Mikahl fought the Warlord most of the night and accomplished nothing more than keeping it out of Xwarda. He wondered if it wasn’t the other way around. Was this thing with Skyler eyes toying with him to keep him from defending the city?
Like spectators at the Summer’s Day brawl, a few dozen greater demons lingered, watching their master fight the human king. Mikahl was determined to kill this powerful, dark beast that was somehow able to avoid the bite of his blade, but he was wary of the others. If they started at him, he would try to break away and regroup. Until then, he would fight on, thinking that if he could just get Ironspike through his foe’s plated hide it would be over in an instant. Deep inside, he knew that if he didn’t, it was over for the world of men.
The idea came to him that Ironspike’s power had never been enough to conquer all this evil, but the thought of his unborn child and wife being torn apart by the thing before him wouldn’t let him succumb.
Without faltering, Mikahl ground his jaw and fought on.
***
Phen led the elves through the same tunnel that Vaegon and Dugak, once used to rejuvenate Ironspike while King Mikahl lay dying. That’s how Phen knew about it. Once he’d heard the tale, he pestered everyone until he was shown the location, but that was before all of this madness, even before he and Hyden sailed after the silver skull. To Phen’s surprise, when he climbed up the ladder at the end of the tunnel and lifted a floor section that opened into an old wine cellar, Dugak and a pair of young castle-born dwarves were huddled there. A candle stood in a teacup and lit the room enough to see that they’d tapped a small keg and were getting drunk.
“Ah, Phen,” Dugak said in a slurring stupor, as if the boy popped his head up out of the castle floor every day. “Good to see you, lad.”
Phen grinned for an instant, but the memory of Oarly’s death shattered his mood. “I’ve got company,” he said.
“Good lad,” Dugak slurred. “The queen will be glad to hear it. There is already a handful of demons outside in the park. They’re trying to get into the castle now.”
Phen shook his head, climbed out, and then helped Dostin and Gaveon shove the two great wolfs gracelessly up through the square hole. The Queen Mother came next, and Dugak stumbled to his feet so that he could bow with reverence. Even a drunken castellan knew royalty by sight, and Dugak was most capable at his job. “I’ll go announce you to Queen Willa,” Dugak said as more elves streamed into the room.
“Just open the door,” Telgra snapped. “We need room. There are more than two hundred elven warriors with me, and we’re already out of space.”
Dugak shook his head to clear it; luckily the other two elves were already exiting the cellar. The corridor beyond was torchlit, and a long rectangle of light shined on the group. Dugak backed out into the hall and bowed again. “What should I tell Queen Willa?” he asked, glancing first at Telgra, then at Phen.
Phen shrugged.
“Tell her I'm sending my blades and my bows to greet the evil things at her doorstep,” Telgra said. “Please have someone show the archers to a rooftop or a set of windows that will allow them the opportunity to loose on the enemy.”
“Come on,” Phen said. “Archers, follow me. Dugak, have someone show the swordsmen to the gate, and then present Queen Mother Telgra and this monk to Queen Willa.”
Phen didn’t wait for a reply. He began herding the elves carrying bows out into the hall. Arf gave him a quizzical look and whined. “Go with Yip and the swordsmen,” Phen told the wolf.
Arf barked his agreement and wagged his tail briefly. Their eyes met and the feeling that they might never see each other again passed between them.
Phen wasn’t sure which of them was going to die, and he didn’t have time to ponder it. If the castle’s protective walls were already breached, then it would probably be both of them. He intended to get the archers situated then round up both Queen Willa and Telgra back here where they had a way to escape, if it came to it. As an afterthought, he ordered several of the elves to go back and guard the opening that led to the tunnel. Then he led the others to a stairway and started climbing up. Since they were four floors below ground level, an elevated position for the archers was at least half a dozen flights above them.
***
The sun was just starting to rise in the east when an explosion shook the entire battlefield. A huddle of devils, led by a long, serpent-like creature with a dozen legs on each side of its body, had concentrated their magic and blasted a whole section of the wall inward. Now, the wingless horde swarmed over the rubble to join the rest of the Dark Lord’s legions on the already blood-soaked city cobbles. Outside the walls, barely a quarter of the men and dwarves who started the battle still lived, and most of them were exhausted and injured. They didn’t stop fighting, and they found the fortitude to attempt to fill the gap in the wall while breed giant dragon gunners and spell-weary mages did their best to protect them from above.
The gatesmen in the northern and eastern sections of the city threw the gates open so that the people trapped inside could flee. Only those who exited at the forest gate made it very far. Most of the eastern part of the city had been turned into a massive spider web overnight. Dozens of man-sized, bulbous-bodied arachnids scurried along the web lines that spanned from building to building. The streets and alleyways were closed off by wild, kaleidoscopic patterns. The people who got caught up in the sticky mess were quickly stung and wrapped in webbing. When the sun topped the hills to the east, a few hundred cocooned corpses dangled from the higher strands like laundry.
Phen saw it all from atop the main palace building’s pebbly roof. Directly below him, battle raged around the freezing waters of the huge fountain pond called Whitten Loch.
Beyond the palace’s protective wall, nearly a full quarter of the city was also covered in shimmering webs. Elsewhere, people huddled, chattering and terrified, in ragged groups. It was so cold that wispy clouds formed by their breath rose from them and gave them away. A dozen huge fires raged across the city and twice as many were now only smoldering piles. Entire blocks lay in ruins, and bodies littered the crimson slush-covered streets.
Hundreds upon hundreds of demon kind could be seen oozing through the distant breach in the outer wall. They flowed toward the castle as if they were a spill of molasses. Hundreds more dark, evil things circled overhead like carrion birds waiting for something to die. And below Phen, now under a steady rain of elven arrows, more men, dwarves, and elves fought with the creatures that had come down inside the barrier.
Shouts from the defenders below told him that the castle itself had been busted open. Phen looked up to see that the palace walls beyond the fountain pond were being overrun as well.
***
King Mikahl heard a sound over the din; a mighty sound. The Warlord seemed to recognize it, and so did the greater devils and demons encircling their battle. All of them went tense and seemed more alert. Mikahl pressed harder at the Warlord and managed to get a powerful fist of kinetic magic past the Hell Master’s guard. The Warlord went staggering back a few steps and nearly buckled a wing as it tried to catch its balance. Then the Warlord let out a roar of pain and anger and suddenly Mikahl was the one being pressed.
Raking foreclaws, fiery breath, and then a blast of red-hot sizzling power sent Mikahl and his bright horse reeling up and backward. Ironspike’s shields took the brunt of the damage, but Mikahl was left off-kilter and forced to flail about to keep himself mounted.
With a snapping whip crack, the tip of the Dark Lord’s tail pierced through Ironspike’s shielding. It shattered the protective field as if it were the thinnest layer of glass. Then a quick, cartwheeling spin had the Warlord’s hind claws raking across Mikahl’s face.
The High King twisted away in time to save his eyes, but his forehead was gashed wide, and blood poured over his vision in a crimson sheet. It was all he could do to stay on the bright horse while the magical pegasus fought to right itself.
The sound he�
�d heard came again. It was a roar, a gut-shaking roar, full of contempt. The sound caused an involuntary shudder of fear to pass through Mikahl. The Warlord paused, too. Then he answered with a flame-spewing roar of his own. The Master of Hell’s call was a full-out challenge. Mikahl started to attack in that instant, but a shadow completely engulfed the overhead light and made him pause. In that same heartbeat, the Warlord unleashed a hissing blast of freezing cold magical power. Mikahl, with Ironspike held in his hand at the ready, and the bright horse pulsing between his legs, froze instantly solid and began tumbling toward the ground.
Chapter 57
After using his dragon’s fire and his kinetic blast over and over again against the human king, the Warlord decided to do something different. When he heard the depth of the roar that drowned everything out, he decided to end this skirmish right here. Sending out a pulse of freezing energy, the Warlord’s magic froze Mikahl and left him dropping like a stone. The roar meant that there were dragons about, and the Dark Lord didn’t hesitate. It would be foolish to restrain the greater demons any longer.
As the High King tumbled toward the ground, the helborn that were gathered around took to the sky and engaged the approaching dragons. The Warlord tucked his wings into a streaking dive at the palace. Now that Shaella’s death was avenged, only the Wardstone mattered to him. He could smell the power it radiated. It was beckoning him, and he was coming as fast as he could.
***
Falling, an unexpected warming sensation hit Mikahl like a blast from a furnace. It held steady on him as he tumbled, until he could feel his skin starting to blister. Suddenly he could move, but as he went to call the bright horse back into place he saw the frozen earth racing up into his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw out his hands to protect himself from the impact. Ironspike went spinning away. He slammed to a stop, expecting to either feel his body shattering on the icy ground or feel the blackness of death take him. He felt neither. In fact, he felt nothing at all.
He opened his eyes to see his sword lying on the ground only a reach away. He was hovering about a foot over the frozen earth. He tried to move but couldn’t. Then suddenly, as if he were being released from some invisible grasp, he fell the last foot. He impacted no harder than if he had fallen from a tree stump. Sensation raced back through his nerves and his body felt as if he had swum through the frozen sea then walked across a desert. His bones were still frozen, but his skin was burned.
It took him a moment to catch his breath and regain his wits. When he did, he grabbed his sword and felt its magical symphony blare into his mind. The amount of tingly healing magic it exuded through him was distracting. He turned quickly to defend against an attack, but he saw that he was well away from the wild new battle taking place above.
Dragons - red, blue, green, and even a white one - some with riders and some without, were in the sky fighting the demon spawn. He saw Hyden Hawk on the back of a massive red-scaled beast that could only have been Claret. He couldn’t remember his name, but he recognized the determined elf that was riding the shoulders of a smaller blue wyrm, too. Half a dozen others were engaged in the sky. Some of the dragons were viciously attacking the greater demons. They were doing some damage.
A large piece of something that was writhing and flapping came spiraling down and crashed into the snow. A great bellowing cloud of steam rose from it as hot brimstone blood met the frozen earth. Above, Claret spat the rest of it out of her mouth and roared. Mikahl took in what had landed before him and saw that it was nothing more than a single wing with a scallop of meat the size of a wagon cart attached to it.
Mikahl called forth the bright horse and took back to the air. He went after Hyden and Claret. Trying to catch up to the huge red dragon was akin to trying to catch a stallion while riding a mule. Mikahl was too torn over Rosa’s death to actually feel real hope, but he felt like they might be able to save some lives. Hyden looked like a child’s doll on a destrier’s back. His long black hair was flapping wildly out behind him, and his face was set in a determined grimace. The boney, triangular plates that ran down Claret’s spine were as tall as he was. Mikahl couldn’t see how Hyden stayed on as they banked and then dove, racing toward the castle, in direct pursuit of the Warlord.
Corva could do little more than hold on to the ridges in the fin-plate on the blue dragon’s back. The massive, yet quick, wyrm swept down across the demon horde and blasted huge swaths away with its liquid lightning spew. It dragged its razor-sharp, sword-long claws through the ranks of hellspawn as they went. Another blast of breath at a Choska sent the demon flailing into the face of the wall with a sickening smack.
Durge, on the back of the mighty green dragon, was big enough to use his leg muscles to hold on to the sinuous neck of his mount. He and the wyrm had landed in the wall breach and were deftly fighting back those dark, wingless things trying to enter the city. Lashing teeth and claws, and misty, poisonous dragon breath made most of them stall their invasion. Those that survived to get through met their end at the tip of Durge’s bladed staff.
Cheers resounded from the walls and in the streets as dragons came from everywhere, swooping, blasting and lashing the dark horde away from the refugees. Even though the streets were littered with the dead and dying, the dragons brought hope to those willing to take hold of it.
Claret veered off to snatch one of the greater demons out of the air. She did so effortlessly, like a mother dog picking up her puppy, only followed by a savage crunch of teeth and a blast of flame as she spat the ruined thing away. Edging back on course, the whole assault took maybe five heartbeats to complete, but it allowed Mikahl to catch up so that Hyden could hear him yelling.
“What’s your plan?” he called over the bitter wind.
Hyden had expected a friendlier greeting. He took in the stricken look on the High King’s face. He hadn’t seen his friend look that sad since they found Vaegon, or what was left of him, lying in the rubble of this very wall. He immediately figured that something had happened to either Lord Gregory or Queen Rosa. No others could affect Mikahl so strongly. He didn’t have time to dwell on what his senses picked up about Mik, though. Gerard was almost to Whitten Loch, and there was no time for emotion.
“Remember when you unleashed all of Ironspike’s power at once.” Hyden paused to adjust himself on the dragon’s back. Then he cast a spell so that his voice found Mikahl’s ears as if they were just standing and speaking to one another. “You made that thunder storm appear to drive the black dragon away from King Jarrek's men. Do you remember?”
“Aye!” Mikahl screamed back unnecessarily. “I remember.”
“I’m going to face off with Gerard, or whatever that blasted thing is now.” Hyden had to fight back a tear as he thought about the horrors his little brother must have been put through. “When I raise both of my hands over my head like so, do that again, but unleash all that power at me.”
“Are you mad?” Mikahl yelled. “Why not at that thing? You'll be killed.”
“Just do it, Mikahl,” Hyden commanded. “Swear to me you will.”
Mikahl didn’t want to blast his friend, but Hyden was insistent and looked as if there was some sort of method to his madness. He remembered thinking he was leaving Hyden to die once before. It was the last time he had seen him, yet here he was again. He had no choice but to trust him, so he gave his word. He tasted regret as soon as the oath was given because he couldn’t help but remember Hyden miscasting the simplest of spells and losing one of Oarly’s boots. There was still a goat somewhere that could no longer grow hair, too.
“Where?” he asked Hyden.
“Whitten Loch,” Hyden returned. “Right now.” Then Claret dove down like a streaking arrow, leaving the bright horse once again struggling to keep up.
Mikahl heard Hyden’s next words, too, even though Hyden hadn’t intended him to.
Hyden's voice grew full of concern, and then anguish. “Oh, Phen, no,” Hyden said. “No, don’t, Phen.”
&n
bsp; Mikahl focused his gaze ahead and down into the castle’s courtyard. There, running from the palace steps toward the fountain pond, was Phen. Around him, elves and dwarven axe men were battling back the dark host, but Phen’s intention was obvious. The Warlord was wading into Whitten Loch, trying to find the place where the Wardstone was exposed. Phen was weaving his arms, casting a spell. Seeing him first, the Warlord sent a huge crimson pulse at the boy, then quickly turned and blasted another up at Hyden and Claret. Hyden nearly fell from Claret’s neck when he met the Warlord’s eyes—Gerard’s eyes.
***
Hearing the cries of “Dragon!” and “Hyden Hawk!” and the hope that filled those voices, Queen Willa rushed to her balcony and peeked out of the heavy oak sliding door to see what was happening. The last time she had chanced a look, her soldiers, the dwarves, and the Queen Mother’s elves had all been caught up in a brutal battle on her doorstep. She was surprised at how much ground her fighters had gained, but they were already losing it back to the fierce, evil creatures. When the palace’s entry was caved in, her personal guards, along with Telgra’s dozen guardians, had bolted the three of them in with a few of the most proficient sword masters. One of these men harrumphed at Queen Willa’s breach of security. She wasn’t supposed to be opening the doors.
“Hush your mouth, you big thug,” Queen Rosa said to him. “The queen has a right to see what’s going on outside.”
Queen Willa sucked in a breath and turned away from the sliver of daylight she had revealed. Rosa darted over to see what was going on. “Oh my,” she gasped.
A great, black-skinned beast stood with its leathery wings half open and stepped off into the fountain pond. Slick plate-covered flesh reflected in the rippling liquid. It strode, human-like, into the deeper water as if it were searching for something. It was a terrifying thing and it had eyes just like Hyden Skyler’s. It flicked its tail back and forth behind it, and its muscles rippled and flexed authoritatively. The Warlord towered over the men fighting around Whitten Loch. Easily twenty-five feet tall, it was only waist deep in the water as it neared the middle of the pond.
The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) Page 44