The Sorcerer's Vengeance (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  Captain Brague also looked about for Lady Miranda, knowing that the fiery opposite of her mother would disobey the duchess’s command to stay within the castle, but he could find no sign of her. An arrow glanced off his breastplate, bringing his attention back to the attackers. After throwing a rude hand gesture toward the source of the lucky shot, he ducked down behind a crenellation fully aware of the difference between bravery and foolishness.

  A sudden explosion brought his head prairie-dogging back over the tops of the battlement to see what sort of evil was transpiring now. Lightning, fire, and orbs of magical energy streaked out across the battlefield, shattering rank upon rank of archers and cavalry.

  Captain Brague jumped to his feet, his face contorting in fury. The captain sprinted down the stairs to his own cavalry and footmen waiting to engage any enemy that breached the gates or to plug any gap in the walls.

  “Captain Brague,” Duchess Mellina called to him, “what is happening out there?”

  “It’s that damned wizard and his ilk coming to make me look like an inept fool! I’ll be damned if I let that little upstart make me look ridiculous again!”

  Captain Brague began shouting orders to his waiting army. “Cavalry, follow me out the southern gate, footmen through the eastern sally gates and clear that breach! This is our city and we will be the ones to crush this scum!”

  The captain wheeled his mount to the south and charged toward the lightly guarded southern gates. Steel-shod hooves rang against the cobblestones as three hundred and fifty men on horseback followed the enraged commander to the south.

  “Open the gates!” the captain shouted as he and his men approached.

  The huge wooden gates swung open and the portcullis was raised as the horses thundered past. Several hundred men afoot, many of them sailors, craftsmen, and laborers wielding whatever weapons they could get their hands on, followed the cavalry out the gates for the counter-assault that would either break the siege or doom them all.

  CHAPTER 22

  The surprise magical assault virtually destroyed the ranks of archers, the small percentage of survivors scattered, running in all directions to escape certain death. Kayne’s cavalry was also brutalized, but was still largely intact as they charged on the group of spell casters, intent on cutting them down.

  Azerick swung his staff in a wide arc, raising a huge wall of fire in front of the charging cavalry, slowing and disrupting their charge. Rusty brought up a wall of flame nearly as large as the sorcerer’s, further slowing the riders and forcing them to lose valuable time by circumventing the scorching flames.

  Allister waved his arms and chanted. The old wizard blew on a small sphere of ice that formed in his hand, sending a cloud of icy fog roiling across a huge section of the battlefield. The fog bank rolled inexorably toward the enemy, obscuring the small group of defenders from the citadel. The enemy cavalry charged into the swirling mists, thinking it no more than a veil to screen the wizards from view. The men and horses felt the freezing, numbing effects of the fog the moment they plunged into its ethereal embrace.

  Frost rimed the horses’ large nostrils and their breath came out in thick puffs of white nearly indistinguishable from the mists that surrounded them. The freezing vapors entered the lungs of man and horse, freezing and frost burning the delicate tissue so that they could no longer use the air that they took in. Men tumbled from their saddles as their mounts collapsed or sought a way out of the killing miasma.

  Ellyssa, Roger, Maira, Joshua, and Umair used their wands and scrolls to devastating effect, launching balls of fire that consumed dozens of men as they burst throughout the enemy’s ranks. Walls of spinning blades and clouds of choking gas created impassable barriers and slew men and mounts without mercy.

  Allister pulled a fistful of bean-sized pebbles from a pouch and began chanting a long and complex spell. At the climax of his mantra, he hurled the stones high into the air where they continued to streak skyward, enlarging and burning with an aura of bright flames until they disappeared into the dense clouds hundreds of feet over their heads. A moment later, the stones came streaking back down toward the earth, each the size of a man’s head, wrapped in fire, and trailing a tail like that of a comet.

  The meteors struck across a wide stretch of the battlefield, each stone bursting with enough force to send scores of men hurtling through the air. It was the most awesome display of power Azerick, and probably anyone witnessing, had ever seen. The sheer scale of destruction was unimaginable as hundreds of men died in an instant and still the spell weavers did not relent, would not relent, until they had no more power to use or the enemy was vanquished.

  ***

  Captain Brague and his cavalry burst out onto the battlefield without slowing or even pulling their swords from their scabbards to engage the invaders just outside the gates. Instead, they simply ran over the surprised infantry with their armored warhorses, bent on engaging the main body of marauders to the east.

  Let the infantry take care of this rabble, Captain Brague said to himself.

  North Haven’s cavalry charged toward the eastern section of wall just in time to see the meteor shower blow apart a massive section of enemy ranks to the north. Captain Brague pulled his longsword from his scabbard with a roar of challenge and charged into the rear of the distracted enemy.

  His arm pumped up and down like a relentless machine, cutting down any enemy within reach. He slapped away spears that probed for vulnerable spots in his armor with his shield and trampled men beneath his destrier’s powerful hooves. The captain fought like a madman, as if his soul had suddenly been possessed by the most fearsome abyssal spawn to ever inhabit the six circles of Hell.

  Captain Brague would give birth to a legend this day. People throughout the kingdom would speak of him as the chimes of death, for every time he swung his sword the jingling of bells could be heard and a man would die beneath his blade.

  Deeper and deeper he cut his way into the ranks of his foes as his men tried in vain to keep up but were forced to engage the enemy that he left in his wake. His footmen quickly routed the enemy at the southern gates and followed the path he and the cavalry blazed through the mercenary forces.

  Captain Brague was the first to reach the outside of the breach in the city’s wall and continued hewing life and limbs from the attackers pressing themselves into the fissure in an attempt to gain entrance to the city while the defenders pushed back from the inside. His men fought valiantly to reach their commander’s side and aid him in clearing the breach but they were slowed by the press of enemy soldiers as if they were trying to swim against a river’s swift current.

  So ferocious was Captain Brague’s assault that for every man he slew another fled in fear of the ringing chimes that heralded another man’s death. Within minutes, North Haven’s defenders were able to push through the breach and engage the enemy on the outside of the walls thanks to the captain’s relentless assault.

  Kayne watched with growing fury as his cavalry charge was completely arrested and his soldiers were decimated without being able to return a single blow against the damnable wizards. As he wheeled his mount away from the killing fog, he saw that the soldiers of North Haven had come swarming out of the breach to join a contingent of cavalry and footmen pressing his southern flank northward until they were almost to the gate.

  Kayne realized that his soldiers and Ulric’s wizards must have been defeated trying to take the citadel and his assault against North Haven was in danger of meeting a similar fate. However, if he could stop their cavalry from routing his infantry, he might yet still win the day. Those wizards could not cast spells forever. If he had to win this battle by attrition so be it, he had the numbers.

  Kayne ordered his remaining cavalry to charge into the enemy cavalry’s flank. He still had more horses and his men were better armed and better trained than those of the city. He would scatter their cavalry, rip apart the pathetic infantry, and send his forces through the nominally uncontested breach
and gate that was ready to fall at any moment.

  Kayne’s charge drove his cavalry deep into Captain Brague’s flank. Cavalry battled cavalry but Kayne’s charge gave his men the decided advantage of momentum. Captain Brague turned away from the foot soldiers he was battling and saw his cavalry being torn apart by the vicious mercenary charge.

  He cleaved the man’s skull in twain that had foolishly engaged him before wheeling his mount to the right and pushing toward the front of his beleaguered right flank. His own footmen surged forward to fill the gap their commander left and continued to press the enemy infantry.

  Kayne thought he could hear the faint ringing of tiny bells as he cut another man from his saddle. Looking about for the source, he spied a large man in full plate armor wearing the cape and blue-plumed helmet of a senior officer. The man was fighting with a berserker’s fury and doing a great deal of damage against his men, not just in terms of killing and wounding, but providing a powerful symbol of resistance that bolstered the morale of his men and degraded that of Kayne’s own.

  Kayne struck several more North Haven horsemen down as he carved his way toward Captain Brague. When he slew this jingling leader it would have a great demoralizing effect on his enemy. Kayne has been a soldier for a long time and he knows how much difference one brave and determined man can make in the hearts of those that followed him.

  One man, no matter the strength of his arm or the skill of his blade could turn the outcome of a battle. However, if that symbol of bravery could inspire the men around him and demoralize his enemies, then even the most assured victor could suddenly find himself on the losing end of the battle.

  Captain Brague turned just in time to see the sword come slashing at his head in a vicious over-hand chop. He pulled his sword from the crook of a man’s shoulder and neck just in time to parry the powerful blow. The stroke sent an arm-numbing vibration through his blade but the captain ignored it as he looked into the furious, dark eyes of the man that nearly succeeded in ending his career and life.

  Captain Brague took in the man with a glance. His gleaming black scale armor rippled like the skin of a dragon, his cloak looked to have been dipped in the blood of his enemies, and the long scar that bisected his left eye socket, leaving a milky white orb in its place, gave him the look of something that crawled out of the pits of hell.

  The man quickly put Captain Brague on the defensive with a series of swift, skillful strikes from his cruel sword. Wide and serrated along its spine, the blade slashed and thrust at him with speed, skill, and power that belied the man’s small stature. He knew that his success thus far was based heavily upon his rage, but this scarred man was a natural killer, skill and instinct came as naturally to him as breathing came to other men and Captain Brague knew he was in trouble.

  Kayne slashed at the enemy commander and knew with certainty that the man would fall beneath his blade within moments. He could always tell the likely outcome of a fight within the first few exchanges by appraising his opponent’s skill, strength, and technique.

  Often times, a man would try to fool his opponent by pretending to stumble or show less skill than he truly possessed to lure his foe into making a mistake, but it never worked on Kayne. He had an innate ability to see through such simple tricks.

  Kayne attacked Captain Brague’s right side, rendering his shield nearly useless. This also put him on the same side as his good eye, eliminating the minor inconvenience of his blind spot. The enemy commander fought well, and for a time managed to parry and dodge Kayne’s assault, but the man’s strength was flagging, his swings coming just a little bit slower, and his reactions just a bit delayed.

  Kayne smiled in triumph as he swung a hard cut toward the captain’s midriff. Captain Brague swept his sword across to parry the blow, but at the last moment Kayne twisted his wrist and brought his own blade over the top of his opponent’s. The captain’s eyes went wide as he recognized the feint and that wicked blade was slicing unopposed for his head.

  Men nearest the battle between the two leaders seemed to pause as the sharp ring of steel echoed loudly across the battlefield. Interspersed looks of triumph and horror watched on as the blue plumed helm went sailing through the air. It was as if time had suddenly slowed to a crawl. It seemed to take several long seconds for the helm to hit the ground, staring face up from the muddy, hoof-churned battlefield.

  Captain Brague saw the cut aimed for his guts and brought his sword down to intercept the blow before it spilled his innards out onto the back of his horse’s neck and the ground below. He thought his counter was going to be successful until he saw the scarred man’s wrist turn and flick the blade upwards, just skimming over the top of his own and flashing up toward his head.

  In that brief instant, his entire life flashed before his eyes. The blade struck with a resounding clang against his helm, his vision went black, and his ears no longer heard the chaos of battle around him. A black void of peacefulness seemed to envelope him in a cool but comfortable embrace.

  ***

  “We need to move closer to the battle!” Azerick shouted. “Ellyssa, Roger, stay close to me. Do not let anyone get behind us.”

  The walls of fire, icy mists, and other magical death-dealing barriers were falling as the limits of their existence expiring. Azerick led his group to the northern edge of the battle figuring that if the enemy broke they would retreat south toward friendly lines, and he did not want his friends to be in the path of the retreating men desperately fleeing for their lives.

  They were all beginning to fatigue from the near constant calling and releasing of magical power. Even Ellyssa and Roger were beginning to feel the mental stress of focusing on their wands and scrolls to ensure that they were used effectively and accurately. They pushed themselves closer to the battle, bringing them in range to continue their magical assault against the invaders.

  They watched helplessly as Kayne’s cavalry brutally slammed into the defender’s flank, effectively dividing North Haven’s cavalry into several smaller groups where their greater numbers could more easily finish them off. Knowing the battle was far from won, the spell casters pushed aside their fatigue and launched a devastating salvo of fireballs and ice storms against the tight groups of infantry fighting their way south against North Haven’s desperate soldiers.

  One piece of good fortune for the outnumbered and outclassed defenders was that with Kayne’s archers scattered and all but destroyed, their own archers atop the high walls were now able to add their supporting fire with near impunity. Despite the renewed support, the ram finally managed to crush the gates open beneath its rhythmic pounding and North Haven’s reserve elements were now fighting desperately to keep the mass of mercenaries from flooding through and wreaking havoc inside the city walls.

  It seemed that no matter how hard they fought, the enemy continued to press slowly but inexorably through the gates. Only the hastily erected barricades kept the enemy forces from spreading out once they were through the sundered gates and running amok through the city streets. Civilians ran out of homes and inns wielding a variety of weapons from old swords and spears to pitchforks, broom handles, and butcher knives. Men, women, and children broke their nails tearing up the cobblestones and hurling them at the slowly advancing enemy.

  Seeing her lines faltering, Duchess Mellina ordered her personal guard forward to bolster the brave men and women desperately fighting a losing battle to hold the gates. The Duchess led her guard forward herself despite their protests, stilling their entreaties for her to stay back with an icy glare.

  Their foes were beyond the barricades now and beginning to spread out. The trained mercenaries made short work of the civilians that blocked their paths trying to defend their homes and families, but for every man and woman that was cut down, two more jumped in, fearlessly taking their place.

  Duchess Mellina’s long, slender blade darted in and out of the vulnerable joints and visor slits of the enemy like a snake’s tongue flicking in and out of its mou
th. The duchess was a true lady in every sense, setting the standards of propriety and decorum that every lady in the kingdom could only try to emulate.

  However, beneath that veneer of civility lay the ruthless heart of a woman of profound strength and ability. Her father and then her late husband had taught her how to fight. Both great men often said that a leader must be ready and capable of defending their people against any who sought to do them harm.

  Seeing a leader standing proudly beside them in the heat of battle gave soldiers the strength and courage to stand against twice the number of men whose leader cowered in his castle or far behind the lines of battle and sent runners to issue orders to the men who fought and died in his or her name.

  No cries of fury ever escaped the ice queen’s perfect lips. Only the cold look of purpose and determination showed on the duchess’s face as she bloodied one enemy after another. From the corner of her eye, she saw a spear questing for her side deflected by a slight man in the armor of her personal guard. His armor bore the dents and scratches of numerous turned blows. A slight kick to his mount’s flanks brought the young man close enough to allow him to thrust his sword beneath the spearman’s helm and through his neck.

  Duchess Mellina nodded her appreciation to her guard then glared suspiciously as she saw the emerald eyes looking out from behind the enclosed helm and the long lock of auburn hair that fluttered in the late winter breeze.

  Before she could say anything, the soldier kicked his mount ahead to engage another foe. Mellina could not afford to pay the matter further heed as she blocked the swing of a gap-toothed, unshaven man’s sword. Bending low over her saddle, she thrust her blade right between that gap that looked so much like the hole left in the wall of her sundered gates.