“How many men are in the fort, Commander? I do not want to have to ask again,” Accadus said softly to one of the Legionaries.
Dressed in his black plate armour and long black cloak, Accadus was an imposing presence. He had grown taller and muscular as he had trained with sword and spell at the feet of his master. His long black hair framed a strong, narrow face, and dark brown eyes that could intimidate any man. The legionary shivered in the cold, but kept his mouth shut. His green eyes stared at the baron defiantly. Blood dripped from a wound on his shaven head to run into his greying beard, the rain doing its best to wash the crimson liquid into the soaked earth.
Accadus tutted and gave the signal.
A burly man dressed in mail armour, bearing the sigil of Retbit, stepped behind one of the kneeling soldiers. He raised his axe high and brought the sharpened head down onto the legionary’s skull.
Bone and blood sprayed onto the mud. A sickening crunch prompted another of the prisoners to vomit. Accadus smirked cruelly. Casually, he gestured to another of the prisoners and the axe fell again. Panicked shouts came from the stripped legionaries.
“Two hundred!” the commander yelled, as the axe man stood behind him.
Accadus smiled and crouched in front to the terrified man.
“So, you let your men die, but when it comes to saving your own miserable life you sing like a canary,” he mocked. With a smile he nodded to his man again. The commander screamed for mercy but the axe silenced him. Accadus looked at the other prisoners.
“I am a merciful man. All I want is what is rightfully mine. I want the Sundered Crown and the realm. My father had a lawful claim to the crown and yet this upstart child, Alderlade, is king. How do we know that he is truly the son of the previous king? He could just be a fake, put on the throne by the council to act as their puppet.”
He walked down the line of kneeling men. None could match his gaze. Men would do almost anything to save themselves, even if it meant breaking their oaths. Very few were willing to die for their leaders.
A cloaked Sarpi approached, his blade dripping with blood. The survivors of the battle were being rounded up and loaded into wagons. With the powers taught to him by Danon, Accadus would turn his enemies into obedient slaves.
“Ah, Sintinius,” he greeted. “I was just about to seek you out. Your forces performed admirably. The Sarpi are deadly indeed.”
The Sarpi looked at the bodies of the legionaries and chuckled.
“Lord Danon was correct,” the Sarpi hissed. “I did enjoy putting Delfinnians to the sword. My forces are ready to attempt a crossing of the river. All you need do is give the word.”
Accadus smiled and looked over the scene of carnage. The battle had been brutal; both sides had lost many men. The difference was that Accadus could still use the dead. He watched as his men dragged the bodies of both Legionaries and his own forces into a pile in the centre of the boggy battlefield.
“Danon told me to wait. He wants to be sure of victory, if we move too quickly then we could be outnumbered. No, we will wait for his signal. We will attack from the east and he will strike from the west. The legion is weak and the barons are too busy squabbling amongst themselves. Our victory is assured.”
Sintinius hissed in annoyance.
“What about the wizard?”
Accadus scowled and his hands knotted into fists at the mention of his old enemy. Luxon had humiliated him at Caldaria, a shame that still made his cheeks flush in anger.
“He will not stop us,” he snarled as he stalked over to the growing pile of bodies. “He will try, but our plans are too far advanced for him to interfere. If he does appear, then I will deal with him. Master Danon has trained me well.”
“He has taught me the ways of the N’gist. Life through death!”
“Life through death,” Sintinius repeated reverently.
Accadus planted his sword into the muddy earth before standing next to the pile of bodies. He closed his eyes and summoned the magic within. Darkness filled him as he tapped into the foulest of powers. The air grew bitterly cold and ice began to form on his armour and upon Sintinus’s hood. Soldiers stopped to watch, and those that had been moving the corpses stared. Accadus stepped forward and placed his hands upon one of the dead; he channelled the dark powers through him and into the pile. To those watching, he was engulfed in shadow and the faint light being cast by the sun dimmed.
The Sarpi gathered closer and fell to their knees in prayer. The men of Retbit however backed away; they feared their lord’s power.
“Life through death,” they chanted.
The field fell into shadow as the light from the sun faded into nothingness and a whirling vortex of wind began to blow and surround the dead. The wind grew louder and louder until it stopped abruptly and an eerie silence fell. The darkness retreated, and the light returned. The Sarpi stopped their chanting.
Accadus stepped back and waited.
The corpse he had touched twitched. The fingers on the slain warrior’s hand began to move slowly. A moan came from the body as the dead man awkwardly picked itself up from the pile. Around him, the other dead began to writhe, their own horrific moans joining the first. Soon, all the bodies were moving and the moans turned into a near deafening howling. Men who had been slain just hours before began to stagger and walk. Some had gaping wounds on their torsos, others had limbs missing, but all moved like macabre puppets.
“Life through death,” Accadus whispered darkly.
* * *
It was dark when the moans grew in volume. The nervous legionaries manning the wall of Fort Zulus peered out into the blackness, their hands gripping their swords tightly. They had been waiting for an attack all day and their nerves were shot. The bulk of the Retbit forces had withdrawn, but the horrors they had left behind wandered the boggy ground across the river.
“The undead will come soon,” bellowed the fort’s commander. “The night will drive them towards prey and so we must be ready for them.”
The man was called Stalvos, a grizzled veteran who had battled the realm’s enemies for over twenty years. He had killed Fell Beasts, undead and all the other dark things that the old enemy sent his way. He had been the commander of the Ridderford garrison until the War of Claimants had begun. He had fought and bled at the Golden Hills, and now he found himself commanding a fort on the front lines in a war with Retbit.
“Light the braziers,” Stalvos shouted. Men rushed to and fro to carry out his orders. Soon, the torches lining the fort’s stone battlements were ablaze. Some of the younger men cried out when they saw the shambling host coming towards them.
The flowing waters of the Zulus River knocked some of the zombies off of their feet and carried them downstream. They would no doubt cause problems for some poor village.
The moaning grew louder as the zombies fixed their gaze on the lit torches. The crowd of undead staggered like drunks coming home from a night on the town.
“Ballistae!” Stalvos shouted.
The fort was small, but was still outfitted with two ballistae. The devastating weapons could shoot a six-foot-long bolt hundreds of meters and with lethal accuracy.
The ballistae operators quickly loaded the weapons and aimed. Stalvos held his arm high in the air and waited. More of the zombies began to enter the water; some fell, but most pressed on, their desire for flesh driving them onward. Stalvos dropped his arm and the ballistae fired with deafening twangs. The bolts flew, striking the hoard and carving a large furrow through the crowd, destroying a dozen undead in one strike.
“Archers, nock arrows,” Stalvos yelled. “Remember, fire destroys the dead.”
The men on the walls hefted their bow and lit their pitch-tipped arrows at the braziers. As one, they pulled back their bow strings and loosed. The flaming projectiles fell like rain, striking dozens of the shambling corpses. Some fell to the ground aflame, but many strode deeper into the river’s waters, dousing the flames.
Stalvos felt sweat break
out under his helmet. The zombies continued to shamble towards the fort, and the fire which normally destroyed the undead so easily was having little affect. A panicked cry came from further down the wall. He turned his head, his eyes straining in the darkness to see what was going on.
“Undead at the walls sir,” came a panicked shout.
Stalvos swore loudly and drew his silver-tipped sword. He marched down the line, shouting at his men to keep shooting. Sure enough, six zombies had managed to reach the base of the fort’s wall and were clambering up the stonework. He could see the snarling faces of creatures that had once been people.
A legionary impaled one of the climbers with a spear, but the weight of the zombie threatened to pull the spearman over the wall. Other soldiers rushed forward to hold their friend in place as the other zombies grabbed at the spear.
“Let the bloody thing go,” Stalvos ordered. The soldier did as he was told. The impaled zombie fell into the river with a loud splash, its arms feebly trying to remove the spear lodged in its guts.
The bulk of the horde had reached the base of the fort, their hands reaching skyward in an attempt to get to the legionaries above. The soldiers kept shooting, but the waters of the Zulus prevented the flaming projectiles from destroying the undead.
Stalvos peered over the side of the wall. He frowned as an idea formed in his head.
“Cease fire,” he commanded wearily. “Save your arrows.”
“Sir, they will surround us if we don’t stop them,” said one of his men in a panicky tone.
“I know, son. Better they stay focused on us than head deeper into the kingdom. Also, by keeping them here and fixed on us, the Retbit forces are going to have to deal with them before they can get to us. Those monstrosities might do us a favour when Retbit attacks in force.”
The soldiers glanced at each other uncertainly.
“Will help come, sir?”
Stalvos looked at his men. Most were just out of boyhood and training. They would never be able to hold the fort if Accadus unleashed his full strength. Despite that, he forced a confident smile onto his hard face.
“Aye. Help will come,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “The legion will not abandon us. When Retbit tries to take this place, we will stand strong and kill them all,”
He turned and walked back down the wall towards his quarters. He looked to the stars and muttered a prayer to whoever would listen.
They would surely need divine favour.
11.
Luxon was glad to be on the road again. As much as he enjoyed Caldaria, the sense of excitement that travel always created couldn’t be beaten. They had left the mage city under cover of darkness, in the hope that any spies sent by Accadus or Danon would miss their departure. Thanos would do his best to maintain the ruse that they were still in the city, but the enemy would no doubt learn the truth before long.
Their journey would be in two stages. Firstly they were to head to Sunguard, and there meet with Davik. A messenger had arrived in Caldaria the previous day requesting that Luxon returned to the capital. No reason was given but the message was stamped with the King’s seal.
The second part would be the long trip south-westward to the Watchers and the Great Plains.
The two moons were high in the cloudless sky; the air was cool and the smell of winter was on the breeze. Each of the travellers wore thick woollen cloaks over their usual attire to keep out the chill. They were on the King’s Road heading south towards the capital. Ferran led the way. The Nightblade’s knowledge of the kingdom’s terrain was unmatched, save for the rangers that wondered and defended the wilder places of the realm. The road was paved and in good repair thanks to the work of the King’s Legion. Trees and hedgerows were cut back and drainage ditches ran along both sides.
They had been travelling for a good while before they reached one of the sigil stones. The mysterious monoliths, that were dotted around the country and found within the realm’s towns and cities, had been created eons ago by the ancient mages of the Nivonian Empire to protect the land’s roadways and settlements from Fell Beasts. The stones resonated with a lost magic that kept the beasts of the Void away. Travellers often camped close to the stones, and tonight proved no exception. Ferran whistled in warning, and Luxon and the others slowed their mounts to a stop. The Nightblade urged his horse forward, his hand resting close to the hilt of his tourmaline sword. Sophia dismounted, readied her bow and moved quickly into the darkness to outflank whoever was here.
Two red tents were erected next to the stone, a slowly dying cooking fire giving off the only illumination at the camp. Ferran stepped closer and paused. The sound of people waking up with a start made him to drop into a combat stance.
A cacophony of swearing sounded, before the tent flaps opened and three tired looking people staggered outside. The tallest of the bunch held a spear whilst the only woman of the group carried a small knife. They shivered in the cold night.
“We mean you no harm, friends,” Ferran said soothingly. “We just want to share the safety of the sigil stone until the dawn.”
The tall man hesitated as he looked Ferran and the others over. His eyes widened as he spotted the weapons attached to their belts. Slowly, he placed his spear onto the ground and gestured for the woman to do the same.
“Aye, you lot look capable and don’t look like bandits, so I guess you can share the stone with us,” the man said, offering his hand. “My name is Tuilin, this is my wife Una, and this is my son Rendil.”
Ferran stepped forward and shook hands, explaining that they were a simple group of merchants heading towards the capital. Tuilin glanced at the others in suspicion.
Ferran waved Luxon and the others forward and they quickly went about setting up a small camp of their own. Within a few minutes, Kaiden had started a small fire and Sophia remerged from the trees lining the roadside, a dead rabbit hanging from her belt. Yepert, Luxon and Hannah took care of the horses, then sat down next to the fire.
Sophia cooked the rabbit as they all made small talk amongst themselves and the travelling family. The chill of the night was replaced with warmth and it wasn’t long before sleep came to them.
Luxon however didn’t feel tired, so offered to take the first watch. He sat next to the fire, his mind distracted by the journey ahead and thoughts of his mother. He hadn’t seen her for eight years. Would she be different? Would she even recognise him? His thoughts were interrupted by Tuilin’s voice.
“Not long until dawn, judging by the stars,” the man said.
Tuilin had a thin face topped off with a head of brown wispy hair. He now wore a thick travel coat as he settled next to the fire.
Luxon nodded. The clear sky revealed all the constellations he had read about in the books from Caldaria’s Great Library. The Swordsman stood proud and the Beggar sat low on the horizon. Luxon had learned that when the bottom most star of the beggar constellation dipped below the horizon, the sun would begin its daily rise.
“So, where are you heading, if you do not mind me asking?” said Tuilin, throwing a fresh log onto the fire. The wood burned brightly for a moment as the wood caught flame.
Luxon hesitated for a moment.
“We’re travelling to Plock,” he lied.
The stranger nodded, his eyes not leaving Luxon who shifted uncomfortably.
“You’re a bad liar, lad,” Tuilin said quietly. “Your dark-eyed friend said the same, but I have a talent for spotting liars. You’re a bunch of mages going somewhere – not to Plock, but somewhere.”
Luxon felt the hairs on his neck stand up. Something was wrong. The man sat opposite him was no ordinary traveller.
“Who are you?” he demanded. He channelled the magic within, ready to fight.
Before Tuilin replied, the woman Una and the young man Rendil quietly stepped out of the darkness. Una carried a long silver-tipped spear whilst Rendil held two short stabbing daggers. Around their necks hung amulets of a design Luxon had never seen befo
re.
“I would drop your weapons. Otherwise you might get hurt,” Luxon warned.
Tuilin chuckled menacingly.
“Is that right? We know who and what you are, lad. You’re the wizard, the one worth a small fortune. You can try and resist. It won’t do you any good.”
Luxon stood. He raised his arm and focused his power. To his amazement, nothing happened. He tried again to use the telekinetic spell to disarm the strange folk, but again nothing happened. Panic filled him as weakness flooded into his body. The group advanced menacingly.
“Help!” Luxon cried as a wave of tiredness washed over him. Desperately, he lunged towards the fire and with a yell hurled the cooking pot at the attackers. Boiling hot water splashed out, striking Rendil in the face. He collapsed to the floor in an agonised scream. Tuilin swore as the camp burst to life. Kaiden scrambled out of his tent his sword held at the ready. Ferran and Sophia, too, rushed to Luxon’s aid. They were all bleary eyed, but the sight of danger quickly brought them to their senses.
“Get behind me,” Ferran shouted as he pushed Luxon back. In his hand was his ignited tourmaline blade. Kaiden stood shoulder to shoulder with the Nightblade. Yepert and Hannah were also armed, Yepert with his short sword and Hannah with her pole staff.
Tuilin sneered at the group before grabbing his wounded “son” by the arm and dragging him backwards. Una keep her spear aimed at them.
“This isn’t over, wizard,” Tuilin snarled. “Know that you and your friends are hunted. We will meet again.”
“Shall we pursue?” Kaiden growled as the sound of the fleeing footsteps faded.
War for the Sundered Crown (The Sundered Crown Saga Book 2) Page 8