“Agreed,” I sighed, as I pulled a talisman from a pouch at my belt. I said a few words and allowed the spell to take hold, and then I hefted Blizzard and contributed to the defense.
“What was that?” Ruderal demanded.
“I called for help,” I grunted, as my staff spat red fire at the goblins below. “Reinforcements.”
My apprentice looked around the battlefield anxiously, scanning the dark horizon with magesight. “Cavalry?” he asked, anxiously.
“Of a sort,” I agreed, as I summoned more arcane force against the invaders. Large reservoirs of energy appeared above the iron helms below. “But I wouldn’t be listening for hoofbeats.”
I didn’t explain further, as we were busy. The vanguard had reached the bottom of the Sudden Fortress and began attacking its wooden base with axes. Immediately, the fortress’ paraclete responded to the threat with a flurry of blows built into the recesses of the structure.
Chains and blades lashed out from pockets within the base, and spikes jabbed at the invaders as they rushed it. The Sudden Fortress acted as a massive, multilimbed arcane construct. It seemed to see everything at once, and the scrugs who were throwing themselves at it were clearly enemies. It responded accordingly, from scores of secret cavities. Goblins died the moment they rushed the foundation, dispatched by pounding blades and lashing chains.
Just then, the darkness above the gurvani was cut by a screech that vibrated our teeth in our mouths. The rainy night was cut by the beat of wings. Nattia’s Wing had arrived, as summoned. They were at least as impressive as a company of charging knights.
Clearly, the lass’ close association with Gareth and other wizards had informed their tactics. After the first warning cry, the beat of wings overhead was accompanied by a bright flash of magelight from the breast of each great bird. While it seemed counterintuitive to indicate their presence so close to enemy archers, the effect was stunning. Many of the gurvani were temporarily blinded by the light, throwing them out of consensus with their comrades. In some cases they were trampled by their mates as they stumbled and lost focus. In others, they were thrown to the ground or jostled into confusion by their determined fellows.
But that was just the first element of the Wing’s attack. As each bird paused at the nadir of their arc, they threw skybolts, thaumaturgic orbs and small constructs down at the attackers. A line of explosive fire erupted at the base of the fortress as dozens fell to steel and enchantment.
I caught the briefest glimpse of the Kasari girl commanding the Vanadori Wing – no less than six birds, I saw. Nattia’s face was contorted in an expression of savage delight as she unleashed the deadly toys her friend Gareth had given her. It was a savage attack from an unexpected direction. The few shields that went up to cover the gurvani below were ineffective against the onslaught. Geysers of magical energy blossomed amongst them, producing punishing waves of damaging energy wherever they activated. Broad circles of suddenly-incapacitated gurvani caused the determined surge to falter, if only for a moment.
“That’s what I like to see!” Wenek screamed, enthusiastically, as the wind began picking up. A superstitious man might associate that sort of thing with the arrival of the giant hawks, but I knew better. I still appreciated the power of a good coincidence. “We need more of those birds, Min!” Wenek insisted. “A lot more!”
As resolute as our attackers were, we were keeping them at bay. The tide of dark warriors was being churned and chopped into a grisly pile, and the deadly precision in their approach was marred by our stout resistance. Nattia’s dive-bombing charges repeatedly discouraged attempts to bring ladders or other equipment close to the Fortress, and no gurvani who made it across the chaotic battlefield managed to climb more than a few feet up the sides of the defense before they were blasted, hacked, or pummeled by our defenders.
“That’s a lot of bodies, down there,” Taren warned.
“As long as they’re dead, I don’t care,” Wenek dismissed, as he sent a deadly bolt of bright arcane power down on the closest invaders, before preparing another spell.
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Taren called, doubtfully. “Their master is a Nemovort. Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean that they’re no longer of service.”
“Only if he can reanimate a butcher’s shop!” Wenek retorted. “I prepared for this sort of thing, after Olum Seheri!” To demonstrate the point, his shower of arcane power dropped to a few feet above the ground and spun out in a perpendicular direction. Whatever flesh they touched, living or dead, parted explosively as if it had been sliced by a gigantic razor wielded by an insane barber. Viscera exploded from the chests and abdomens, and brains fountained across the field.
“That’s disgusting!” Ruderal said, his face pale as he stared into the carnage before him.
“But effective,” Rustallo observed from above. “There aren’t enough intact corpses left to raise . . . it looks like a slaughterhouse. Well done, Wenek!” he praised.
“Master, I think they’ll be withdrawing, soon!” Ruderal predicted, unexpectedly, a moment later.
“Why would they do that?” Wenek asked, confused. “We let them get this far! They should be redoubling their efforts!”
“They’ve left a thousand dead on the field in the last half-hour,” Taren observed, as he fired his next bolt into the attackers, where it impaled a hobgoblin and then spawned a construct that resembled a ten-armed insect. “We’ve lost a few dozen. That’s got to be discouraging!”
“Ishi’s tits, I think the lad is right,” Wenek said, a moment later. No new foe had pushed beyond the ruined fence to challenge the base. “They’re going to withdraw!”
“Does that mean we won?” Ruderal asked.
“No, it means that we’ve won their respect,” I suggested. “Gaja Katar isn’t in a position to wage a battle of attrition, with so many of his forces still on the road. He’s tested us with his vanguard, and we established that we are well-defended. He’s going to pause and regroup, challenge us and delay while his reinforcements catch up,” I reasoned.
“Let’s get some men down there to cover the withdrawal,” suggested Taren. “They can repair some of those barricades, while they’re down there. I think it’s going to be a long night. No reason to make it any easier for them.”
***
The gurvani helpfully gave us a three-hour break between attacks, while a few thousand more fresh goblin infantry arrived. They didn’t seem pleased that there was still fighting to do, and even less that a long line of their deceased comrades littered the front of the hill.
The Sudden Fortress had born up well during the attack. Indeed, many of the close-defense spells hadn’t even been used yet, and the long break gave us the opportunity to refresh the rest of the protections. The soldiers within adopted the bored, casual manner of men impatiently awaiting battle. Some ate, some took naps, while others sharpened weapons and exchanged stories.
I spent my time in communication with my subordinates, getting dispatches mind-to-mind or by Mirror from our own cenacle of scrying wizards and stealthy spies. It was encouraging. No one was panicked, and there didn’t seem to be many surprises in store. The Sky Riders were taking turns patrolling high overhead, keeping an eye on the long, dark line of gurvani still making for our position. That gave us a good estimate of when we could expect a second attack. Even better, the limited artillery that was being brought forward was moving at a crawl over the narrow roads.
We could largely thank Mavone’s Ravens for that. Some of his warmagi had seeded the roadway with a special “axel-breaking” spell that made moving wagons and carts a challenge. The spell was a simple enchantment laid as a sigil, one that turned the thick logs the gurvani used in their great wagons into toothpicks. They’d chosen spots along the route where going around the damaged wagon would be difficult, and invited a surprise attack. As a result, the artillery train was lagging far behind the rest of the column along with much of the supplies and baggage.
; A patient, wise commander would have waited until the artillery caught up. Or at least left behind the great catapults and brought the siege worms ahead on their own. But Gaja Katar pressed a second attack with his fresh infantry, instead. The great goblins he formed up in a thick column facing our position looked far more formidable than their fellows from the van, and their weapons and armor were better suited for the kind of dangerous work ahead. They held a collection of hooked pikes and savage-looking, long-hafted halberds, and every third bore a crossbow.
“They’re bigger,” Wenek observed, as we prepared to receive their attack. “And there are more of them. But their line is no better dressed, and they have no cavalry,” he sneered.
“Nor a need for it,” I pointed out. “He plans to overwhelm us with infantry in numbers.”
“Or convince us to surrender,” Taren countered. “It looks like their general is moving forward with his bodyguard. Perhaps to parley?”
“It’s the Nemovort!” scowled Wenek, as he used magesight to peer closely at the foe. “Ugly bastard, too. There’s a herald out in front,” he added.
“Perhaps he does want to parley,” I realized, surprised. “But what can he hope to gain?”
“I think he just wants to brag,” Ruderal dismissed.
“It would be impolite not to parley, under a flag of truce, if such an invitation is extended,” Taren pointed out. “Besides, we might learn something important.”
“And Min might talk the ugly bastard to death,” Wenek agreed. “Who do you want to send? I volunteer,” he added.
Wenek was not my first choice as an emissary. I could see on his wide face that he would view a parley as an opportunity for treachery, and I wasn’t that desperate, yet. Indeed, I was my first choice. I was genuinely curious about the Nemovort who’d felt so driven to take my head and conquer my lands that he’d risked the weather to beat his rivals for the chance.
“I’ll go,” I decided. “I feel the need to introduce myself. Ruderal, you’re with me. The rest of you, prepare for treachery.”
“I’m always prepared for treachery,” Wenek snorted. “If that walking corpse tries anything, Min, I’ll jam my warstaff so far up his arse that his eyes glow green, for a change,” he promised.
“That’s the spirit,” I chuckled, as I headed downstairs, Ruderal at my heels
“Master?” he asked, anxiously, “why do you want me there?”
“So you can read his enneagram while we talk,” I explained. “I need to know if he’s being truthful or not. I doubt his dead face will reveal much.”
“Oh,” Ruderal said, frowning. “I suppose that’s wise,” he conceded, as we made our way to the postern door, past a few score archers who were preparing for the assault.
“You’ll be as safe with me as back here,” I promised, with false confidence. “And I appreciate your bravery. If you’d like to stay back and observe—”
“Oh, no, no, Master,” Ruderal assured. “I don’t mind being there. I’m not afraid, at all. Indeed, I look forward to seeing that thing up close. So I can slay it, someday,” he said, darkly.
I paused. “Rudy, that’s not your responsibility,” I instructed him.
“I’ve assumed it,” he countered, one of the few times he’d ever challenged me. “If Tyndal and Rondal can dedicate themselves to destroying the Brotherhood of the Rat, I can do the same with Korbal and the Nemovorti,” he pledged.
“Just observe, for now,” I said, gently. “Learn all you can of him and his minions, and tell me, mind-to-mind, if he attempts to lie. If there is slaying to do, I am well-equipped for that,” I pointed out, nodding toward the Magolith that hovered protectively in front of me.”
“Should you go to a parley armed, Master?” Ruderal asked, changing the subject.
“Blade sheathed,” I agreed. “But perhaps a battlestaff isn’t the best choice,” I decided, banishing Blizzard to its hoxter pocket, and summoning Insight, my thaumaturgical baculus, in its place. It wasn’t as menacing as Blizzard, but it was a lot more versatile. I produced a handkerchief to tie to the end of it, before we bravely threaded our way through the front lines and down the corpse-strewn hill toward our bitter enemy.
The Nemovort didn’t bother with a flag of truce – that’s not a custom of either the Alka Alon or the gurvani – but they did the equivalent when the transformed Alka Alon herald – definitely one of the Enshadowed – came forth bearing his spear point-down. He lead a party of six toward the empty spot between the two lines, Gaja Katar, four guards and an Enshadowed aide, also transformed into their ancient warrior form.
“I am Ylimelinen, herald of Gaja Katar, the Great!” the Alkan said, with a haughty sneer. ”Who dares approach his magnificence to beg for their lives?” he demanded, as his master came to a halt, ten feet behind te herald, surrounded by his draugen bodyguards.
”Minalan the Spellmonger, Count of Magelaw, Baron of Sevendor, Marshal of Alshar, Member of the Royal Castalshari and Alshari Ducal Courts, Head of the Arcane Orders . . . am I forgetting anything?” I asked Ruderal, suddenly.
”Assailer of Olum Seheri?” he offered. ”Slayer of thousands of goblins? Bestower of a slow, fatal wound to Korbal the Necromancer? Sworn foe to evil and darkness?”
”If you want to get colorful,” I shrugged. ”I was going to stick to my official titles. But I am, indeed, Minalan the Spellmonger. And this is my apprentice, Ruderal of Vanador. And these are my lands you are tresspassing in,” I added.
”I go where I will and ask no humani’s leave!” the Nemovort said, with arrogant venom dripping from his voice. ”You are the one who has given my master such discomfort!” he accused. ”Excellent. That simplifies things for me. My master desires your head. And that . . . sphere. I thought I would have to hunt you down.”
”I’m not inclined to hide,” I informed him. ”Not when I have ruffians tromping through my lands with complete disregard for proper tolls. Nor am I inclined to lose, when I face such rogues in battle.”
”You expect to resist my army with that humble fortress?” Gaja Katar mocked.
”Certainly,” I nodded. ”But that’s just the first. Should you defeat us here, you will face us at the walls of yon tower,” I said, nodding toward the mage tower in the distance. ”Your folk did not fare too well against Lotanz Tower. You’ll find Traveler’s Tower to be at least as deadly.”
”That was a mere skirmish,” dismissed Gaja Katar. ”A scouting expedition—”
”That was nearly wiped out to the last gurvan, from what I hear,” I smirked.
”Punishment for their own stupidity,” the Nemovort sneered. ”They were mere gurvani. They mean nothing. Nor does your pile of sticks, Minalan the Spellmonger. I shall push it down, and the pile of rocks behind it. If you are fortunate, you will perish in the assault. Should I take you prisoner, however, know that it will be a long, painful death of suffering and torment.”
”I would expect no less,” I nodded. ”In return, I’ll probably take your head quickly, before you even know it.”
”You are not that good of a warrior,” he pronounced, contemptuously.
”See? Now you just made it a challenge,” I sighed. ”I was good enough to face Sheruel and live. Twice. I fought toe-to-toe with your master and condemned him to exist in that rotting body. I’ve slain Nemovorts, dragons, and trolls. I take it you are accounted a great warrior, among your folk?” I asked, politely.
”Among the greatest,” Gaja Katar said, proudly.
”That figures . . . because you’ve demonstrated that you are no sage, Gaja Katar. You face not a mere humani warrior prince, but a wizard who is renowned for cunning victories over slow, stupid opponants who underestimate me. I believe you may qualify,” I added.
”Beware your tongue, wizard,” the undead lord warned. ”Lest I give it to one of my master’s less savory minions after I am finished with you.”
”It wouldn’t be the worst place it’s been,” I taunted, confusing the thing for a moment. ”You wa
nt my head? Bring your army against me and try and take it. But don’t bore me to defeat with your petty, banal threats. Try to face me like a man, on the field, and save some vestige of your honor, before you die,” I said. ”That concludes our negotiations,” I finished, and turned on my heel.
”Spellmonger!” barked the herald. ”You dare disrespect a power thousands of years older than you?” he asked in disbelief.
”Well, I’d say calling Gaja Katar a ’power’ is dramatically overstating it,” I offered, casually, ”but, in truth, I dare disrespect him because he hasn’t demonstrated himself worthy of my respect. Once I return from our parley, you are free to convince me otherwise.”
I didn’t look back, as I turned my back on the angry immortals and strode purposefully toward the Sudden Fortress, but I caught Ruderal offering our foes a viciously rude gesture with his fingers out of the corner of my eye, as we withdrew.
”Are they angry?” I asked him.
”They’re properly stewed up,” he agreed. ”The Enshadowed are particularly distressed. I don’t think they think that you know who you’re facing. Otherwise, you’d be more scared.”
”After this, they’ll be the ones scared of me,” I assured him.
It wasn’t an entirely vainglorious boast; I had a lot of destructive magic at my command, and to this point the battle had largely been an elaborate skirmish. I was confident of our chances, knowing what I knew. Taren and Wenek, alone, could have held the Sudden Fortress against the seven or eight thousand goblin infantry Gaja Katar was about to throw against us.
I took the rag off the end of my staff and exchanged it for Blizzard, but not before I interrogated the paraclete within my baculus about what it had learned of the Nemovort, while we were talking. I was gratified that the baculus had collected much vital information on the nature and composition of the spellwork that kept that thing mimicking life. I didn’t see anything in particular I could make use of, at first glance, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be useful.
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