Unseen by the two combatants outside the burning workshop, Aleeva rose from the rubble with help from another pair of hands. She looked up at the necromancer’s scarred face and smiled. “Thank… oh.”
Maeven’s obsidian blade plunged into the pirate’s chest. She shivered with pleasure as the woman’s soul was sucked into the black blade. “Mm, soon you will awaken,” the necromancer whispered to the weapon as she let the corpse drop. With all the deaths in this town she was so close to having the living weapon she needed to free her sister. It just required one or two last great and powerful souls.
For the first time in her life, she found herself agreeing with Jerak Hyden: if a few small eggs needed to be broken for her grander purpose then so be it. Once she had his and Verena’s souls, her weapon would wake and then she would have the power of life and death in her hands: the power to kill gods, to kill anything.
She smiled and walked around the corner to witness Jerak Hyden dying with a knife buried in his chest. Verena ripped it out and plunged it back into his heart again and again, shrieking, “Die, you monstrosity!” as he begged for mercy that was never going to come.
“No!” Maeven screamed, rushing forward, slipping and sliding over rubble. Her magic reached out to stop the pirate queen, but was blocked by the slynx’s strange power. She could not even leech off part of Jerak Hyden’s soul due to its influence.
Blood gushed from the little man’s mouth and the holes in his heart. He pitched face first to the dirt.
Verena turned to face this new threat. “And what do you want?” she snarled.
“I would be very much pleased to take your soul,” Maeven said.
Verena grinned and advanced with her bloody weapon in hand. “Two monsters ended with one knife, what a bountiful harvest this is.”
The necromancer was no cut-throat brawler, so she fled back around the corner and rested a hand on Aleeva’s corpse. She knew she could not directly affect the pirate queen with magic, so she needed to improvise. She was husbanding her power to waken her blade but with all this death she had some to spare.
Aleeva’s corpse rose and grabbed hold of Maeven’s cloak as if trying to restrain a fleeing foe.
Verena turned the corner, grinned and broke into a jog. “Keep a hold of her, Aleeva!”
The slynx screeched, panicking as Verena closed in on the struggling, powerless necromancer. “It is time to end you,” she gloated.
“I could not agree more,” Maeven said as the corpse of Aleeva released her cloak to wrap both hands around Verena’s throat instead. It squeezed. The power of the slynx dispersed Maeven’s power, but the hands remained locked in place, the tissues swollen and solid in rigor mortis.
The slynx went mad, tiny claws shredding the corpse’s face and eyes. Futile.
Verena choked and stabbed at the arms, trying to cut them off her. As the blood flow to her brain dwindled, she passed out.
The necromancer switched her attention to the pirate queen’s vile pet. She grabbed hold of the slynx’s squirming little head, shuddering at the sudden disruption to her magic. A twist and a snap and it was all over. She tossed the limp rag of fur into the burning workshop and sighed with relief. She made the corpse let go of Verena’s throat and climb on top to hold her down.
When Verena stirred she looked up in horror at her first mate; Aleeva’s face was an eyeless, horrific ruin. Verena hoarsely screamed for help, but none was coming.
“A bargain,” the pirate queen said. “I know who your brother is, and where he is. My life for that knowledge!”
Maeven paused, her obsidian knife poised to plunge into Verena’s heart. She wiped blood from Verena’s chin with a finger, licking it and chuckling. “Oh, that? I knew all along. I just didn’t have the means to reach him and kill him in the heart of his empire. I’ve been playing all of you like a harp to enable me to obtain enough power to end his existence. Black Herran has conveniently gathered everything I need all in one place.”
Verena snarled and tried to kick her, defiant to the end. “You have tasted Awildan queen’s blood, Maeven. You are accursed! May everything you touch slip from your grasp and turn to ash.”
Maeven rolled her eyes. “Terrifying.” Verena spat in her face even as the obsidian blade slid between the old woman’s ribs. Hot fury and iron will flowed into the knife.
The necromancer looked down on the small corpse that had contained such a mighty soul. All personal animosity aside, Verena Awildan had been worthy of admiration. She had ruled more by force of will than force of arms, and had somehow managed to earn her people’s loyalty – something far beyond Maeven’s understanding.
The necromancer turned and walked back the way she had come, past the body of the mad alchemist, regretting the missed chance to obtain his soul.
Her grandfather’s dry rasping voice echoed in her mind, trembling with excitement and yearning: You will need another strong one to replace it, and quickly. One last victim: the orc warlord, or perhaps Tiarnach, if the knife is now able to absorb the substance of gods. Inquisitors, too, may serve if you can reach any. Please let me die.
She considered his words. The ghost of her grandfather had the right of it, but she measured it would take a handful of the strongest inquisitors’ souls to equal any one of her old comrades in arms.
“I will take what I can reach,” she replied. “No matter who it is.” It seemed to mollify him for now.
Then she would slaughter her little brother, murder Black Herran and end anybody else who dared to interfere with her goal. She hurried back towards the battle before some idiot with a spear got lucky and took any more valuable material from her grasp.
CHAPTER 39
The giant demon’s maul slammed into the Falcon Prince’s face, knocking the avatar of the Bright One onto his back for the second time. He fell, shedding golden fire as he struck and levelled the hillside. His fury was greater than his pain and he was back on his feet in an instant, leaking magic and red blood both. He lashed out, sword slicing a trench through the thick hide of Malifer’s arm. They slammed into each other, struggling back and forth, carelessly trampling men beneath them, biting and punching, clawing and kicking like maddened beasts.
Black Herran clutched her section of palisade as it swayed alarmingly from the force of the impact. The Tarnbrooke bowmen’s aim was thrown off but the press of Lucent soldiers forcing their way through the breaches in the wall was so tight it didn’t matter. They loosed shaft after shaft, but it was not enough to slow down the enemy.
She hurt all over, ripped inside and out, and was in no condition to take any further part in the battle: summoning and then restraining the great demon had been akin to birthing a boulder. The power of all that pain and torment and spilled blood was still feeding her shadow demons, but little of it was usable in her current state.
Lorimer Felle joined her on the wall, a haggard Estevan accompanying his lord.
She watched the golden titan battling one of Hellrath’s greatest warriors, and noted a change in the fiery female form he wore. “Does the Falcon Prince look smaller to you?”
Estevan raised the brim of his hat and squinted. “Indeed. Every blow he suffers now seems to reduce his size.” He cleared his throat and cast a worried look towards the Lucent battle lines as their reserve force of archers shifted location. “It would seem that the Lucent Empire are about to assault the western flank. I suspect our lightly armoured militia will not long withstand their bows. Even Amogg Hadakk might soon fall.”
Lorimer nodded in agreement. “They thought to storm our wall, break our morale, and crush all resistance with a single charge. Now they will take us more seriously.”
“Can you help Amogg hold the west?” Black Herran asked.
Lorimer considered the odds. “The number of inquisitors remaining is unknown. The chances of us holding are–”
A rock-splitting screech of agony drew every eye to the warring giants. The Falcon Prince had managed to shove Malifer’s heavy m
aul to one side and stab the demon general through the belly. He grunted and sawed the burning blade higher, black blood and guts slopping out of a chasm in the beast’s stomach. Its crocodile jaw snapped shut on the Lucent commander’s arm, enormous fangs savaging it.
The Falcon Prince ignored the pain and shoved his blade higher, cutting through thick slabs of steel, muscle, organ and bone. Malifer was weakening. Dying. Spewing blood and bile and venomous hatred. One last heave and it was opened from belly to throat like a butchered beast, a hillock of black and burning offal forming at its feet as the malevolent light faded from its eyes.
The Falcon Prince roared a victory hymn. Sunlight broke through black clouds and the hail ceased drumming down.
“The chances,” Lorimer said, continuing where he left off, “have just become none.” He tucked Black Herran under his arm, abandoned the defences and ran for the greater safety of narrow streets and stone buildings.
The Falcon Prince’s staggering form was cracked and broken, his arm a limp mess of human blood and golden fire – a fire swiftly abating, his size decreasing with every heartbeat. He glared at the town that dared defy his will and divine purpose, then kicked the demon’s enormous corpse towards it.
Tiarnach gave a soldier’s throat a new, red mouth, wiped the sweat from his brow, and then looked up as a shadow fell over them. It was too late for any of them to avoid the falling giant. Lightning flashed as three holy knights buggered off to safety. He sighed heavily and muttered, “Butchered balls.”
The corpse of Malifer landed on the eastern flank, crushing the palisade, several out buildings, and fifty people from both sides. The gatehouse collapsed. Tiarnach and dozens of others were blasted through the air by the shockwave.
The war god bounced and tumbled across rooftops, shattered wood and stone scouring his flesh. He crashed through the stone wall of the temple. His ribs snapped from the impact, then he rammed headfirst into a statue, splitting his helmet in two. He collapsed in a bloody heap, breath wheezing from burst lips and broken nose. The statue of Herlan, Lord of the Hunt, fell in pieces beside him, no match for his thick skull. Tiarnach had never liked that pompous prick anyway.
The militia that had stood beside him were now only bloody and unidentifiable rags hanging from broken beams and collapsed buildings. Some of the Lucent soldiers had suffered a similar fate, but their heavily armoured corpses were mostly in one piece. Nothing wholly mortal could have survived that.
A gaggle of children swarmed Tiarnach, escaping their yelling elders’ grasps. They were all armed with eating knives. He recognised the brave little girl and boy from earlier as they helped him to his feet.
“We fight with you,” the girl said, shaking in fear.
Courage. Loyalty. Comradeship. Only a few weeks ago he had imagined such things were all in his past…
Outside, the remnants of his dazed and battered militia began to scream as Lucent forces swarmed into the outskirts of town and butchered anything that moved. Tiarnach could sense three inquisitors had come in with them, burning balls of divine might itching his mind. They were coming to enslave and indoctrinate these brave children and “purify” the rest of the populace.
Tiarnach of the Cahal’gilroy was many things: a bloody-handed reiver, a murderer, a laughing killer who enjoyed his work, and lately, a coward. But he’d be damned to eternal torment if he let those Lucent bastards have their way with these brave folk. He spat blood and teeth and searched for a sword.
“Get back in there,” he snarled at the children. “Don’t get between a war god and his foes.”
The old people cast terrified, but hopeful eyes his way as he heaved his battered body up to block the hole he’d made in the side of the temple. Here he would stand and here he would fall, and he’d take more of those bastards down with him.
Amogg knew the battle was lost. She had butchered brittle human males left and right in exchange for a few shallow cuts, but now the eastern flank had collapsed. Lucent soldiers streamed through towards the town, while others began methodically working their way down the palisade towards her, slaughtering the outnumbered defenders. Nicholas the tile maker and a dozen other militia were surrounded but put up a spirited defence, slowing the enemy down long enough for survivors to retreat to the narrow streets of the town and regroup behind barricades. Amogg thought there was much glory in their deaths.
What was left of Verena Awildan’s pirates and the reserve militia had pulled back into the town under Lorimer Felle’s command and began a vicious close-quarters street battle. Their knowledge of the terrain might give them a brief advantage. Of Black Herran there was no sign, and the orc did not much care.
The humans’ battle was almost over but Amogg’s fight remained. A glorious death awaited her. The giant of golden fire staggered towards her, its eyes a lightning storm and its sword an inferno of godly magic. The Falcon Prince’s real body was visible, a shadowy shape glimpsed in the heart of the blaze. What she could see, she could kill.
Beside the huge orc, Red Penny and the remnants of her female militia fought on, many drenched in blood as the better trained and better equipped soldiers pushed them hard. Only a quarter of the original group remained and not one without a wound.
Amogg Hadakk punched a soldier, snapping his neck and spinning his helmet around, then swung her axe wide, knocking three men onto their backs. She eyed up the Falcon Prince, trailed her eyes from him to the palisade and down the crude steps leading to the dirt. She hefted the axe of her ancestors and fancied her chances.
“Retreat to town,” she said to Red Penny. “Find vampire. He fight good and be your war leader now. Maybe you survive.”
Red Penny’s battered spear thrust out, clanging into a shield. A sword came down and the spear head snapped, dangling on a shred of wood. She dropped it and snatched up an abandoned Lucent sword. “Nah, I fight with you.”
Amogg shook her head and kicked a man to death. “Go, Red Penny, orc-friend. Fight later or die quick here. I give order.”
Penny grimaced and pulled back as a blade nicked her thigh. “What will you do?”
Amogg grinned, ringed tusks exposed and skin flushed shades of angry red. “I prove Amogg the strongest. Make prince of birds and big burny goddess regret they kill Wundak without glory. The axe of my ancestors thirsts.”
Amogg lifted her weapon and roared. The Lucent soldiers flinched and paused in their advance, too afraid to face the elder orc’s mighty axe. The Tarnbrooke militia seized their chance to turn and flee for safety. She didn’t think badly of them – they were only human. One brave and swift enemy soldier tried to slip past her, but she grabbed his head in one hand. His helmet and skull crumpled in her grip and she flung his corpse back at the rest of his clan.
The Falcon Prince’s golden form stomped towards Amogg, no longer the terrifying and mountainous avatar of his Goddess but still a giant figure of holy wrath. It stamped the defensive ditch and stakes flat, then ploughed through part of the palisade that had taken weeks to build.
She had seen that fire burn up humans like dry straw but that race were all made of brittle sticks and squish. Amogg Hadakk was the blood of Gardram, bred for battle and glory. With their footmen hesitating and only inching forward, the Lucent archers shot at her. Amogg stood and did nothing, giving them this one last chance to kill her. Arrows fell all around. One tinged off her axe. Another tickled her belly. She plucked it out like a human would a thorn and tossed it aside.
“You are mine now, vile beast,” the champion of the Bright One boomed as the giant figure closed on Amogg.
Amogg laughed. “No, you mine!” She raced up the steps to the walkway at the top of the palisade and then jumped, the strong muscles of an elder orc launching her up and at the Falcon Prince. Axe raised and ready, she hurtled towards his real body encased in holy flame.
The burning giant’s lighting storm eyes widened in shock.
“Amogg Hadakk is strongest!” she roared as she slammed into it axe-first. T
he body of holy fire resisted that first impact of metal, but she was chieftain of the Hadakk and she knew the great god Gardram would be watching this fight. Her massive body hit the axe and her weight pushed it through.
Fire enveloped her and ate into the elder orc’s flesh, burning up skin, fat and muscle. It was agony, but her glory was exquisite. Before her eyes boiled, she witnessed her mighty axe strike true. Gardram was with her! The Falcon Prince’s helm and forehead split open and her axe buried itself in his brain. The tales of gods and magic humans defeated by Amogg of the Hadakk would spread far.
She was the mightiest warrior of all…
The militia climbed over barricades made of carts, tables and barrels filled with dirt and took up positions. Red Penny turned back to witness the last battle of Amogg Hadakk, her heart pounding with savage joy as she witnessed the axe strike home. She shaded her eyes as the fiery form of the Bright One exploded, incinerating what was left of Amogg and everything else for fifty paces all around.
She sagged against the wall, filled with a mix of awe, sadness and desperate hope.
The Falcon Prince fell to earth among the ashes of his own men, his armour blackened and broken and his skull in two pieces, pulsing grey and pink oozing from the hideous wound.
Red Penny ducked as something slammed into the wall by her head: a cherry-red sizzling axe embedded in stone. The huge weapon of Amogg Hadakk had been flung free of the blast.
The axe quickly cooled, and she reached up and tugged it free, staring at the blackened but still-sharp steel that felt strangely light, and so very right in her hands. An inhuman presence touched her mind then, and found her… acceptable. Savage drums and war horns sounded inside her head for a moment and a blood-mad fury filled her as she took an experimental swing with the huge weapon.
“Let’s kill the fuckers!” she roared as she took up position, ignoring the stares of the militia as she easily wielded the mighty orcish war axe with her scrawny human arms.
The Maleficent Seven Page 34