Tarrin Kael Firestaff Collection Book 3 - Honor and Blood by Fel ©

by James Galloway (aka Fel)

  The Demoness screamed then, a scream of fury, rage, pain, and bitter frustration. "This is not over, Were-cat!" she screamed at him. "Your soul is mine! Mine, do you hear! I'll return to take it from you!" she promised, spitting the curse at him, and then her body simply evaporated into a hazy black mist, which itself vanished a second later.

  There was a stunned silence on the field, which suddenly became a collective groan from the forces of the ki'zadun. It intensified when Camara Tal's reinforcments arrived and joined the lines, doubling the numbers of defenders they would have to defeat to break through. They just lost their general and their greatest weapon, and all of them had suddenly lost the will to battle with the deadly Knights and Vendari. But Tarrin didn't hear them, didn't see them cringe, didn't see the defenders give a great rallying cry and surge forward with renewed vigor. Tarrin's eyes were locked on Faalken, who just grinned that grin at him, gave him a wave of salute, and then vanished into nothingness just as the Demoness had vanished, leaving the armor and sword behind to clatter to the ground.

  Just like that, he was gone. Faalken had saved him, protected him long enough to complete the spell. Even from the grave, Faalken continued to make his presence known, continued to aid his old friend.

  Tarrin sank to one knee, feeling totally exhausted, and released the Weave to allow magic to flow again. He didn't know whether to feel happy or sad to see Faalken, and at the moment he was too tired to care about it. He crawled over to Thalia as the Knights and Vendari pushed the ki'zadun up against the breastworks, pinning them in place and then proceeding to slaughter them, but he didn't take notice. He rolled the Alu over onto her back as gently as he could, a hard job because of her wings, but he gave up being gentle when he looked into her glassy, blank eyes.

  Thalia was dead.

  She had sacrificed herself to protect him, just as Faalken had done for Dolanna. Despite being half Demon, she had given her life for the noblest of reasons, to protect someone else, and he felt a strange, towering pride for her. She had saved him, and in her own way, she had turned the tide of battle by giving him the time he needed to banish the Demoness. He said a silent prayer for Thalia, a humble beseechment of the Goddess that she look over the soul of Thalia and guide her to an afterlife deserving of her heroic actions. The shock of seeing Faalken again, of knowing that yet another had died because of him, it was a little too much. Tears formed in his eyes as he reached down to close her dark eyes, prepared to carry her back to her mother and apologize for what happened.

  Then, to his absolute shock, Thalia took in a ragged breath. Those glassy eyes blinked, then she looked up at him in confusion. "What's going on?" she asked.

  "I thought you were dead!" he gasped.

  "It's possible to kill through the mind, but it's not easy," she said to him with a sudden grin. "It just took me a while to shake off the defeat, that's all. I guess I must have looked dead." Her grin faded as she realized that he was weeping. "Tears, for me? I'm very touched, Were-cat," she said gently. "But a little misplaced. I took on the marilith through the mind, knowing that she wouldn't be able to kill me with her swords. And I knew someone would come along behind me and keep her from finishing me off," she winked. "You know, the desperate defense of the fallen sacrificial lamb, and that sort of thing."

  Tarrin laughed helplessly. Goddess, but Demons were cunning little things! "Thalia, you're just like your mother."

  "Thank the pit. At least that means that I was paying attention when she taught me."

  Tarrin laughed again, and then they struggled to help each other up. Tarrin was exhausted, totally drained, both physically and emotionally, after everything that had happened, but the result did seep through that as he saw the fruits of their labor and preparation. The enemy forces had been destroyed on their side of the fence, and the survivors were fleeing back into the city, leaving their screaming comrades still trapped on the fence behind. The loss of the marilith had crushed the will to fight out of them, and now they were running away in a full rout.

  At least on their front, the battle had been won.

  Now it fell to Kang and Darvon to win their battles, and the war would be over.

  The battle at the breach in the fence was pitched and furious.

  The remaining Wizards for the enemy were all concentrated there, and they used their magic liberally to burn at the palisade, to force the defenders away from the breastwork long enough for the soldiers crawling across the ditch to gain a foothold on that side of the ditch. The Sorcerers were taken aback by the flurry of magic, but then formed a Circle with Sevren leading and choked off the Wizards' powers, eliminating their advantage. It turned into a bloody stalemate as ki'zadun and the defenders exchanged blows over the palisade, neither side able to gain enough of an advantage to either push the attackers back or breach the lines of the defenders.

  But that changed when Shiika and her lone Cambisi daughter entered the fray. Safe from Wizard spells, they waded over the palisade and attacked the ki'zadun with swords, and proved to be as devastating to the ki'zadun as the marilith had been against the Knights and Vendari. Neither of them even bothered to defend themselves, they hacked wildly at the men before them. They were invulnerable to the weapons of their enemies, and that protection proved fatal for the men facing the two Demonesses. They cut a huge swath through their opponents, pushing the ki'zadun back to the ditch where they were fighting. It went on like that for long moments, until the two of them pulled back to the defender's side of the palisade and took a short break to rest.

  The stalemate raged even as the bodies began to pile up on both sides of the palisade. Kang engaged the enemy personally at the center of the lines, taking his own turn at the forefront of the breastwork to keep the enemy on the other side of it. The short Arakite proved to be a deadly warrior, a master of his longsword and the doom of every man who came up against him. Kang was a fencer, using his sword in light, delicate movements to brush aside the opposing weapon and deliver a lethal stab to the throat or chest, or a killing slash over the head, neck, or upper belly. The ground on the other side of the palisade from Kang began to pile up with the bodies of his opponents, and with his help, the line remained strong and unbroken.

  About that time, one Wizard appeared to be up to something. It was a tall, emaciated man that looked like a walking cadaver, wearing black robes and carrying a black steel rod. He rose it up and began to chant in a strong voice, and it was apparent from the shocked looks on the faces of the Sorcerers that this was magic they couldn't counter. When the realization that this was the one that rose all the undead that Darvon's men were currently fighting reached through the lines, there was a sudden tension on their side. But the Knights and Vendari were too seasoned, too well trained to run away. They simply prepared themselves to face a newly populated force with plenty of undead. But when they realized that the dead on their side had been carried off the field, behind the lines, there was a sudden panicked call to decapitate all the dead before they woke up to attack them from behind.

  Kang swore. If they raised all the dead, his forces would be surrounded!

  For several seconds, it hung there, dead silence except for the chanting of the thin Wizard. But then a strangled cry issued forth from beyond the fence, then another, and then another, and the thin Wizard suddenly stopped chanting, and it was apparent that he didn't do it because the spell was over. A figure exploded from the ranks of the men around the thin man, a man wearing armor that was polished so much that it shone brilliantly in the noontime sun, almost like polished silver. The Wizard seemed to recoil from the armored warrior in the worst way, looking to be in total terror of the man, and then he turned to run from him. But the armored warrior moved with blazing speed, was upon him in five steps, and slashed that sword down the back of the Wizard. The Wizard shrieked in agony, fell to the ground and writhed in intense pain, trying to reach behind him to the wound. A wound that, Kang saw when he climbed atop the palisade and watched, bled with such profusion tha
t it had to be unnatural. The armored figure stood over him, cackling in glee, then sliced him again on the side, then again on the arm, then again on the leg, light wounds, little more than scratches, that bled so liberally that it looked like the blood was fountaining out of the man like a geyser. Absolute silence swept over the field, except for the cackling of the man and the screams of the Wizard.

  "Jegojah, he knew the Sorcerers would block yer magic, yes," the armored man hissed in delight. "Does it hurt, Kravon? Promised ye, Jegojah did, that Jegojah would bleed ye and watch ye die. Oh, and promised, Jegojah did, to cut ye for the Were-cat." He put a boot on the Wizard's neck to stop his thrashing, then dropped the tip of his sword down and, quite deliberately, raked it across the eyes of the Wizard, putting them out. "Now then, Jegojah hopes that ye don't die too quickly. Too long has Jegojah waited to avenge himself against ye, yes. Entertain Jegojah, Wizard, before we both go on to our final reward."

  The wizard thrashed on the ground with his hands over his face, blood spewing from between his fingers like a crimson waterfall. As they all watched, Vendari, Knight, ki'zadun, Sorcerer, and Wizard alike, the thrashing and convulsions of the man on the ground grew weaker and weaker as a pool of red formed around him, soaking into the cobblestones of the street. The man's pale skin became pale white, and he moved with only the feeblest jerks, whimpering incoherently. And then he moved no more. The blood stopped flowing, flesh turning gray, and Kang realized with some reserve that somehow, every drop of blood had been leeched out of the man's body.

  There was only the cackling laughter of the armored man, and that abruptly stopped. The man saluted the defenders with his sword and called to them. "Tell the Were-cat that Jegojah got their man," he said to them. "Tell him that Jegojah, he wishes him good luck and Gods' speed on his journey. Tell him that Jegojah bids farewell."

  And then the man simply collapsed.

  They watched his body crumple to the ground, and nobody did anything for a very long moment. And then, like a sudden tide, all the Wizards on the far side of the field turned and began to run away. Seeing their Wizards break, the footsoldiers turned and fled back over the ditch, back out of the breached fence, running without formation or discipline out into the city. It was a rout.

  The strange armored man had somehow broke the spirit of their enemies! That must have been one of their leaders!

  The defenders gave out a great cry of victory, but Kang knew that it wasn't over yet. He quickly ordered his troops to chase the fleeing enemies, to make sure they didn't regroup and attempt another assault.

  But that was only the finishing touches on what had been a long, intense battle, the battle the likes of of which Kang had never thought to be a part. A battle for the history books.

  A battle they had won.

  The enthusiasm didn't exist at the Fountain of the Swans.

  Anchored by a warehouse on one side and a large inn on the other, the Arakites formed an anchor to which the rest of the defenders clung, forming a shield wall to hold back the terrifying masses of undead warriors as they strove to break through. The undead fought with and without weapons, those without seeking to drag men out of the lines and into their numbers, where they would be torn apart. The defenders fought furiously to hold the lines and prevent themselves from being dragged out to their doom, as the mindless undead pressed up against the interlocked shields of the Arakite Legions as men behind pushed them away with pikes and spears, trying to drive them through the heads of their enemies

  Darvon was in the middle of it, using a pike to push away undead pulling at the shields of the Arakites, men literally being held in place by the Ungardt and Centaurs to prevent the undead from grabbing the edges of the shields and drag the men out to where they could be rent apart. Things could have been alot worse, if Jenna hadn't killed at least a thousand of them with magic that cut through them like a scythe, decapitating a mess of them at once. The Ward that contained the others made their numbers at least managable, but that had been all that Jenna could muster. She was sitting unceremonoiusly on the ground about twenty spans behind the lines along with the Keeper and the other Sorcerers, who were all completely drained. There would be no more magical assistance from them, but they had already done more than enough to give them a fighting chance. Darvon returned to the grim task of pushing back undead, many of them wearing the uniforms of the Arakites and the Sulasians, bodies hijacked to fight for the other side.

  There was a scream to his left, and one of the Arakites was pulled into the writhing mass of undead, his screams cut brutally short as he was torn to pieces. Undead suddenly surged into the hole the man had occupied, and for a terrifying moment, Darvon thought that they were going to break the line. The Arakites struggled to close the hole, but too many of their undead enemies had taken up the space he'd occupied. One brave Ungardt bodily slammed into the undead, using his great height and size to bull them out of the hole, but paid for it when the undead grabbed hold of him and dragged him past the Arakites. Darvon saw that the man had saved them from having the line breached, but he was about to pay for it with his life.

  But something odd happened. All the undead seemed to shudder, all at once...and then they all fell to the ground.

  The Ungardt that had saved the line stood out there, all by himself, about a span in front of the startled lines, looking around in confusion. But all the undead had fallen to the ground, and none of them were moving.

  Darvon blinked. Had the magic that created them expired? One of the Arakites jabbed at the corpse of a Dargu with his spear, but it didn't move. None of them moved.

  The defenders held the line, wary that they would all get up again, but it didn't happen. They stayed in formation, muttering amongst themselves in a nervous kind of anticipation for long moments, ready if the bodies moved again.

  But they didn't.

  An Aeradalla landed behind the lines, and was quickly rushed over to Darvon. The winged woman saluted him sharply, out of breath and obviously excited. "The troops at the Tower have repulsed the humans trying to break in!" she announced. "They killed the enemy commanders and captured the magical device that made all the bodies move, Lord General Darvon. The enemy troops are running away!"

  There was a sudden roar of relief and joy from the assembled armies of the defenders, and Selani and Arakite exchanged congratulations as Ungardt pounded Centaurs on the back, and Sulasians clapped hands with Wikuni and Were-kin.

  "General Kang requests that you dispatch troops to catch all the fleeing enemies, Lord General," the Aeradalla said happily. "They're in a full rout!"

  Darvon blew out his breath, saying fervent prayers of thanks to Karas. That had come literally in the nick of time. If those undead had had five more minutes--he didn't even want to think about it. "Alright then, let's break up and capture all the enemies running away!" he boomed. "When that's done, it'll be time to celebrate! Lieutenants, take your squads out into the city and capture any enemies you encounter! My dear, if you would be so kind as to go up and tell all your friends to circle over the enemy soldiers, we'd appreciate it. They'll be much easier to find with your help."

  "Of course, my Lord General," she smiled sweetly at him, then turned and vaulted into the sky.

  "All right then, why are we standing around here?" he called in good-natured ribbing. "We have orders to carry out! Let's go, let's go! A little more, and then we feast and celebrate our victory!"

  There was a sudden booming roar from the defending armies just before they broke up and began scouring the streets for the routed enemy, for they all knew that for all intents and purposes, the battle was over.

  They had won.

  To: Title EoF

  Chapter 37

  It was a celebration.

  It took all the rest of the day and half the night to carry out the bodies of the slain and give them proper burial a few longspans to the south of the city, where no farming was carried out. But after that was done, a task that civilian and soldier alike were co
mmitted to accomplishing before the bodies became a health risk to the city, the celebrating began. Every festhall, inn, and tavern was packed with revellers as they celebrated victory over the enemy, celebrated an end to the fighting, or celebrated the memory of the brave men who had fallen protecting Suld. Though many had died--more than they'd expected--the victory made it impossible to feel too somber for the lost, for the intoxicating wine of victory had flushed the survivors. There was a surprisingly small number of fights, most of them being the Ungardt, and they usually only fought one another when they were drunk, so the revelling taking place out in the city was a generally peaceful one.

  Of course, not everyone was celebrating. There had been no civilian casualties, but there had been some damage to the eastern quarter of the city, and those who had had homes or businesses damaged during the fighting were not in a partying mood. That problem had been exascerbated after the rout began, as desperate ki'zadun soldiers broke into the empty buildings and tried to hide. The men that went in after them usually weren't very careful about the building, so alot of internal damage was done to the buildings standing as the soldiers fought to drag the prisoners out of their holes. Though they were grateful that the enemy had been repulsed, those unfortunates who had suffered loss in property were still a bit put out with the whole thing, and rightfully so.