Quinn was pointing to an area where enemy soldiers had gained the ramparts in several places using ladders.
“Where are the defenders?” Mansel said.
“Caught off guard, I suppose,” Quinn answered.
Zollin was already delving into his magic. It was like walking through an inferno. His containment field was holding, but just barely.
“I need wine and food, Mansel,” Zollin said.
“How can you think of eating at a time like this?”
“Just get it. Hurry!” Zollin shouted.
Mansel rushed down the stairs as Zollin sent a shock wave of magical power hurtling toward the invaders who had taken up a position on the southern wall of the city. The power was invisible, but the results were undeniable. The enemy soldiers went flying off the wall, knocking their climbing comrades off the ladders as they fell. Yelsian soldiers came running from both directions to secure the wall.
“We need more men on the south wall,” Zollin shouted down the trap door.
“Here comes the King,” said Quinn, who was leaning over the wall and looking down into the castle courtyard.
“He won’t be happy,” Zollin said.
“I should kill him for betraying you,” Quinn said.
“No, that isn’t our place. We’re going to help the city survive and then we’ll figure out the next thing to do.”
“What if the King turns on you again?”
“We’ll deal with that if it happens.”
He began using his magical power to push the scaling ladders off the wall wherever he saw them. The ladders weren’t heavy, but leaning against the wall, especially when a man was climbing up the ladder, made them especially difficult to cast back down.
King Felix arrived on the tower before Mansel returned with food for Zollin.
“What the devil are you doing?” King Felix said.
“I’m saving your city,” Zollin said angrily. He felt his magic on the verge of overcoming his control, and he sagged against the wall, hunger and fatigue finally taking their toll despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“You had no right,” said King Felix.
“No right to do what, not eat the food you drugged? Or maybe save your life when the Torr wizard betrayed you? Or maybe you mean I have no right to risk my life for this city. Which is it?”
“How do I know you didn’t destroy the gate?” King Felix said. “This could all be part of some elaborate plan.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Zollin said. “I’ve done nothing but help, but I’ll be glad to leave the city and let you fight this battle on your own.”
“No, no, no!” King Felix shouted. “Stay, help us. We’ll deal with all of this madness later.”
“You’re right, we will,” Zollin said.
The attack began to falter after an hour or so. Mansel finally arrived with a large bottle of wine. He also had bread, cheese, and some roasted chicken.
“Sorry it took me so long, but I couldn’t find anyone in the kitchens,” Mansel said.
Zollin tore into the food like a starving man. He started with the meat, ripping off huge chunks with his teeth, hardly chewing at all, and then swallowing it down. He gulped the wine and felt his strength returning.
Reports began coming in to the King that the enemy was pulling back. They weren’t retreating but rather halting their attack. They began moving toward the main gate, which didn’t surprise Zollin.
The King sent a large portion of his soldiers to hold the gate, and Zollin thought it best he go there, too. Mansel was happy to be getting into the action. He wanted to fight, and Zollin knew it was a way for him to deal with the frustration and shame he felt for his actions while under the witch’s spell. They hurried down to the main gate, or where the main gate had once stood. It was completely destroyed, but most of the rubble was there. Commander Hausey was still organizing the defense. He had a dent in his helmet, and blood was trickling down from under it.
“Zollin, it looks like they’re going to push hard here,” Hausey said.
“I expected as much,” Zollin replied. “We need to be ready for them. What can I do?”
“Can you heap this rubble up, so that it makes the entrance narrower?”
“Sort of like a bottle neck?”
“That’s right, and if we can station men on top of the rubble, the enemy will try to break through the center and we won’t have to fight so many at once.”
Zollin was feeling stronger, although his magic was still churning like a forest fire. He let his power flow out and began to levitate the rubble. Quinn helped him figure out how to build up the piles so they were most secure, and, when they were finished, the opening where the gate had been was now wide enough for only five men to pass through walking side by side.
“Do you think they’ll attack?” Mansel asked.
“They should,” Hausey said. “They won’t have a better opportunity. We beat back their attempts to scale the walls. Am I right in assuming you had a hand in that, Zollin?”
“I did what I could.”
“It was a big help. If they had gotten inside the city all would have been lost. We simply don’t have enough men to cover every part of the wall, not now that most of our reserve troops were called in to help hold the main gate. To answer your question, Mansel, I think they will attack again, but they could revert to a siege. If they do, though, we’ll need to find a way to drive them away. A siege would allow us to make this gate stronger, but we can’t fully rebuild it.”
“And if we give them too much time their wizard will recover and nullify the advantage that Zollin gives us,” Quinn said.
“That’s absolutely right. We need to end this, as soon as possible.”
“Can you tell what the wizard from the Torr is up to?” Quinn asked Zollin.
“No, I can’t sense him. He’s got defenses as I do,” Zollin admitted. “What if we could get our heavy horse cavalry out to attack them? Could we disrupt them enough to drive them back?”
“It’s possible, but we would need a way to get the horses out of the city,” Hausey said.
“I think I can manage that. And then, I can use magic to mimic the sound of charging cavalry and disrupt them more. At this stage I think illusion is a better weapon than anything else we’ve got.”
Commander Hausey gave the order for the heavy cavalry to form up at the main gate. Half an hour later, Commander Corlis in full armor rode up and raised his visor.
“Tell me what you have in mind, Hausey,” he said.
“Zollin is going to create a distraction for you, then do your best to kill as many as you can,” Hausey said.
“I’m going to create a massive dust cloud to hide your troops,” Zollin told him. “Then I’m going to do my best to scare the hell out of them, but it’s up to you to get them scattered and running.”
“That should be no problem, if we can get out of the city. From what I’ve heard you put most of their cavalry out of commission earlier.”
“Yes, I hope that was most of them,” Zollin said. “Where were you, by the way?”
“Ask your father,” Corlis said, turning his horse and riding back to his men.
Zollin looked at Quinn who just shrugged his shoulders.
“What?” Quinn said, trying his best to sound innocent.
“Do I want to know?” Zollin asked.
“Let’s just say your old man has a mean right hook,” Mansel said.
“Oh, boy. Let’s get started.”
Chapter 36
Offendorl was moving as quickly as his withered legs could carry him. Healing his sprained ankles had taken what little magical power he had left. He was sure that Zollin had moved back toward the city, but that didn’t mean he was out of danger. His chest was heaving, and his center of magic felt as if it were eating him alive. He hadn’t been tested in magical battle in decades, and the effort it had taken to withstand Zollin’s unrelenting attack had almost broken the ancient Master of the Torr.
He could see the kings and their generals, all still on horseback. None seemed interested in coming to his aid, which only made the elder wizard more angry. He had been caught off guard, and even though he knew it was a simple mistake, he felt embarrassed. In the Torr he maintained total control over himself, his circumstances, and the other wizards. It had been years since he had been forced to work the kind of magic he had used just to survive his duel with Zollin. Now he was exhausted, his mouth parched and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His legs shook, so that with each step they felt as if they might collapse beneath him. His arms ached, and worst of all, his breathing was becoming difficult. He needed to stop, to rest, to eat and drink, even take the time to heal himself, but he had no time. Nor did he have the magical strength to do any sort of magic at the moment. All he knew was pain and urgency.
When he finally drew close enough to the group of kings and generals they took note of him. King Belphan looked down his nose at the ancient wizard.
“It seems you were wrong again, Offendorl,” he said.
“Don’t. .” the wizard said between gasps for breath, “mock. . me.”
“I’m not mocking. I’m simply stating a fact. Every step of this entire invasion has been a disaster. Now it is up to our armies to do what you could not.”
“What is happening?” Offendorl said.
He turned back to look at the city for the first time since he had fled the battle with Zollin. He watched as the army marched toward the city. Seeing thousands of troops storming a castle was a spectacle, but the wizard had no interest in the battle.
“I need a horse,” Offendorl said.
None of the officers moved.
“What happened to yours?” Belphan said in a mocking tone.
“You know what happened,” Offendorl said. “Or were you too busy running away to notice?”
“Do not try me, old man. I’ve listened to your condescension for the last time.”
“And I your impudence.”
“General Varlox, bring me the wizard’s head!” Belphan shouted.
One of the men next to King Belphan drew his sword and spurred his horse forward. Despite the intense heat and pain it caused, Offendorl reached out with his magic and snapped the general’s neck. The soldier toppled backwards off his horse, dead before he even reached the ground. The horse, sensing it no longer had a rider, trotted to a stop next to Offendorl, who took hold of the animal’s bridle.
“You are a fool, Belphan,” Offendorl said.
Then Belphan, King of Osla, burst spontaneously into flames. He shrieked in agony, and his horse bolted away from the city, its rider roasting to death on its back.
“What the devil are you doing?” King Zorlan cried.
“I am finished dealing with your kind,” Offendorl said, but even as he said it he felt something deep inside of him break. It was like a dry twig that snaps under foot. Offendorl doubled over in pain as his magic spread like fire through his gut.
“What does that mean?” Zorlan said. “Are you meaning to kill me, too? I am of royal blood.”
There were three generals from Osla and two from Falxis. They looked at one another anxiously, their horses stamping nervously and resisting the riders who tried to calm them down.
“I need food,” Offendorl snapped. “Get it,” he said through teeth clenched in pain.
He wanted to lie down, but there was no place but the filthy ground. His wagon was gone, and the tent he had given to Belphan and Zorlan was too far away. One of the generals went to bring him something to eat, but Offendorl could tell that he had pushed himself too far. He still had great power, but his physical body could no longer handle the strain.
“Someone help me onto this horse,” he groaned.
Another of the generals dismounted and helped Offendorl climb up into the saddle. The wizard’s skin was pale.
“I need rest, Zorlan. I trust you can manage this siege with me.”
“Yes, of course,” King Zorlan said.
“Good, I will be in your tent. If I am needed, come to me there.”
Zorlan nodded.
As Offendorl rode slowly away, another rider came galloping up. He threw up a quick salute and then reported on the army’s efforts on the far side of the city.
“We have been repelled on all fronts,” the soldier said. “Our scaling ladders are pushed off the walls and no one has been successful in breaching the city’s defenses.”
“Stop the attack,” said one of the generals. “Have everyone form up here, on this side of the city. There’s no need to waste our strength trying to scale the walls. The main gate’s been destroyed for us. We can concentrate our efforts there.”
“If we are going to continue the attack,” said another general, this one from Osla.
“And why wouldn’t we?” Zorlan asked.
“Our King is dead,” said the soldier.
“But you heard the wizard. He wants the attack to continue.”
“I don’t fight for him.”
“Well,” said King Zorlan, “you can certainly be the one to tell him that. As long as you remain on the field of battle, you will carry out your duties as I command you. Now, I agree with General Wessel. Let’s concentrate our attack here, at their ruined gate.”
* * *
Offendorl wasn’t sure if he could climb down off the horse. His body was shaking and he could barely hold his head up. Then, one of his tongueless servants appeared. There was blood soaking the left side of his head, but he was walking normally and seemed well enough to help.
The servant supported Offendorl as the wizard slid down off the horse and then helped him into the tent. The general who had gone in search of food returned to the tent with wine and bread.
“It’s all I could find,” the general replied.
“It will do,” said Offendorl in a weak voice. “Return to your post.”
He sipped wine, but the drink only made his stomach hurt worse. He needed to heal himself, but he didn’t have the magical strength to do it. He lay back, fearing the worst.
“Go and get the golden crown,” he told his servant. “It was in the wagon. You must find it.”
The servant hurried away. Offendorl felt his stomach; it was stiff and painful to touch. Something had split apart in his abdomen, and he was bleeding internally. He needed to get help, but he wasn’t sure what to do, or where he could get someone to help him. Perhaps if he gave himself time, he would be able to heal himself, but he didn’t know. Never in his life had he been so helpless, and the feeling terrified him.
He forced himself to eat, even though he knew he would only vomit the food back up. Still, eating and drinking had always been the way he restored his magical powers in the past. The wine burned down his throat and set his stomach on fire. He waited as long as he could, but soon he felt himself growing sleepy. He knew if he fell asleep he could die or become too weak to work magic. He had to heal himself now, or he was lost.
He let his mind look into his stomach. The effort was excruciating, but he managed to see the problem. His stomach had torn loose from his small intestines. Blood and food were filling his body cavity. He would have to deal with the blood later. He focused on healing his organs. It took longer than he expected, but he was able to repair the damage. The pain eased considerably, and he passed out.
* * *
Zollin and Quinn had climbed up to the ramparts of the city wall, near the destroyed main gate. They had a clear view of the army that was regrouping along the vast plain that spread out in front of the city. Zollin remembered seeing the city for the first time from the high hills in the distance. There had been a sprawling village of makeshift homes and shops in the plain, but they had been destroyed in anticipation of the siege. Now it was a killing field that the troops would have to cross in order to attack the city.
Zollin looked back, just inside the city gate. Commander Hausey had soldiers lined up, ready to make a human wall across the expanse left va
cant by the ruined gate. He also had men stationed on the mounds of rubble that Zollin had built up against the city walls. The King had arrived only moments before with his generals. They were inspecting the lines of defense with approval. Commander Hausey had done his work well.
Zollin turned back to the empty plain and began stirring up an immense cloud of dust. The dirt rose into the air, swirling and churning until it blocked Zollin’s view of the opposing army. Then he sent fear and panic through his magic toward the invaders. Soon he could feel their terror as the dust cloud approached.
“Now,” he told Quinn.
His father signaled to Commander Corlis, who had been waiting with the entire force of Orrock’s Heavy Horse. Whereas the cavalry in Felson were considered light horse, meaning their horses were smaller and built for long-distance riding, the Heavy Horse squad consisted of half a legion of fully armored riders. Their mounts were large warhorses, slower than the light cavalry but bred for war: they would kick and trample anyone who got in their way. The horses’ massive weight made them difficult to bring down in a melee, and when they were moving at a full gallop, nothing could stop their charge.
Quinn waved his arms, and Commander Corlis lowered his visor and raised his own arm. The cavalry filed out of the ruined gate and formed a long line between the city and the opposing army. The riders were completely hidden by Zollin’s dust cloud. Commander Corlis gave another command, and the horses started at a trot, quickly accelerated to a canter, and then reached a rumbling gallop. They covered the ground between the city wall and the opposing army in less than a minute. Zollin’s dust cloud had moved out in front of the cavalry, enveloping the opposing army, and he could sense that the invaders’ panic had devolved into chaos. The enemy soldiers were turning on one another.
“Havoc!” cried Commander Corlis to his troops, ordering them to fight as wildly as possible.
The horses smashed into the unprepared soldiers. Their officers had heard the thunder of hooves, but in the cloud of dirt they couldn’t control their own troops. The cavalry soldiers used long lances, dealing death en masse to the foot soldiers across the plain.
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