by Paul S. Kemp
The commander of the Fire Drakes looked too old and frail for that duty, or any responsibility more taxing than drowsing by the hearth. But his pale gray eyes were clear and sharp beneath his scraggly white brows, and he carried the weight of his yellow-and-orange plate armor as if it weighed no more than wool.
He studied Kemas's face for a time, then said, "It was a crime to run away and folly to return."
"He ran afoul of the autharch's men," Zorithar said. "They were chasing him, and apparently he had nowhere else to run."
Kemas swallowed. "With respect, Masters, that isn't true. I mean, it is, but there's more to it. I came back to bring you this." He proffered Bareris's letter.
Rathoth-De muttered and ran his finger under the words as he read them. His scowl deepened with every line. "It says here that the autharch knows everything about the temple, includ shy;ing which section of the north wall has fallen into disrepair."
Kemas took a deep breath. "Yes, Master. He tortured me, and I told him." He might have explained that at the end it was a charm of coercion that had actually forced him to talk, but somehow that seemed a contemptible evasion.
Zorithar sneered. "No surprise there. You'd already proved yourself a coward. He turned his gaze on Rathoth-De. "Maybe we can reinforce the wall."
"Master," Kemas said, "if you read on, you'll see that the scout from the Griffon Legion believes that our best hope is to let the autharch execute the plan he's devised and then turn it around on him."
Rathoth-De skimmed to the end, then grunted. "This does suggest possibilities." He explained Bareris's idea.
Zorithar frowned. "We've never even heard of this Anskuld person, and we don't know that we can believe a word he says. This could be a ruse."
"If I may speak, sir," a warrior said. "I have to say, I don't think so. I was watching from the wall when Kemas ran to the temple. The archers were doing their best to hit him. Which they wouldn't, if the autharch wanted him to deliver a false message."
"I agree," said Rathoth-De, "and even if I weren't convinced, the autharch has the numbers to overwhelm our little garrison eventually. We need to try something both bold and clever to have any hope of defeating him."
Zorithar shook his head. "So that's your decision? To gamble everything on this one throw?"
"I think we must." The old man turned his gaze on Kemas. "The only question remaining is what to do with the lad."
"He forsook his comrades and broke his vows to the god," Zorithar said. "Drown him as the rules of the order decree."
"Even though he risked his life to return and make amends?"
"I'm not convinced that he did it out of remorse," Zorithar said, "or devotion, or of his own volition. But it doesn't matter anyway. The rule is the rule."
"Masters," Kemas said, "I know the punishment for what I did, and I'll accept if you say I must. But let me fight for the temple first. You can use every sword."
"Not yours," Zorithar said. "You'll shrink from the foe as you did before, and leave your brothers in the lurch."
"You may be right," said Rathoth-De, "but surely the boy has given us some reason to think he's found his courage. Enough, I think, to warrant putting the matter to a test. Are you willing, apprentice?"
Kemas drew himself up straighter. "Yes."
"Then approach Kossuth's altar."
The altar was a polished slab of red marble with inlaid golden runes. Tongues of yellow flame leaped and hissed from the bowl set in the top. Such devotional fires burned all around the temple complex, and Kemas had long since grown accustomed to their heat. But as he came closer, it seemed to beat at him, because he knew and dreaded what was to come.
"Place your hand over the flames," said Rathoth-De.
Kemas pulled up his sleeve to make sure it wouldn't catch fire, then did as his master had commanded. For a moment, it didn't hurt, then the hot pain flowered in his palm and the undersides of his fingers. It grew keener with every heartbeat.
It occurred to Kemas that it shouldn't be this way. He was pledged to Kossuth, and his god and fire were one. But he wasn't a priest, just a glorified temple guard, unable to reach the ecstasy and empowerment presumably waiting inside the torment.
He told himself the ordeal surely wouldn't last for long, for unlike Zorithar, Rathoth-De wasn't cruel by nature. But it did last. The pain stretched on, and the old man kept silent.
By the burning chain, did Kemas smell himself? Was his hand cooking?
It was brutally hard to know that he could snatch it back whenever he chose, and no matter what else might follow, this particular agony would subside. He clenched his will and muscles to fight the urge.
Until hands gripped him and heaved him back from the flames. He peered about and saw that two of his fellow warriors had wrestled him away.
"I told you that you could stop," said Rathoth-De, "but you were concentrating so hard on keeping still that you didn't hear me."
Kemas took a breath. His hand throbbed. "Then I passed the test?"
"Yes." Rathoth-De shifted his gaze to Zorithar. "Wouldn't you agree?"
Zorithar grimaced and gestured in grudging acquiescence.
Steeling himself, Kemas inspected his hand. It wasn't the blackened claw he'd feared to see, but it was a patch shy;work of raw, red flesh and blisters. "I put my offhand over the fire, so I can still use a sword. But I won't be able to manage a bow."
"Don't be so sure," said the high priest. "If there's one thing a cleric of Kossuth learns to do well, it's tending burns."
The priest chanted prayers over Kemas's hand, smeared it with pungent ointment, and wrapped it in linen bandages. The next day, though the extremity still gave its owner an occasional pang, it was well enough for him to aid in the preparations for the struggle to come.
To his relief, the other Fire Drakes accepted his presence among them without offering insults or objections. Evidently the majority believed him fit to resume his place.
He wondered if they were right. He'd fought and killed the picket, but it had taken only an instant, and desperation and his training had seen him through. He'd endured the fire, but realized now that that too had only taken a few moments, even if it had seemed an eternity at the time. It didn't necessarily mean he'd found the courage to stand his ground while a true battle raged on and on.
As Bareris had warned they would, the autharch's force approached the walls after sunset. Across the temple complex, horns blew the alarm, and Kemas rushed up the stairs to his assigned place on the wall walk.
When he squinted out over the parapet, it certainly appeared as if the autharch's entire company stood in battle array before the main gate. Supposedly the noble's mages had cast subtle illusions to foster that impression, and the darkness likely aided as well.
In any case, it steadied Kemas to know that he was looking out at a diversion, not a committed assault. A hurtling arrow could still kill him just as dead, but still, for the moment at least, the danger seemed limited and endurable. He strung his bow, nocked a shaft, picked out a murky figure on the ground below, and let fly.
He continued that way for a while, shooting steadily and ducking down behind a merlon whenever it seemed that an archer or crossbowman on the ground was making a concerted effort to hit him. Twice, scaling ladders thumped against the parapet, but not near him, and the defenders who were closer dislodged them expeditiously.
Then, his kite shield and surcoat emblazoned with the ram shy;pant fire-breathing wyrm that was the emblem of the order, Zorithar came striding along the wall walk. He scowled at Kemas. "Rathoth-De thinks the real battle is about to begin. Find a place among those who are going to fight it."
Kemas swallowed. "Me?"
Zorithar snorted. "Of course, you. We've determined that you're a fearless hero, remember? Now, move!" He hurried on, no doubt deciding who else he could pull off the front wall without the enemy realizing that the defenders knew what was about to occur.
Kemas scurried down the stairs, ran across the
temple grounds, and found a place to stand. After that he had nothing to do but wait. He strained, listening for some warning sign of what was to come.
He never heard it. Rather, the decaying section of the north wall exploded inward all at once, and men ducked and averted their faces to shield their eyes from flying gravel. By Bareris's reckoning, the autharch's wizards weren't especially powerful adepts, but even so, the crumbling stonework had been too weak to withstand them.
Beyond the breach, men howled like banshees, and charging feet pounded the ground. The autharch's troops meant to penetrate the opening before their foes could shake off their surprise and move to defend it.
It was only when the first attackers had scrambled inside, and were attempting to find their bearings amid the darkness and choking dust, that they perceived their counterparts hadn't been surprised. The Fire Drakes had expected their enemies to enter how and where they had, and had spent the day transforming the immediate area into a killing box. Carts, benches, piles of brick, and anything else that could be incorporated into barricades shielded ranks of warriors standing poised and ready for slaughter. Archers perched on the sections of wall to each side of the breach, and on nearby rooftops.
The priests of Kossuth cast their most destructive spells, and blasts of flame ripped through the mass of the enemy. The temple bowmen shot. Kemas caught himself nocking, drawing, and releasing as fast as he could and forced himself to slow down and aim.
Though it was scarcely necessary. The autharch's men were jammed so tightly together that any arrow was likely to find a mark, and the flying shafts and bursts and sprays of fire did such grievous harm that surely the attackers' first impulse was to turn and flee.
But they couldn't. They still had comrades, oblivious to the slaughter erupting just a few yards ahead, pushing through the breach behind them and bottling them in.
Their officers and sergeants realized it, and that the only possible way out of the trap was forward. They bellowed commands and their soldiers rushed the barricades.
Kemas dropped his bow and snatched out his sword just in time to parry the thrust of a spear. The Fire Drake on his left swung his mace and bashed in the spearman's skull.
Kemas returned the favor mere moments later, dispatching an axeman who was pressing his comrade hard. Up and down the line and on all three sides of the killing box, men roared and screamed, struck, defended, and fell.
A moment came when Kemas didn't have a foe within reach. It was then that, panting and wiping stinging sweat from his eyes, he spied Bareris.
True to his word, the bard was fighting alone in the midst of the foe. His sword was bloody from point to hilt, and a sort of haze shrouded his body. The blur no doubt made him more difficult to target and was evidence that he wasn't entirely suicidal. But it surely couldn't protect him from the foes driving in from every side, and Kemas was certain he was about to die.
But then the opponents in front of Bareris faltered as though abruptly afraid to engage. That too must be the result of one of his songs. He ran at the men he'd cursed, and they recoiled. The unnatural terror evidently hadn't caught hold of the soldiers to the rear and on his flanks, and they struck at him but missed. He reached one of the barricades, and recognizing him for an ally, the Fire Drakes behind it helped him clamber to the other side.
At that point, Kemas glimpsed motion from the corner of his eye and remembered that his own safety was likewise at issue. He hastily faced straight ahead and beheld the zombies shambling toward him.
From the moment the wall burst open until then, he hadn't been scared, perhaps because he hadn't had time to think. But it was as if the brief respite he'd enjoyed had given dread fresh purchase on his spirit, or maybe it was simply the withered, decaying faces of the walking dead that stabbed fear into his heart and loosened his guts.
He reminded himself of what Bareris had told him. A living warrior could defeat a zombie. He just had to cut it to pieces.
Somewhere overhead, a priest chanted a prayer, and three zombies burst into flame before they could reach the barricades. Unfortunately, the creature stalking straight at Kemas wasn't one of them.
It moved slowly, though, and that enabled him to strike first. His sword bit deep into the zombie's neck. Had it been alive, the stroke would have killed it, but its black, slimy lips didn't even twitch, nor did it falter. Reeking of corruption, it heaved its axe over its head, then swept it down in an awkward but powerful blow. Kemas twisted aside to keep it from splitting his head in two.
He pulled on his sword and it stuck, possibly caught between two vertebrae. Its head flopping on its shoulders, the corpse-thing lifted the axe for another try. Kemas gripped the hilt with both hands, heaved with all his might, and the blade jerked free.
He cut at one of the zombie's upraised hands. His sword lopped off fingers, and the axe fell out of the dead man's grasp. He took another swing at its neck and hacked deeper. The creature toppled forward and wound up draped over the barricade. Kemas was reluctant to touch the filthy thing, but it was in the way, and so he gripped its shoulder and shoved it off onto the ground. It was only then that he felt a surge of elation at having bested it.
He started to smile. Then, hunched forward, gut-tentacles writhing and lashing, the vilewight appeared among the autharch's troops. Despite the press, the legionnaires scrambled to clear a path for it.
The undead's sunken eyes burned brighter, and its fanged mouth sneered. It extended a gnarled, long-fingered hand, and a shaft of darkness leaped from the tips of the jagged talons. It blazed across a portion of the barricade, and the men it washed over collapsed, their bodies rotting.
Priests chanted. Fire leaped up around the vilewight but guttered out instantly, leaving it unburned. Archers loosed their shafts. Some pierced the dead thing's flesh, but the creature didn't even appear to notice.
It pointed its hand again. Another flare of shadow cut into the ranks of the defenders. Meanwhile, one of the warriors slain by the previous attack lurched up onto his knees, threw his arms around the legs of a live man, and sank his teeth into his thigh. A second dead Fire Drake clambered up off the ground.
Kemas realized that if spells and missiles weren't working, someone needed to get in close to the vilewight and tear it apart. Otherwise it would keep hurling sprays of shadow, killing Fire Drakes, and transforming their corpses into undead slaves until the survivors could no longer hold the barricades. Unfortunately, it looked as if even the temple's bravest protectors feared to approach the creature.
But Kemas had forgotten the man who seemingly cared nothing for his own well-being. Bareris vaulted back over the barricade and charged the vilewight.
Had they chosen, the autharch's living soldiers could have intercepted the bard, surrounded him, and cut him down. But perhaps they too feared to come too close to the vilewight, or maybe they were simply confident of its prowess, for they chose to orient on other foes.
The vilewight cast a blaze of darkness. Bareris sprang to one side, and the leaping shadow missed. He shouted, a boom loud and startling as a thunderclap, and his cry split the undead's leprous hide and knocked it staggering. The bard rushed in and cut at its torso.
At the same moment, someone among the enemy yelled a command, and the legionnaires renewed their assault on the barricades. It seemed to Kemas that they didn't attack as fiercely as before. Now that their lord had brought his most powerful weapon into play, they expected it to turn the tide of battle, and saw no reason to take extraordinary chances while it did its work.
Still, they fought hard enough that for a while, Kemas didn't dare look at anything but the space and the foes immediately in front of him. Finally the pressure eased. He peered back at Bareris and the vilewight, and gasped.
During the first moments of the duel, it had appeared that Bareris was a match for his foe, and maybe he had been, but if so, Lady Luck had turned her face from him. He was unsteady on his feet and had switched his sword to his offhand because his dominant arm
dangled torn and useless at his side. It looked as if gut-tentacles had bitten him both above and below the elbow, and he'd ripped the wounds larger by pulling free.
He'd landed more than one slash in return, but it hadn't made any difference to the lithe, pouncing manner in which his adversary circled, feinted, and struck. The bloodless cuts didn't seem to trouble it any more than the arrows hanging from its flesh like a porcupine's quills.
It sprang in, clawed hands raking, lengths of intestine striking like adders. Bareris dropped low, beneath the attacks, and tried to slice its leg out from under it. He scored but failed to cut deeply enough to make the vilewight fall. At once it twisted and stooped to threaten him anew. It caught the sword in its fingers, allowing the edge to bite in order to immobilize it, and reached for the griffon rider with its gut-tentacles. The rings of lamprey fangs gaped wide.
For an instant, Bareris strained to pull his weapon free, but his left arm wasn't strong enough. He relinquished his grip and flung himself backward to avoid the gut-serpents. As he scrambled to his feet, he snatched a dagger from his boot.
The vilewight regarded the smaller blade, and its jagged leer stretched wider. It knew Bareris no longer had any hope of defeating it. Not alone, and if any of the Fire Drakes was brave enough to go to his aid, that dauntless warrior was busy with other foes.
Obviously, no one would expect Kemas to do it. He was just an apprentice. A boy. He'd already done as much as any fair-minded person could ask.
Yet if he faltered just then, allowed fear to paralyze him once more, then everything he'd accomplished-killing the picket, holding his hand over the flame, and all the rest of it-had been for nothing. The autharch's men would slaugh shy;ter the Fire Drakes and priests just as if Kemas had never found the courage to return at all, and somehow, the thought of that was insupportable.
He left his place at the barricade and scurried along behind the backs of the men who were still fighting there. He needed to put himself directly in front of Bareris and the vilewight, so he wouldn't have any other enemies in his way when he advanced.