Once again drums rolled over the Heptarchy soldiers, louder this time. The arachar orcs raised their voices and shouted. The massive army began to advance at a steady pace, the front ranks moving as one. The orcs beat the flats of their swords against their shields as they marched, and the crash of metal against wood grew louder with every step.
Gavin let out a long breath. “They’re good soldiers, aren’t they?”
“Aye,” said Ridmark. It was why the Anathgrimm were so deadly in battle. Each Anathgrimm orc was a formidable fighter on his own. But the Anathgrimm fought with discipline, with order and cohesion, and when fighting alongside each other the Anathgrimm were vastly more dangerous than they were on their own.
The arachar orcs, Ridmark suspected, would have the same prowess.
The ground shivered a little beneath his boots with the tread of their advance.
###
Calliande watched the arachar advance, both with her eyes of flesh and the vision of the Sight.
It was troubling enough with her eyes of flesh. The orcs advanced in a solid wall of shields and steel and helmets. The skirmishers hurried before them, and soon volleys of missile fire soared between the two armies. The men of Andomhaim had the advantage with aiming since they could remain still, though that did make them easier targets for the arachar. Men of both sides died as arrows and quarrels plunged into flesh, and then javelins as the armies got close enough for thrown weapons.
Calliande’s Sight beheld a storm of dark magic gathering behind the advancing host. Dozens of priestesses and battle wizards had accompanied the arachar orcs, and they had combined their powers, preparing attacks of dark magic and elemental power.
“Be ready!” shouted Calliande. “Be ready with warding spells! The enemy will attack soon.”
The vortex of dark magic behind the arachar intensified, growing stronger. God and the saints, but the spiderling priestesses were powerful. The spiderlings that Calliande had fought in Andomhaim had been the overseers of small cults worshiping urdmordar, powerful but relatively unskilled. But she saw great skill in the spell roiling behind the arachar. These spiderlings, with their dark elven blood, were stronger with dark magic – and the organization of the Seven Temples had likely trained them to a higher degree of skill.
The storm of dark magic grew to a climax.
“Now!” shouted Calliande, casting her warding spell as she thrust her staff overhead. Around her the Magistri did the same, casting as large a warding spell as they were able, though none of their spells were as potent as hers.
The attack came a moment later, a shaft of blue fire that stabbed out of the sky towards the High King’s banner. Had the spell struck, it would have killed everyone within a hundred yards of the High King. But Calliande and the other Magistri had worked their spells in time, and the shaft of ghostly fire struck their wards with a thunderclap. Calliande gritted her teeth as pain rolled through her skull at the impact, but the defenses held.
Antenora rose in her stirrups and thrust her staff. A sphere of flame three feet across soared from her staff, arced through the sky, and landed amid the advancing arachar. The explosion was impressive, and a score of orcs vanished in a whirling cloud of fire.
“Corbanic,” said Arandar, drawing Excalibur and pointing the sword. “Sound the advance.”
Corbanic barked commands to the royal standardbearers, and they blew long blasts on their trumpets. Answering blasts rose throughout the host, and the men of Andomhaim shouted. They, too, advanced, shields raised, swords drawn back to strike.
They advanced in good order, Calliande noted, though not as precisely as the Anathgrimm.
The two armies crashed together. The noise was immense, and nothing sounded like two armies slamming into each other. Shields crashed against shields, swords rang against swords, flesh tore beneath steel, and the shouts and screams of fighting soldiers rose together to create an incredible din. The sound sent a shock through Calliande’s mind, reminding her of all the battles she had seen – the first Frostborn war, the siege of Tarlion, the Battle of the Plains, the desperate struggle before Cathair Animus…
She said a quick, silent prayer for Ridmark, for all the men fighting and dying before her.
Then dark magic flared behind the arachar host, and Calliande turned her full attention to their defenses.
###
The trumpets rang out, and to Ridmark’s left, the mounted men shouted and charged, kicking their horses to a trot and then a gallop. The horsemen surged into the advancing arachar, and men and orcs and horses screamed and died. Dark magic crackled overhead, only to shatter against the domes of white light that appeared near the royal banner.
It would take more than priestesses of the Seven Temples to break the power of the Keeper of Andomhaim.
The Master of the Order of the Soulblade shouted a command, and Ridmark lifted Oathshield, the blue sword flickering with white flames. The soulblade was reacting to the dark magic conjured by the priestesses. Ridmark felt the sword’s fury, felt its desire to destroy the creatures and wielders of dark magic. Part of him wanted to call the power of the Shield Knight and charge into the fray, cutting down his foes right and left. But he held that impulse in check. He could only draw on that power once a day, and best to save it until he had no other choice but to use it.
And the Swordbearers would be needed to deal with the priestesses and the battle wizards. Calliande and the Magistri could break their attacks, but the Swordbearers would have to cut down the enemy wizards.
The Master shouted a command, and the Swordbearers strode forward. The horsemen on the right wing had hammered hard into the first line of the enemy, driving them back, and gaps had opened in their defenses. The Swordbearers could punch through those gaps and force their way to the enemy priestesses.
The Swordbearers broke into a run, and Ridmark lifted Oathshield and charged.
###
Another blast of dark magic hammered against Calliande’s wards, and she gritted her teeth and held her will locked. Blue fire flared and danced overhead, sparking against her defenses. The Order of the Magistri had combined their power to create an overlapping series of wards, much as the arachar had raised their shields to defend themselves and each other. The resultant spell was able to hold against the hammering of the priestesses.
The kyralven wizards had entered the fray. Calliande didn’t know if it was the Temple Ordinariates who were attacking or the battle wizards who served alongside the arachar soldiers, and right now she didn’t care. Lightning bolts stabbed from the sky, sometimes followed by volleys of fire or a rain of granite-hard icicles like spears. Calliande and the Magistri held their defenses against the attack, but the enemy wizards were hitting them hard.
She hoped Ridmark and the Swordbearers closed with them soon.
Calliande saw how the Heptarchy had conquered such a vast empire, how the urdmordar and their Seven Temples held sway over so many tribes and nations. This was a skilled and disciplined army. Over the roar and the thunder of the spells, she heard the clang of steel against steel and knew that the footmen and knights of Andomhaim were advancing against the front rank of the Heptarchy army. But the Heptarchy soldiers were putting up a ferocious fight, and Calliande hoped the horsemen punched through the flanks soon.
Else she feared the infantry might not be able to hold against the arachar.
Another blast of dark magic hammered against her wards. Calliande gritted her teeth before she could stop herself, pain flaring through her jaw, but the defensive spells held.
She braced herself for the next attack, preparing to recast the wards.
Except…
Calliande blinked several times and then sent the Sight spinning out from her, seeking the dark aura of the priestesses.
The priestesses were moving off to the east.
###
The Knights of the Order of the Soulblade crashed into the ranks of the arachar orcs, and Ridmark killed and killed.
One Swordbearer was a formidable force on the battlefield. Hundreds of them gathered together were a terror. Ridmark slew arachar after arachar. Around him, the Swordbearers did the same, driving hard against the enemy. Ridmark saw Gavin catch a sword on his shield and shove, knocking the arachar back. Before the red orc could recover, Truthseeker ripped open his throat, and Gavin stepped past his foe’s falling corpse to kill another.
Ridmark drew on Oathshield’s power for speed and strength. He dodged around the blows of his enemies or caught them upon Aegisikon in its shield form. The magical wood of the shield was light, but not even swords driven by arachar strength could leave a scratch upon it. Ridmark killed and killed, his armor and sword spattered with hot arachar blood, his heart hammering against his chest, his breath rasping through his throat, the sweat burning his eyes. Battle was its own sort of madness, and Ridmark forgot himself in it.
Then he hewed down another arachar orc, stepped over his dying opponent, and looked around in surprise.
The Heptarchy army had attacked in three massive lines. The first line had advanced to engage the soldiers of Andomhaim, with the second two lines following. Ridmark had expected to see the lines rotate, as the Anathgrimm did in battle.
Yet the Swordbearers had broken through the first line, and there was no trace of the remaining two lines.
Ridmark looked north and south. All around him, he saw the horsemen and infantry of Andomhaim breaking through the first line of the arachar orcs. The reason for that was that most of the first line of arachar had withdrawn in good order and was hastening to the east. So were the second and third lines.
And further down the coast, further to the east, Ridmark saw the massed sails and masts of scores of fresh Heptarchy ships rushing towards the shore. Already he saw hundreds of longboats and rafts in the water, each one of them loaded with arachar orcs.
His mind raced through the implications. The Heptarchy had sacrificed some of their force, but the bulk of it had fallen back to the east. More soldiers were swarming onto the shore. They had abandoned their camps – did they think to give up their supplies? No, they expected to turn with their reinforcements and attack the army of Andomhaim, perhaps breaking the host and forcing it to withdraw to Cintarra.
All this flashed through his mind in a second.
“Cintarra is burning!” someone shouted
Ridmark looked to the west. They were far enough from Cintarra that he could just make out the city’s eastern wall and some of the towers within. But fires glowed within the walls, and dark shapes circled over the city. Had Agravhask brought dragons of his own? Morigna hadn’t mentioned anything about dragons, but the Herald of Ruin could have been cunning enough to hide them from her.
And while the bulk of the Eastern City blocked Ridmark’s view of the harbor, he could just make out the outline of ships heading towards the harbor.
A lot of ships.
Arandar had spoken about the risks of dividing one’s forces in the face of a powerful enemy, but it seemed Agravhask had taken that risk.
He was attacking both the army of Andomhaim and the city of Cintarra simultaneously.
“We need to get back to the High King right now,” said Ridmark to Gavin.
###
Calliande shook her head.
“I cannot make out what is happening,” she said, withdrawing the Sight. “The city is too far away, and there is too much magic nearby, to say nothing of the interference from the Great Eye. But I think the Heptarchy is attacking the city.”
Arandar had issued commands with rapid speed. Corbanic Lamorus had sounded the recall, and the army had pulled itself back into formation. The survivors of the Heptarchy’s first line fled to the east, rushing to join the second and third lines, which had marched in good order to form up with the reinforcements pouring ashore from the newly arrived ships. Calliande was not sure how many more soldiers had arrived to reinforce the Heptarchy army, but it had to be at least thousands.
And more were hastening ashore with every moment. The enemy had abandoned their baggage and camps. It was a risk, but one that might pay off. If they won here, they would destroy the army of Andomhaim and seize Cintarra.
And all Andomhaim would fall soon after.
Assuming Agravhask did not first open the Great Eye and destroy the world for the Warden.
“Those dark shapes flying over the city,” said Arandar, pointing at Cintarra. “Guardian, do you know what they are?”
“I do not, High King,” said Morigna, her voice tight. “There were thousands of ships in the Heptarchy’s fleet, and I could only visit a few of them. The priestesses spoke of secret weapons devised by the science of the Visionary, but I was never able to see them.”
“These flying things must be one of them,” said Corbanic.
“We must act swiftly,” said Arandar. “Shield Knight, Keeper, Lady Antenora, Sir Gavin. I want you to ride to Queen Mara and ask for her help here at once. As soon as the enemy is ready, they will strike hard at our men. We shall need the help of the Anathgrimm if we are to repulse their attack. Accolon, you will remain in command here until I return.”
“Where are you going, Father?” said Accolon with a frown.
“I shall take Constable Corbanic and as many royal troops as I can and ride for Cintarra,” said Arandar. “We left the archbishop as many forces as we could spare, and much work has been done fortifying the harbor. They can hold until reinforcements arrive, but they will need help. As soon as you are victorious here, hasten to Cintarra, for we will need your aid. Or if we repulse the attack on Cintarra, we shall join you here.”
Left unspoken was the danger that the city might fall, and the army would be destroyed, that the realm of Andomhaim would be undone in a day.
“I will remain with the Prince,” said Morigna. “I have the Sight, I can warn him if the enemy is about to use dark magic.”
“Good. Let us not delay,” said Arandar. “Make haste. The fate of our realm will be decided by what we do today.”
A short time later, Calliande was in the saddle, and she, Ridmark, Gavin, and Antenora galloped to the northwest, making for Queen Mara’s castra with all the speed they could muster.
She felt the time slipping away, knowing that even a single second could spell the difference between victory and defeat.
***
Chapter 21: Shieldruin
Agravhask of Mazulrast stood upon the bow of his flagship, watching the great city of Cintarra.
For it was a great city, he had to concede, easily equal to any of the massive cities of the Heptarchy. Of course, Andomhaim had only two cities of any real size, most of its population dwelling in the countryside and focusing its efforts upon farming. But Cintarra was a true city, rich and powerful, built up by the labor of generations over the centuries.
Mazulrast had once been such a city.
And such things were so easily destroyed. The work of generations could burn in a single day.
“Here we are, Warlord,” said Mayascora from behind him. “Cintarra at last.”
“Indeed, High Priestess,” murmured Agravhask. Mayascora, Taztaloria, and a few of the higher-ranking priestesses stood with him, along with several of the commanders. Milchikai of the Azrikai halflings stood at stiff attention, his face wooden, but there was a gleam of both fear and anticipation in his eye. It was the look of a soldier about to come to battle.
Agravhask understood it well. He had once felt that way.
But now he felt no fear, only anticipation for the destruction to come.
A faint metallic ringing came over the water.
Taztaloria tilted her head to the side. “Are those…bells?”
Mayascora scoffed. “Of course they are bells. The humans are calling upon their crucified god to save them. But since they will not offer blood sacrifices to him, he will not answer their petitions.”
Mayascora’s grasp of both the tactical situation and human theology were most amusingly flawed.
&nbs
p; “It is also likely they have spotted our ships and are calling the defenders of the city to arms,” said Agravhask. “Little good it will do them. The bulk of the human army engages Tuldrask and Valdrammis even as we speak. I expect their reinforcements have arrived by now.”
“And you shall take the city with the troops that remain,” said Mayascora.
“As you say, High Priestess,” said Agravhask. Fully two-thirds of the Heptarchy’s invasion force had either landed with Tuldrask and Valdrammis or were rushing to reinforce them.
But the rest of the force would be more than sufficient to take Cintarra.
“Milchikai,” said Agravhask, holding out a hand.
The halfling placed the spyglass in his hand. Agravhask extended the bronze tube and swept it over the harbor. He noted the barricades built beyond the quays, walls of earth and stone raised to block the streets leading to the Prince’s Palace and the bridges over the river. Makeshift defenses, to be sure, but in the relatively confined space of the streets, they would prove decisive. The arachar might get bogged down in the streets, trapped until reinforcements could arrive.
A swift, decisive blow was required.
Agravhask had prepared to deliver one.
“Master of Engineers,” said Agravhask, using Milchikai’s formal title. “The fire drakes are ready?”
Milchikai drew himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much. But the Azrikai used their minds as their weapons. “They are, Warlord. Nineteen of them are well enough to be used in battle.”
“Then use them,” said Agravhask. “Emphasize again that they are not to target any of the siege engines upon the outer walls.” Agravhask might need those engines soon enough. “Nor are they to attack anything that looks like a warehouse or a storehouse. They are to cause panic and fear. Striking large concentrations of troops would be ideal. Save for these restrictions, the riders are to use their best judgment.”
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