Tyrael shook his head sadly. “It is very difficult for the most powerful of us to appear on the mortal plane. Even I cannot manifest myself for more than a night at a time. I can offer advice, but nothing else.”
“Then we are already lost,” Sarnakyle said, turning to Tilgar. “We must evacuate the town, your lordship.”
Tilgar shook his head. “I do not understand. What is so special about this ‘Assur’? From what I can see, even with his current numbers, we still have equal forces and the town walls to protect us.”
“He is enchanted by a glyph that can only be cast once every millennium,” Sarnakyle said. “He cannot be slain by any hands alive, be they mortal or angelic. No weapon we have could touch him.”
“How could you possibly know this?” Tilgar demanded. “How can you be certain?”
“I am one of the Lords of the Vizjerei,” Sarnakyle explained. “For decades I studied the summoning of spirits and demons, and came to lead many of my clan in the council. The demons do not give information easily, and often it is enveloped in lies, but recently we have learned the names of most of the barons of Hell. Their lords, the lesser and Prime Evils, we know only by title. Of all of the barons, Assur is the most feared. We know little about him, save that he is the favored of the Lord of Terror, and that he is enchanted with the Glyph of Invincibility.”
“You can summon demons, correct?” Wulfgar asked. “Then can you summon monsters of your own to fight them?”
Sarnakyle shook his head. “My magic is not what it once was. When Bartuc, the Warlord of Blood, attacked the city of Viz-jun, we Vizjerei led the smaller clans into battle, believing that the demons we could summon, combined with the elemental magic of the lesser clans, would easily destroy the army of Bartuc.
“For centuries, we had summoned the creatures with ease, thinking that we could control them. At the siege, we discovered that for all these centuries we had been misled. The demons we summoned turned on us, savaging our own lines. When we attempted to banish them, we could not. If it had not been for the lesser clans, the city would have fallen on the first day. We had ten times the numbers of Bartuc’s army, and a third of us died in the siege, most lost not because of the forces of the Warlord, but because of our own summonings.
“After the siege, we of the Vizjerei were shattered. Most of the clan lords, such as I, began to wander, trying to rediscover what was real. I have spent the last two years relearning the elemental magic that saved us, but I am not nearly as powerful as I once thought myself. We cannot fight Assur with demons.”
Tyrael nodded. “Lord Sarnakyle is correct. You must rely on your own resources in this fight. If at all possible, however, you must not let Assur take the town. This could be the most important battle ever fought in the mortal realm.”
“I don’t understand,” Siggard said.
“Heaven and Hell have warred for millennia, but only recently have the forces of darkness taken an interest in the mortal realm. The realm used to be protected from the higher and lower planes, but the Prime Evils have used the Vizjerei to weaken that protection. If they can establish a foothold and keep it, then they will have a place that the forces of light cannot besiege, from which they can assault the very gates of Heaven. That is why they sent Assur; with him, they are certain they will be victorious.”
“How can we fight him?” Sarnakyle said.
“You can try to kill him,” Tyrael said. “Perhaps there is one among you who might succeed. But there is little chance of victory along that path. Instead, you should destroy his army. If you can drive it back, we will win this battle.”
Tilgar looked down, his face ashen. “I was once told by a seer that I was touched by fate, but I do not wish to fight Assur in single combat.” He raised his head to gaze at Tyrael. “And what happens to us if we lose?”
“An eternity of darkness,” Tyrael stated calmly. “And that is why they must not take this place.”
10
BATTLE
Always respect the purity of battle. For only in the heat of combat are all pretenses of nobility and quality stripped away, replaced by survival and death.
—Leoric of Khanduras, The Craft of War
As Siggard and Sarnakyle walked out of the castle, Siggard paused and struggled to don a shining coat of mail, a parting gift from Earl Tilgar. At last the byrnie settled into place, and Sarnakyle passed him his black cloak. As they walked, they heard the whistling of arrows and the screams of dying demons.
Siggard broke into a jog. “It has already begun in earnest.” He didn’t even bother to look if the wizard was following, but instead drew his sword. The runes on Guthbreoht’s blade writhed as though they had a new life.
Sarnakyle finally caught up to him. “You are that anxious for your revenge?” he asked, then added, “Do not let your fury undo you.”
Siggard stopped before the rough-hewn stairs to the wall and turned to face Sarnakyle. “Assur destroyed my village, my family, and my world. There will be blood for blood.”
With that, he ran up the hoary stone steps, Guthbreoht’s song becoming overpowering in his ears. As he crested the wall, he looked down into the roiling mass that had surrounded the town. The horde seemed almost infinite, despite the constant bombardment from the catapults, a rain of boulders that crushed all it touched. For a moment there was a silence as the demonic ranks surged under the wall.
Then the sun set.
There was a great roar from the monstrous army, and it rushed forward. The smaller dog creatures began to scale the wall, leaping from crevice to crevice with their claws. Guthbreoht took two of the creatures as they reached the top, splitting their heads like overripe melons. Still, a mass of the monsters leapt over the battlement, landing within the Entsteigian ranks with a shrill shriek.
A rush of flame singed Siggard’s side, and the charred corpse of one of the demons fell beside him. “Somebody has to watch your back,” Sarnakyle shouted, as even more of the foe poured over the wall.
Siggard screamed an ancient battle cry and advanced, gutting one of the monsters before it even knew he was there. Another leapt at him, axe at the ready, only to have Siggard strike, cutting the creature’s head in half and spraying brains onto the stone floor.
There was a nearby cry, as housecarls struggled against a larger group of demons. With a shout of rage, Siggard charged, scattering the creatures and killing two.
And still the foe flooded over into the ranks like a foul sludge.
Siggard found himself strangely separated from the battle, watching himself act. There was no longer any thought in his actions. He and the sword acted in concert, as though they had always belonged together. As the demons came over the wall, the blade greeted them with joyous song, spilling guts and black blood wherever it struck. Time itself became meaningless, and soon he could remember nothing before the fighting.
He was beyond exhaustion. Somehow, he knew that Earl Tilgar had joined the fray with more of his housecarls, heard the man’s hoarse war cries echo out over the wall. Although he was not certain how, he was aware of Sarnakyle sending spell after spell into the masses, the wizard protected by a ring of guards. As the red-tinged moon rose into the starry sky, the fetid stench of blood and death filled the air.
And then, abruptly, the demons stopped.
Siggard stood at the wall, his blade and mail-coat covered in blood and gore. Somehow, during the battle he had shed his black cloak. He suddenly wondered where it was, and whether he would have to get a new one.
“Are you all right?” Sarnakyle panted, stepping over several bodies towards him. “Are you uninjured?”
Siggard nodded. “I took no wound.”
“That must have been the first wave,” Earl Tilgar stated, leaning against the wall nearby, cleaning blood from his sword. “How long did that last?”
Siggard shrugged. “I’ve lost track.” When he looked down, he saw vague shapes moving in the darkness, but nothing else.
“I’ll try to get
some light down there,” Sarnakyle said, holding out his hand and chanting softly. A bolt of lightning split the air, landing just outside the wall. In the flash of light Siggard saw the still-roiling landscape, a pile of bodies lying beside the wall.
Siggard blinked, suddenly noting the unnatural silence. “What happened to the catapults?”
“They ran out of boulders a while ago,” Tilgar replied. The earl then turned to one of his housecarls. “Have lit bundles of wood lowered down the wall. We need to be able to see more than the moon will allow.”
As the soldiers carried out Tilgar’s commands, Siggard wished Assur himself would attack, scaling the wall so that he could strike at the monster that killed his family. In that moment, Siggard did not care about the archdemon’s enchanted glyph, or whether he himself would survive the battle. He shook his head clear of these thoughts to look over the battlement, the bottom now illuminated by flickering flames.
“Here they come again!” came a cry from the north, and Siggard looked over the parapet. In the moonlight, the goat creatures were attacking, carrying giant ladders to the hoary stone.
“Poles to the ladders!” Tilgar ordered. “Don’t let them reach the top!”
Siggard joined the others in a desperate race to topple the ladders, long bpoles pushing them from the walls, demons screaming as they fell to their deaths, but for each ladder that fell, another took its place. Siggard came to one, only to have a grinning goat head rise before him. With a stroke of Guthbreoht, he sent the head flying, and then helped the pole-men knock over the ladder.
The whistling of arrows filled the air, and several of the housecarls fell. Siggard heard a grunting behind him, and he turned just in time to skewer a goat demon. Guthbreoht’s song surged through him, and he began a dance of death, every step leaving a dead monster.
“They’re gaining the wall!” came a shout, and Siggard turned to see a mass of demons scale the parapet close to Earl Tilgar. With a shout of rage, he charged. The first monster he cut down from behind. Another turned and attacked, and he first cut the creature’s club in half, and then spilled its intestines onto the parapet.
Somebody shouted a warning, and Siggard turned, his sword raised. A demon was running at him, screaming for vengeance. With a thrust he put Guthbreoht through the creature’s head, splattering pink and white brains onto a nearby guardsman. He withdrew his blade only to attack the mass of monsters again in earnest.
Three more goat creatures fell to his sword, and then it became quiet, Guthbreoht’s song still throbbing in Siggard’s head. Tilgar looked up, the earl’s mail-coat torn and so blood-soaked that it no longer shone in the torchlight, yet little of the blood was his own. “Once again, I owe you a debt of thanks,” Tilgar said. “You just saved my life. If you ever have need, come to me or my family, and we will see to you.”
“If we survive this, I’ll redeem your pledge.”
Something twigged at Siggard’s mind, though, something important that he should be remembering. But the only thing he could liken this situation to was Blackmarch, and that was a stand-up battle rather than a siege.
“Where’s the third wave, do you suppose?” Tilgar asked.
Siggard shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. How he was fending off exhaustion was beyond him, but he wasn’t going to complain about the blessing. “I’m happy for any break we can get.”
Tilgar smiled and nodded. He turned to a housecarl. “Have these bodies flung from the wall, and see what can be done about the blood. If we get attacked again, we’ll be in greater danger of breaking our necks from tripping over the slain and slipping in their gore than from the demons.”
“I am the favored Baron of the Lord of Terror!” came a bellowing roar from the demonic ranks. “You have seen the might of my army! Know now that I have many more ready for battle! I will give you a choice, pitiful mortals! If you give us the town now, only half of you will die! If you fight, none of you will survive! Give me your answer!”
Tilgar rose and stood by the wall. “It is you who will not survive, Assur, Baron of Hell! Know now that any one of us would rather die than serve you! Come to fight me, and I will kill you with my own hands!”
“You are a fool, little man, for no creature alive can slay me!” Assur cried. “All of you will die, mortals! For you have already lost!”
Even as the archdemon answered, Siggard’s stomach sank in realization. The battle at the wall had been a diversion . . .
“By all that’s holy, Tilgar, evacuate the town,” Siggard cried.
Tilgar turned to him in shock. “Surely you aren’t going to believe this foul . . .”
Suddenly, from the keep there was the hiss of arrows, and almost half of the soldiers still on the wall fell, struck down by the deadly bolts. A great roaring came up from the demonic ranks as they surged forward, bearing more ladders.
“The Hiddens took the keep while we weren’t looking,” Siggard said. “Give the signal to evacuate. This battle is lost!”
Tilgar gave Siggard a look of horror, his face pale as a ghost. Then he turned to the housecarl and nodded. The soldier raised a horn and blared several notes.
“Siggard, Sarnakyle, you are coming with me,” Tilgar ordered. “The city guard knows what to do now.”
“Are you sure we aren’t needed here?” Sarnakyle asked, stepping forward. Siggard turned to see the wizard’s face was flushed with sweat, the man swaying from exhaustion.
“Any man who stays on the wall now dies,” Tilgar said, motioning to the men around him with his mace of office. The blue-clad soldiers were busy knocking over the ladders and loosing arrows on the keep. “The guards know what they must do, and they are all ready to make the sacrifice. We now have a sacred trust to the innocents in this town. They have already been taken into the tunnels. We must ensure that they are not followed.”
Siggard nodded, and looked towards the demonic ranks. “This isn’t over,” he vowed, speaking above the hissing of arrows. With that, he and Sarnakyle followed the earl down, trying not to look back at the brave men on the wall, who knew that they would die that night but continued fighting regardless.
Tilgar led them through the maze of streets, Sarnakyle quickly snagging something from an abandoned shop as they walked. The sounds of the fighting had grown faint, although the arrows still flew overhead.
Finally, they came to a rough stone building in the town square. Outside stood Hunfrith, waiting impatiently, a sword in his trembling hand. “All of the remaining housecarls are inside,” he said. “The King’s Men have elected to stay and fight.”
Tilgar shook his head. “The loss of life is wasteful, but it will buy us some time. Let us go.”
As Hunfrith turned, something swooped out of the shadows. Siggard raised his sword, a cold sweat running down his back. One of those shadowy things from Blackmarch had arrived, and from its strange form emerged razor sharp claws.
“Go!” Sarnakyle shouted, raising his hand and uttering an incantation. A bolt of fire exploded from his palm, splashing into the creature to no effect. Then Siggard struck, slashing out with Guthbreoht while shouting a war cry. As he moved, he was aware of Tilgar and Hunfrith dashing into the building.
The thing recoiled as Guthbreoht touched it, and Siggard struck again and again, until the strange monster fell back and dissolved into the darkness. Whether it was dead or just mending its wounds, Siggard did not know. Regardless, he was certain the time had come to flee.
Siggard backed into the building, followed by Sarnakyle, who closed and barred the door behind them. He jumped as a hand touched his shoulder, nearly striking out with Guthbreoht, but something in the sword’s song stopped him. “Come, the way is clear,” Earl Tilgar’s voice said, and he and Sarnakyle turned to find themselves facing a large staircase leading into the earth.
Tilgar led them down, a torch in his hand, and Siggard soon lost track of the number of steps they descended. When they got to the bottom, they found themselves in a large, torchlit tun
nel. Deep in the tunnel they could hear a multitude of hushed but fading voices, as though a large number of people were moving away.
“Come with me,” Tilgar said, and he took several steps forward. Then he wrenched one of the torches from the wall. There was a great roar from the earth, and several tons of stone fell down the staircase, sealing it.
“Now they cannot follow,” the earl said, and led them into the tunnel. “These passages have been here since the earliest days of the town,” he said, motioning to the rocky gray walls. His pale face flickered in the torchlight. “Recently, they were expanded into an escape route, and several of them were sealed off. This will take us well into the west, where we can begin to make our way to the capital. Hopefully, the archdemon will be too busy in Brennor to stop us.”
“When were they evacuated?” Siggard asked. “There have to be ten thousand people in the town.”
“We started evacuating people shortly after your warning,” Tilgar replied, quickening the pace. “We had them wait in the tunnel, to avoid revealing its existence. A quarter of the housecarls went with them, just in case the tunnel was discovered. The signal I sent was the one to begin moving people out of the passage, not into it.”
How long they walked, Siggard could not be certain. Deep in the musky earth, without sun, moon, or stars, he had no way of measuring time, and with his deepening fatigue, the entire experience seemed like a waking dream.
Suddenly, from behind them there was a dull rumbling, like a distant thunder. Earl Tilgar smiled grimly. “I do not think Brennor will be the fortress Assur had hoped,” he said, but he would not say more.
Finally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Dawn’s amber glow broke through the gloomy earth, and they emerged from a hill into the cloudless morn. Siggard shivered at the morning chill, and Sarnakyle pressed something warm and soft into his hand.
DIABLO: DEMONSBANE Page 7