Gavin groaned at the uselessness of it.
Then a thegn shouted, “The sky, the sky, milord, look at the sky!”
Gavin squinted at the strange manifestation. A head! A terrible head loomed in the night sky above the darkspawn. The head seemed familiar.
“It’s Leng!” shouted the Bear. “How did that bastard do that?”
Gavin nodded. Yes, it was Leng, and the sorcerer gave the darkspawn directions. Gavin looked around wildly. Most of the remaining horsemen were almost out of the corpse-field. He thus roared, “Mount up!” and he pointed Glamore at the tuskriders battling Sir Philip and his knights. “Charge!” he thundered. “Let us slay more darkspawn!”
***
From the heights of the sky, Leng studied the battlefield. The feeling was god-like. The main enemy horse, led by the knight with the silver sword, smashed into the tuskriders who had flanked other riders. In doing so, the humans opened a wide gap between all their horsemen and the toiling infantry behind. It was a very wide gap indeed.
Leng grinned, and from his position in the sky, he showed the clawmen commanders his will. “Go!” he told them.
The clawmen howled in glee as the giants led them into the gap.
Soon the human infantry halted in confusion, although leaders urged them on. Leng had to avert his gaze. A champion, a standard-bearer, waved a glowing banner. Sight of it hurt Leng’s eyes.
***
Everyone trembled in fear around Swan and Hugo. Towering giants clanked in iron plate toward them. With each stride, the giants covered much ground. Among the legs of the giants ran clawmen waving black curved swords. The panic in the human host leapt from one man to the next. Then a raw and pleading cry of “Hosar!” tore from Hugo’s throat. He barged through the ranks until he stood alone before the spearmen. He faced the approaching darkspawn, the howling masses and the dreadful, clanking giants. By an effort of will, one-eyed Hugo gathered saliva in his dry mouth and he spat on the ground.
A few men cheered.
“Attack!” roared Hugo, waving the blue silk banner back and forth. It shone with fiery radiance. “Attack!” he roared again. The enemy came at them. Hugo, however, was the Risen One. Hosar protected him. “Attack!” he roared a third time, running alone at the enemy, with the banner snapping in the breeze. For a stunned moment, both armies watched the lone madman. Then, in a great shout and with a rattle of weapons and armor, the crusaders of Hosar charged after him.
The two foot-forces neared. Like mighty ships, giants led thousands of clawmen. Then a withering blast of crossbow bolts sleeted into their ranks and arrows arched into the masses. Trebuchet rocks tore wide gaps. None of that, however, really mattered now. Not even corpses tripping warriors mattered. Like an avalanche and vastly outnumbering the humans, the clawmen and giants set upon the enemies of Old Father Night.
The shock of their impact reached Leng in the heavens. Incredibly, rigidly held spears decimated the front rank of clawmen. Yet other snarling beasts flung themselves forward. Leng grinned. Religious fervor drove his darkspawn as their god watched. And if that wasn’t sufficient, a last reserve of tuskriders smashed into the human flank. The human infantry had marched beyond the castle walls, thus the castle no longer anchored that flank.
Screaming spearmen died. A few men pitched aside their weapons and fled. Against the main human host that stayed and fought, giants swung massive clubs, a blood-curdling Cuthred doing the greatest damage. He had lost his helmet. He roared, shouted, and snarled as his shoulder muscles bunched. The heavy club swept gaps in the human line. It was like a peasant mowing grass with a scythe. Cuthred’s wide, dull features had been transformed into a mask of hate and howling rage. A crossbow bolt tore a gash in his cheek. He smashed men in return, the spike punching through and pinning men to the ground. He had to step on one man and rip his club free. With a howl and while shaking his gory club toward the night sky, Cuthred exalted in the dreadful savagery. Nothing could stop him. For once, he was doing the stomping. “You’re not going to cut off my hand!” he thundered. “No! Never!” And he swished his club once more, leading the giants into the packed fray.
“Save us Hosar!” cried the Standard Bearer. Around him, men fought with a religious frenzy exceeding that of the darkspawn. Elsewhere, however, wherever the banner’s blue radiance didn’t reach, the humans fell back before the press of darkspawn. It was only a matter of time before the evil horde bent, broke and then destroyed the crusaders of Anor.
***
With lances, on fresh stallions and during the light of day, the heavy cavalry might have smashed through the brutes. Weighted with chainmail and riding chargers, few things could withstand the devastating shock of the iron knights of Anor. Gavin’s men, however, had already charged twice in the past half-hour. He had just reformed them after breaking the tuskriders. None of the knights now had lances. Few, in fact, were without wounds of some kind. The massive, over-muscled stallions, bred to carry a knight with all his panoply, weren’t bred for long endurance like steppe ponies. Grimly, in the poor light, the horsemen eyed the monsters looming before them. There was no sense going back into the sea of clawmen, only forward to reach Zon Mezzamalech.
The brutes were smaller than giants, but they were bigger than men. They wore steel caps and chest-plates, bore heavy shields, thick swords, and had muscles much stronger than human. The brutes, as the evil apparition in the sky looked over their shoulders, croaked like monstrous bullfrogs.
This time the cavalry couldn’t sweep their opponents. Instead, at the last instant, stallions dug their hooves into the ground. They couldn’t bowl over these steel-clad brutes. The war-horses milled before the croaking line as knights, thegns and squires leaned over their saddles to hew. The tall brutes swung back. It was a mass of deafening steel banging against steel and bloody confusion, a wicked game of push and shove and clanking.
With his blue-blazing sword as deadly with brutes as with undead and tuskriders, Gavin cleared a space. He then rose in the stirrups to study the overall situation.
Clawmen, giants and tuskriders hid Swan’s half of the army. Gavin shook sweat out of his eyes. Then he went back to fighting.
***
“Fire!” shouted Pavia.
But no rocks sailed heavenward from the trebuchets.
“Fire!” she shouted into the courtyard.
“We can’t!” yelled a man. “We’re out of rocks.”
Pavia glanced at Welf.
Pale, trembling, the former forester watched the slaughter below the castle walls.
“What now?” she cried.
“Doom,” whispered Welf. “The Captain General’s plan has failed.”
Pavia grabbed Welf by his mail-shirt. “What now? Tell me!”
“We’re doomed.”
Lady Pavia stared at the battlefield below. Despite the destruction of all the undead, the battlefield yet swam with foes. Then she chanced to look upon the Banner of Tulun. It radiated blue light. It radiated hope. And it thereby stiffened the Lady Pavia’s spine. Snatching up the nearby axe, she knew what she had to do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Vivian watched the battle from atop a reserve catapult. Nearby her stood the statue-still Leng, with the moon-globe around his head. A little beyond him the Mistress paced in anger as the brutes fought the knights.
A war raged in Vivian’s heart. She loathed Leng. She hated the Mistress. But she desperately wanted to survive. To die: the idea stole her strength.
Vivian swallowed and for a moment, across the battlefield, she caught a glimpse of the Banner of Tulun. In that instant, Vivian saw her own wickedness, how far she had fallen in order to live just a few more days. Staring up at Leng’s face in the sky, all her shame and hate welled into a tight knot in her chest. She leaped onto the ground. No one guarded Leng now. All fought against the knights. Now was that one chance she had been waiting for. She had to take it.
***
The knights and brutes waged a fierce strug
gle. Many died on each side. Although the brutes were bigger and stronger, the knights were better trained. A lifetime with swords and stallions gave them cunning and an understanding of edges upon armor. They used all their skill to bash at jointed spots, where enemy armor was weakest. Still, the brutes were stronger. If not for the stallions, which equaled the height between them, the brutes would have slaughtered the knights and thegns.
Aelfric and Ullrick fought on one side of Gavin. Josserand fought on the other.
“We must win through them!” cried the Bear.
“Can’t be done!” shouted Josserand. “They’re too steady.”
“I can end everything if I reach Zon Mezzamalech!” shouted Gavin.
“Not if I reach her first!” shouted the Bear.
“You’re both welcome to her,” said Josserand.
Then they swung and defended, too busy to talk.
***
Leng knew peace. The human infantry were all but slaughtered. The brutes held the knights at bay. Yes, the Standard Bearer stood bravely perhaps. Then he chanced to spy Vivian, her features screwed into a mask of loathing. She picked up a wavy-bladed dagger and charged his still form.
Leng, the dark sky god, howled with fear. He bowed his head and in the blink of an eye, the outline of his head in the starry sky disappeared.
***
Swan, who had been separated from Hugo and fought in an ever-dwindling circle of defenders, picked up a fallen and loaded crossbow. She sighted the giant who reaped their ranks. He seemed oddly familiar and roared something about his hand. As she aimed at his forehead, the giant moaned in fear and fell back. Swan didn’t understand why.
“Look!” cried a spearman beside her. “The dark sky god has left.”
Swan gazed up into the darkness. All she saw were stars. Then she understood. The evil apparition was gone!
At that same moment, yelling caused her to turn. A column of humans, led by an armored Lady Pavia and Welf, hewed their way through the darkspawn to join them, more than tripling their numbers. Joy filled Swan. There was yet hope. Amid a sea of carnage, she and Pavia hugged.
“What now?” Welf asked.
Swan judged the mass of darkspawn. They were but momentarily dazed by the loss of their sky god. “This way!” she shouted, pointing at the blue nimbus that shone behind the backs of the darkspawn they faced. “Let us at least die under Hosar’s Banner.”
***
Like frogs, the brutes croaked in dismay. Many fell back from the knights.
Gavin saw it right away. There was no sky god to guide them. He spurred his stallion, shouting, “At them, lads!” Ullrick, his huge axe raised in one hand, followed to his right. To Gavin’s left Josserand wielded a spear. Knights yelled and charged. Some brutes fought back. Others shied away, trying to understand where their sky god had gone.
“Fools!” thundered the Mistress from the rear ranks. “Fight them!”
Brutes looked back at her. She radiated with Zon Mezzamalech’s power. They grinned stupidly and attacked anew.
“It’s now or never!” roared Gavin.
“At her,” agreed Josserand.
But it was Sir Ullrick the Bear who won through. All the terror, the fear, the rage, all plied him with inhuman power. He went berserk, his iron battleaxe rising and falling, smashing brute-armor like a blacksmith at his anvil. Then he was past them. The Bear, with his mighty beard bristling, urged his war-horse at the ugly Duke’s daughter.
The Mistress raised her hand, a green ball of balefire flaming in her palm. She hurled the ball. In flight, it sizzled and hissed. Her aim, however, was off. It missed Sir Ullrick and exploded full in the face of a recently knighted squire who followed close behind. That man screamed as green fire consumed him. The Bear, with his hair standing on end, yet thundered straight at the Mistress. His eyes were riveted upon her. He was the champion of Banfrey. He was the champion of Anor. This would prove it for all time. His battleaxe was raised for the perfect blow and his stallion ran smoothly. With a bellow, Sir Ullrick the Bear swung, burying the blade of his huge axe it in the Mistress’ forehead. She crumbled to the ground.
Sir Ullrick reined in his foaming steed. He shouted in victory, a true knight. Now he must claim the prize, her head on a spear so all could see that he was the champion. He leaped beside the evil queen.
“I slew Zon Mezzamalech!” cried the Bear. He wrenched his battleaxe free from her forehead.
“No!” shouted Gavin. “Ullrick, beware!”
The amulet and its chain, as if a living thing, a very snake, loosed itself from the Mistress. In an odd, bizarre way, it leaped, hurling itself off the corpse and onto Sir Ullrick’s arm. He shouted, trying to shake it off. It slithered up his arm and sprang again. The Bear screamed in horror as the golden chain whipped up over his hairy head. Then the amulet slid down onto his armored chest.
Sir Ullrick went rigid, his eyes bulging. He staggered to the left and to the right. He foamed at the mouth and fell to the ground, shaking. A moment later, he grinned evilly, looking about. He jumped up and picked up his battleaxe. The amulet on his chest began to glow a hideous green.
***
The moon-globe faded from around Leng’s head. His statue-like stiffness dropped away. His shoulders slumped. He whipped open his eyes. Terror as he hadn’t known in centuries filled him. He twisted as a wavy-bladed dagger flashed at him. Searing agony exploded in his left arm. He howled, leaping out of range of Vivian’s backhanded slash, leaping off the obsidian conjuring block.
She laughed insanely, her eyes wild.
He raised his good hand as he fought off the pain and the waves of nausea. He concentrated his power. “I can kill you,” he whispered.
In face of his certainty, Vivian hesitated.
Then a terrible cry broke through their tableau. Ullrick shouted in exhalation, with the amulet blazing eerily upon his chest.
***
Gavin launched himself from his stallion as the amulet-wearing Sir Ullrick strode at him. Motes of light played up and down Glamore. They were like tiny lightning bolts, but inside the sword, not outside. The silver blade glowed almost as brightly as the banner across the battlefield. Terrified brutes stepped away from Gavin, shielding their eyes from the sword’s light.
“You!” shouted Gavin.
What had recently been Sir Ullrick the Bear turned hellish eyes upon him. “Come, Champion of Light,” it said. “Come and taste Old Father Night’s wrath.” The amulet grew dark, and the axe became a thing of ultimate shadow, a blot of evil. “O little Hosar, a godling of sunshine, flowered fields and laughter. How can he fare against death, against the crush of hate and the ecstasy of darkest night?”
Gavin felt his cuts and his aches. He hesitated. The thing that had been Ullrick seemed unbeatable.
“Come, little one,” it said. “Taste death. March forever in my horde. Become the lord of the new undead.”
Gavin knew that if the dark axe touched him… He took a step back.
He who had just been Ullrick laughed. “Yes. Finally, you know wisdom. Darkness ever conquers Light. It is inevitable.”
Then Gavin felt the familiar tingle in his arms.
“You are doomed,” said he who wore the ancient amulet of Zon Mezzamalech. “Your time is over.”
***
The blue circuit of light from the Banner of Tulun protected Hugo’s last defenders. Like wolves around a fire, the howling mob of darkspawn didn’t quite dare to close for the final clutch. Since their sky god had departed, they knew fear. Soon, however, despite everything…
“We’re not dead yet!” shouted Hugo.
There came a return cry. A column of warriors broke through the sea of howling darkspawn. At their head marched the Seer, her sword bloody, her face aglow.
“For Hosar!” she cried.
The dismounted knights, militiamen, men-at-arms and crossbowmen cheered.
“Attack the darkspawn!” roared Hugo.
***
Gavin
skipped back. Sweat poured from his face. He who had just been Sir Ullrick panted like a spent hound.
“We end it now,” Gavin said.
The one wearing the ancient amulet of Zon Mezzamalech swore with rage and charged. Gavin, as he only rarely did on the joust field, sidestepped the rush and thrust out his foot. His enemy tripped and sprawled full-length onto the bloody earth. Gavin pivoted, clutched Glamore with two hands and swung once to part the head from the body. Then he swung a second time, against the amulet. He didn’t want it to slither away or leap onto him.
As the blade touched the green amulet—a flash, a shriek, a column of billowing dark smoke rose. The old evil spirit of Zon Mezzamalech howled. It was a sickening sound. It stilled everyone on the battlefield. The amulet cracked. A blaze of darkness gushed upward from it. The darkness flowed up and up, more and more, faster and faster in a seemingly never-ending torrent. All the black magical power that Zon Mezzamalech had stored eons ago now shot up like a geyser and in a massive surge. The howl, which turned into a shriek of mind-numbing horror, now dwindled. And a black thing, ugly and evil, shadowy and mean, slithered from the land of the living as it sped down into the pits of the Netherworld that had long awaited its coming.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Lo, the spirit of the darkspawn fell before the silver sword Glamore. Then did the crusaders fall upon the mazed creatures of the Night and rout them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The stars waned. The night seemed spent, not quite as dark as it had been just moments before. Cuthred shuddered. His legs ached. His feet hurt. He was tired. Beside him, Simon the giant clutched his side as his face screwed up in pain.
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