THE ORCS HOWLED, SCENTING VICTORY, AS they ran towards the smouldering crater. Emily watched, helplessly, as the defenders ran to reinforce the lines, knowing that it might be futile. The orcs were far stronger, man for man, than the defenders ... and now the gatehouse was gone. She could hear General Pollack barking orders, his voice clearly audible even over the orcs ... was he on the front lines? She would have thought he should be somewhere to the rear, where he could see the entire picture ...
But he wouldn’t want to stay behind, she thought, numbly. He needs to be clearly visible to his men.
She gritted her teeth as the orcs swarmed through the crater and up the far side, just in time to run into the City Guard. Several of the men broke and ran, dropping their weapons as they fled; others held the line, trying to stop the orcs in their tracks. But there were too many orcs, pushing and shoving over their own dead as they advanced. The line wavered and broke, the remaining guards casually shoved aside or crushed below the orcs. Emily shuddered as she saw an orc behead a man, then shove his head into its massive jaws. Blood spilled to the ground as it bit down.
“Emily,” Sergeant Miles said. “You might want to see this.”
Emily heard drumbeats echoing out as the musketmen strode into position, forming a line halfway down the street. The orcs seemed confused, some munching their way through the defenders while others ambled around aimlessly. She puzzled over it for a long moment, then decided that the orcs hadn’t been given any orders for what they should do after breaking through the gatehouse. The necromancer was hardly the type of person to encourage them to act on their own initiative, even if they could.
A hail of debris, slates, and arrows crashed down on the orcs, hurled from rooftops. Emily saw women and children, some of the latter barely out of diapers, fighting to defend their city. There was no such thing as a non-combatant in this war, she knew, but it still shocked her. And yet, she knew what fate the women and children could expect, if they were taken alive. Farrakhan wouldn’t just be sacked. The city would be utterly destroyed, its population fed to the necromancer and his orcs. They had no choice but to fight.
The orcs howled as their reinforcements arrived, spearheaded by a group of twisted humans in black outfits. There was no magic on them, as far as she could tell, save for a handful of charms that felt utterly nasty. She couldn’t be sure what they did, but she had a pretty shrewd idea. Something had to keep them obedient to their master. The newcomers took control, directing the remaining orcs down towards the musketmen. Emily braced herself, unsure she wanted to watch. Sir Roger was clearly visible, leading his men from the front.
I’ll have to commend him to Alassa, she thought. King Randor was unlikely to listen to her, after what they’d said during their last meeting. If he survives ...
Sir Roger’s voice boomed through the air. “First rank, take aim.”
The orcs picked up speed, howling as they raced towards the musketmen. Emily half-expected some of the musketeers to break and run, but they held. She leaned forward, forcing herself to watch. Sir Roger looked ... impressive. Unlike many other noblemen, he didn’t seem inclined to preserve his own life at the cost of his commoner underlings. But then, there was literally nowhere to go.
“Fire,” Sir Roger barked. “Second rank, take aim!”
The first rank fired. Dozens of orcs fell, their successors tripping over the bodies and falling as they were pushed onwards by their successors. The second rank fired a moment later, sending more orcs tumbling over. And then the third rank fired, followed rapidly by the first rank again. The enemy formation disintegrated, orcs scattering in all directions as they tried to comprehend what was happening. A twisted human, trying desperately to regain control, was struck by a hex from Master Bone and exploded into flames. Two others were gunned down as they tried to flee, a fourth squashed by his orcs as they knocked him down and trampled him in their panic.
“Impressive,” Sergeant Miles commented.
Emily blinked in surprise as she heard hoof beats echoing over the city. A moment later, the cavalry came into view, the horsemen laughing and whooping as they galloped through the musketmen and charged towards the crater. They made a magnificent sight, Emily had to admit; the men wore colorful uniforms, their weapons glinting in the sun, their horses brushed down as if they were going on parade ... she watched the noble riders run down fleeing orcs, crushing them below their horseshoes. A horse reared up, then brought its forelegs down on a crippled orc. The creature’s head exploded into a bloody mess.
“Don’t take it too far,” Sergeant Miles muttered. He sounded as though he was pleading with the cavalry. “Don’t take it too far ...”
The horsemen charged into the crater and then out into the surrounding countryside. Emily stared, already knowing what was about to happen. The orcs, hastily reorganizing, lunged forward, stabbing swords and spears into the horses. A number of cavalrymen managed to pull back, fleeing towards the city, but the remainder were caught and surrounded. Emily forced herself to watch, grimly, as they were pulled from their horses and killed. The nasty part of her mind hoped the lunatic who’d led the charge was among the dead.
“Brave men,” Casper said, with respect.
“Stupid men,” Sergeant Miles said. Casper gave him a confused look. “The cavalry should know better than to charge into a mob of armed men.”
Emily nodded in agreement. “It is magnificent,” she muttered. “But it is not war.”
She turned her attention back to the battlefield. Sir Roger and General Pollack had made good use of the distraction. The cannons had been moved up, ready to fire into the teeth of any advancing enemy force. Behind them, the musketeers were hastily cleaning and reloading their muskets, readying themselves for the next engagement. A number of civilians were dragging the bodies out of the way, stripping the orc bodies bare before dumping them in the alleyways. Disease would be a very real problem soon, if they survived long enough to care. She had no idea if rotting orc bodies were contagious, but she knew rotting human bodies definitely were.
“The haze is gone,” she said, as she reached out once again. The necromancer was easy to sense, but so were a handful of lesser magicians. “Why?”
“Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth keeping,” Sergeant Miles offered. “Or maybe we killed one or more of the magicians responsible for maintaining it.”
Emily nodded, then gritted her teeth as the enemy catapults opened fire again. This time, they were dropping rocks on the musketmen. A large stone came down on an already-weakened building, sending it collapsing into a pile of rubble. Master Bone and Master Storm hastily cast protective wards over the musketmen, although it was clear they wouldn’t hold out for long. The battering they were taking was draining their power.
Master Grave glanced down at the chat parchment in his hand. “They’re pulling back from the other walls,” he said. “That’s probably not a good sign.”
Emily nodded. It was possible, she supposed, that the necromancer was running out of warm bodies, but she doubted it. The scouts had reported thousands upon thousands of orcs and she didn’t think that they’d killed anything like so many. No, the necromancer was re-concentrating his forces before making a third attempt to force passage through the crater and into the city. It made far too much sense.
She looked at Sergeant Miles. “Can we repair the gatehouse?”
“We can close the hole if we could do it unmolested,” Sergeant Miles said. “But getting the engineers in place to actually do it will be hard.”
Impossible, Emily thought. The necromancer had plenty of archers. He’d shoot down the engineers as soon as they showed themselves. We’ll have to keep frittering away our strength in defending the crater.
The hail of falling stones grew stronger, smashing down on the wards. She looked towards the enemy catapults, trying to think of a way to get to them. The orcs didn’t seem to be bothered by the archers, even though dozens of them lay dead. There were dozens more, waiting patien
tly to replace the fallen. And the twisted magicians had protected the catapults, ensuring that no curse or hex could reach them. Unless ...
She glanced at Sergeant Miles. “Can I try something?”
Sergeant Miles looked back at her. “Be careful,” he said, finally. “And don’t show yourself too openly.”
Emily nodded, then started to shape a spell in her mind. Lasers were completely unknown on the nameless world, naturally, but it wasn’t hard to design a spell that produced a heat-ray effect. And while it could be blocked, it would be harder to block than a purely magical effect. Most — nearly all — of the magic would be well away from the wards.
She held up a hand, focusing her mind. The air shimmered — it puzzled her for a second until she realized the beam didn’t have to be visible — as a pulse of heat raced towards its target. She’d hoped to see the catapult bursting into flame, but nothing happened for a long chilling moment. And then the catapult started to smoulder, flames flickering into life around the lighter sections. She’d accidentally duplicated a Burning Glass!
“It won’t get any hotter,” she muttered, as she realized the spell was too limited. She’d need to take the spell apart and rebuild it before it would do more than give its target sunburn. A true heat-ray would have been powerful enough to wipe out the enemy army. “I’m not sure why.”
“It’s slowing them down,” Casper pointed out, as a second catapult started to smoke. The wooden frame seemed too solid to catch fire quickly, but the leather sling was more vulnerable. “And they don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Maybe,” Emily said. She’d heard of a Greek inventor who had supposedly set fire to a Roman fleet, but she’d always thought it was a myth. Maybe he’d set fire to the sails instead and the flames had spread. “See if you can improve the spell ...”
She glanced up as she heard a renewed howling from the enemy lines. The orcs were marching forward once again, screaming their rage as they picked up speed. Behind them, she could sense glints of magic. Dark spells, edged with curses, hovered in the air, their mere presence enough to worry her. The necromancer had stopped playing around. This time, he was sending in his magicians too. The cannons started to boom an instant later, hurling red-hot cannonballs into the advancing lines. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, died; the remainder just kept coming ...
The air turned hot, a second before brilliant green balefire flared over the watchtower. Emily ducked as sparks flew past her head; behind her, she heard Cat grunt in pain as ... something ... struck him. She turned, just in time to see Master Grave waving his arms in a complicated pattern. The enemy had thrown a curse at the entire watchtower, she realized. They’d taken a standard dueling curse and boosted it beyond all reason. The curse was unstable — it wouldn’t last more than a few seconds — but it would be effective. Master Grave was being drained, just trying to keep it off the rest of them ...
“Get off the roof, now,” Sergeant Miles snapped. He scooped up a bag and tossed it over his shoulder as the green light intensified. “Emily! Over here!”
Emily ran to him. He wrapped his arm around her and jumped. Emily barely had a second to realize that he was levitating them through the air before they landed on another rooftop. She turned, just in time to see Master Grave turn and jump away himself. A second later, the building started to disintegrate. The others ... she stared as the building collapsed into rubble, the remnants of the curse tearing it apart. And then she saw them, standing on a different rooftop. Cat waved to her, but they all looked badly shaken.
“I meant to teach you how to levitate,” Sergeant Miles admitted, as he dug into the bag. “But there were more important matters.”
The howling grew louder. Emily turned, just in time to see a tidal wave of orcs stampeding through the crater and into the city. Dozens died as the musketmen opened fire, but the remainder had nowhere else to go. They kept charging the musketmen, climbing over their own bodies to get at Sir Roger and his men. And then a brilliant wall of flame blasted out of nowhere and tore through the orc lines. Master Bone was still covering the musketeers. But the orcs just kept coming ...
She stared in horror as the infantrymen marched forward and took up position, swords and shields at the ready. The orcs crashed into their line ... and bounced, dozens cut down by the infantrymen before they could push through. Emily wanted to look away, knowing that it was just a matter of time before the line collapsed completely. The necromancer could lose a dozen orcs for every human and still come out ahead.
Magic crackled overhead as the twisted magicians threw curses at Master Bone, who kept his head down while he shielded the infantrymen. Master Storm joined him a second later, providing covering fire. None of the twisted magicians seemed very skilled, as far as Emily could tell, but they were powerful. Or perhaps they were just bleeding power, like the magicians of Old Whitehall. It had never been easy to estimate how powerful they’d been, back then. The ones who seemed most powerful were often the ones in least control of their powers.
The building shook below her feet. She walked to the edge and looked down, shuddering as she saw the horde of orcs pushing against the walls. Could they actually knock the building down through sheer pressure? She didn’t know. Orcs were strong and they were desperate ... below her, she heard the sound of someone tearing open the doors. The orcs presumably wanted to take shelter ...
And then she felt magic pushing against her awareness.
She shivered. The necromancer was walking forward, strolling towards the crater. She peered through the smoke of battle, trying to see him, but it was impossible to be sure. His presence beat on the air, a chilling madness that threatened to suck in the entire world. And yet, it was under control. Somehow, she doubted that was a good thing.
Someone landed on the roof. She turned to see Gaius and Casper, both looking tired and drained. Working the ritual had drained all of them, while the fighting was draining their masters. And now the necromancer was joining in the fun. He’d timed it well, Emily admitted grimly. The magicians, the ones most capable of stopping him, were drained, incapable of offering much resistance. He could just walk into the city and take it.
She turned — and saw Sergeant Miles setting up a glass caldron. Her blood ran cold as she realized what he had in mind. Wildfire ... it could be as dangerous to them as it could be to the enemy. And yet, they were out of options. She watched him mixing the potions together, feeling the necromancer’s presence growing stronger and stronger. Wildfire was all they had left ...
Unless we blow up the city and call it a draw, she thought, as Sergeant Miles started to spoon the black liquid into cups. Even at a distance, she could sense something nasty about it, something just waiting to break free. There was more ambient magic in the city than there was in the hidden cabin near Whitehall. We could wind up killing ourselves too.
“When he appears, throw this towards him,” Sergeant Miles ordered, as he handed out the cups. There was only a small amount in each cup, but it was worth more money than any of them had ever seen in their lives. Emily rather suspected that there wouldn’t be more on the way, at least not until the incredibly complex potions were brewed. “And then use fireballs to ignite it.”
“And then run,” Gaius said. He sounded concerned. “Get off the building and don’t look back.”
“Right,” Sergeant Miles said.
The orcs were falling back as the necromancer walked into the city, the smoke clearing long enough for Emily to finally catch a glimpse of him. He was tall and thin, wearing a long black cloak that hid his features, but there was no mistaking the glowing red eyes. His power was growing stronger and stronger, driving his slaves back. The entire world seemed to be groaning in revulsion, as if he were stamping his presence on the soil below his feet. She shuddered as he lifted his gaze to look at her. It was like staring into a sun.
“Now,” Sergeant Miles shouted.
Emily threw the cup. She didn’t even have time to throw a fireball. There was a flash of
white fire, so bright that it blinded her for several seconds, followed by a surge of magic so powerful that she even lost track of the necromancer. Her senses were completely blurred, completely useless. She turned to run, blinking away the afterimage ...
And then she felt the rooftop crumbling below her feet, throwing her back and down to the ground, far below. Someone had hexed the building. Someone ... Instinctively, she called on her magic, trying desperately to save herself from a hard landing. But the magic drew the Wildfire towards her, tongues of flame digging into her wards as she crashed to the ground and lay still. She opened her mouth to scream as the heat and pain grew unbearable ...
And then she crashed down into utter darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Five
SOMEONE WAS SPEAKING, BUT SHE COULDN’T hear the words.
Emily felt ... she wasn’t sure how she felt. Her entire body felt ... dead, dead and useless. And yet, she wasn’t dead. Or was she? Her mind kept spinning, endlessly replaying the last few moments time and time again. White flames, everywhere. Her body — her magic — burning. Was she a lich, trapped in her own corpse? Or was she ...
Her eyes snapped open. She was staring up at a brown ceiling, covered with complex designs that reminded her of Chinese letters. Her body felt numb, yet she was aware of a dull throbbing ... a roaring in her ears that worried her. She managed to look left and met the eyes of a dark-skinned man in white robes. He was a total stranger, yet that somehow didn’t bother her. She looked right and felt a surge of relief as she saw Sergeant Miles. He looked worried.
“Emily,” he said. His voice sounded odd. She had to think, carefully, before she realized that she was only hearing him in one ear. “Can you hear me?”
It took Emily several tries before she could get her lips to move. “Yes.”
“You’ve been very badly wounded,” Sergeant Miles said. “But you should survive.”
Emily honestly wasn’t sure she wanted to survive. If she was only hearing through one ear ... just how badly was she hurt? And if her entire body was numb ... there were spells and potions designed to numb someone, but they were dangerously addictive. They wouldn’t have used them unless they were desperate.
11- The Sergeant's Apprentice Page 24