what is a mere man next to a king? Sir Dech knows this and is why he serves Arataine and its people rather than serving his sovereign. In his mind, he serves a more noble cause than the wishes of royals.”
“It smacks of treason, Sire.”
“Does it? You speak to a king who usurped the throne, a throne you aided me in taking for my own just as Sir Dech did. Platitudes about what was best for Arataine may have been true, but they were still trite and not the whole reason, except to those such as Dech. I recall you were of such a mind then?”
Oliver nodded uncomfortably.
“Those that led the rebellion did what was best for them. Self-serving is the manner of such things. Sir Dech never sought more than the position of knight. As commander of my knights, he did no different than he did while he practiced errantry. You served under his command and know this. Being an exemplary knight was his pursuit, and being such a knight means placing the land and people who inhabit those lands above the knight. Few manage this. The many, like you, may aspire to such notions when young, but later become practical and seek advancement into the peerage. A barony, perhaps even a shire or county would be a fine thing to pass onto one’s heirs, yes? You worry that Sir Dech is a better knight than you are. He is and there is no shame in it, Oliver. He is better than any knight you will ever meet. He is a better man than you or I as well. I sent him to face certain death in the scant hope he succeeds. I sent him so that men such as you can one day gain that barony and a king like me can keep the crown upon my head and the throne beneath my buttocks. I sent him because he cares not one bit for those things and that is why he just might succeed. If, by the Creator’s good grace, he does succeed, you should show him the respect he deserves.”
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