Soul of Dragons (21 page)

Corpses that Corvad's diadem could raise as zuvembies. 

“Oh, it will be,” said Corvad. Over a thousand zuvembies waited at the base of the hill. “If it wasn't for that damned sword of Mazael's, I would have butchered his men.” He grinned. “And even with that old sword, he'll have a hard time fighting off a thousand zuvembies. Especially combined with the Malrags and the Ogrags.” 

He beckoned, the green gem in the black diadem flaring.

The zuvembies surged forward, racing up their hillside.

###

The two calibah ran through the door, moving to join their three brothers. In another few seconds they would encircle Mazael, Gerald, and Kjalmir.

So Mazael charged.

He crashed into the nearest calibah, driving the changeling into the wall. He stabbed, Lion's blade sinking into the calibah's gut. Mazael sidestepped, ripping Lion free, the burning blade smoking and sizzling beneath a coat of green-tinted blood. The four remaining calibah attacked, leaping over the bodies of their companions, and Mazael backed away, Lion whipping back and forth as he blocked their stabs and thrusts. 

He sidestepped another blow and lashed out, Lion's point opening a calibah's throat.

###

“Timothy!” shouted Romaria.

The wizard hurried to her side, watching the zuvembies with narrowed eyes. There were at least a thousand of the things. And from the way their claws dug into the rough hillside, Romaria suspected they could scramble right up the village's walls. 

“My lady,” said Timothy.

“Your fire spell,” said Romaria. “Can you cast it?”

Timothy's eyes widened in understanding. “Yes, of course.” He opened his coat, and Romaria saw four copper tubes hanging there, their ends topped in cork. 

“Crossbowmen!” said Romaria. “Your quarrels. Ignite them!”

Mazael had insisted, for years, that his armsmen keep the necessary materials to set their quarrels aflame. The newer men grumbled, but the veterans understood. Magic and fire were the only things that could destroy a zuvembie. 

And Timothy had access to both.

Small fires crackled along the ramparts as the crossbowmen lit torches. Timothy climbed onto the battlements, coat flapping behind him, copper tube grasped in his right hand. He tugged the cork free and began to wave the tube in a specific pattern, chanting all while. Pale flickers of orange-yellow flame danced around the end of the tube.

The zuvembies scrambled closer, halfway up the hill.

“Release on my command!” said Romaria, as the crossbowmen loaded their weapons. 

Timothy thrust the tube at the zuvembies and shouted the final word to his spell.

And a raging gout of billowing flame exploded from the copper tube, rolling down the hill, the heat of it pounding against Romaria's face. The wave of fire slammed into the zuvembies, who went up like dry kindling. A wall of flame erupted from the front rank of the charging zuvembies, and the green fire vanished from their eyes as the creatures collapsed into piles of smoldering bone. 

Timothy wobbled, and Romaria caught him as he almost fell. 

“That...always tires me out more than I expect,” said Timothy, wiping sweat from his eyes. 

“Could you manage another blast?” said Romaria, watching the conflagration. There wasn't much brush on the hill, and it was burning out faster than she would like. 

“Possibly,” said Timothy, breathing hard. “I think.”

“Hold it in reserve,” said Romaria. The front rank of zuvembies had burned to coals, but smaller  packs broke away from the main band, circling around the fires. 

She lifted her composite bow and stuck a rag-rapped arrow into a torch.

“Crossbowmen!” she said, drawing the bow. “Choose your targets! Fire!”

The crossbowmen ignited their quarrels and fired as one. A storm of flaming streaks shout from the walls, hammering into the scattered zuvembies. Dozens of zuvembies went up in flame, collapsing into piles of charred bone and glowing coals. Romaria loosed arrow after arrow, and every arrow found a mark, setting withered flesh and yellowed bone ablaze.

Yet more zuvembies hurried up the hill, circling around the fires. 

###

Molly expected Corvad to fly into a rage when the flames exploded, but her brother remained calm.

“Clever,” he said. “I hadn't expected that. Mazael must have wizards other than Lucan Mandragon in his service.”

Molly snorted. “He'd have been a fool to rely solely on the Dragon's Shadow. Look what happened to him.”

“True,” said Corvad, still calm.

“Aren't you angry, brother?” said Molly, puzzled at his lack of fury. “The zuvembies are your chattels, after all, and they're being destroyed by the hundreds.”

Corvad lifted his eyebrows, gray eyes glinting. “The zuvembies are expendable. Their purpose is to tie down the defenders. Which, you'll note, they are doing.” 

Behind him the infused Ogrags lumbered forward. 

###

The four remaining changelings drove Mazael back until he bumped into the wall, out of room to maneuver. 

It gave Gerald and Kjalmir the chance to strike back.

Gerald's sword flickered in a silver blur, drawing a crimson line across a calibah's throat. Kjalmir's attack was slower, but just as effective. The steel head of his hammer crashed into a calibah's temple, and the changeling's head disintegrated into a crimson pulp. Mazael shoved away from the wall, Lion leading, and buried his blade into a calibah's chest.

The remaining calibah at sprang Mazael, mouth yawning wide, fangs glittering with poison.

Gerald's two-handed swing took the creature's head from its neck. The head bounced across the table, knocking over the pitchers of poisoned wine. 

For a brief moment silence hung over the manor hall.

“What were those devils?” said Kjalmir. 

“Calibah,” said Mazael, watching Lion's blade. The blue fires did not dim. There were still creatures of dark magic nearby. “San-keth changelings. The offspring of a human woman and a San-keth male. The San-keth cannot walk openly under the sun, so they send the calibah to do their dirty work.” 

“We have no experience of such creatures in Northreach,” said Kjalmir. “From time to time a San-keth cleric will travel into the Great Northern Waste and try to take control of a Malrag warband. The Malrags usually kill the clerics.” 

“The San-keth were ever fools,” said Mazael, “and so are their human servants.” His hand tightened around Lion's hilt. “Gaith, the scoundrel! Another of my own vassals sworn to the San-keth, just like Roger Gravesend. Well, I'll settle with him.” 

He stepped over the dead changelings, moving to the door next to the fireplace.

“Mazael!” said Gerald. “Look!”

Mazael looked out the window, saw the chaos in the village's square, saw flames blooming over the walls.  

###

Romaria loosed burning arrow after burning arrow. The crossbowmen kept a steady rain of quarrels, firing as fast as they could reload their weapons.

It wasn't nearly enough.

Dozens of zuvembies climbed up the wall, springing over the battlements. The knights and armsmen attacked, driving the zuvembies back with spears wrapped in burning rags. Yet they were running out of rags, and normal steel could not harm the zuvembies.  

Romaria released another arrow, and then three zuvembies rushed her. She dropped her bow and drew her bastard sword in a single smooth motion, swinging the weapon in a blow for the nearest zuvembie. 

The creature caught her strike on its crumbling forearm, her blade clanging as if it had struck a bar of steel. Romaria retreated, trying to fend off its blows. All around her, the line collapsed as more zuvembies sprang over the walls, and she saw the Malrags moving into position to attack.

Morsen was doomed. And Mazael's men were doomed, and Romaria with them, unless...

A bar of blue fire flashed across her vision and clanged against her sword. The azure flame spread to her blade, sheathing it in a crackling halo, and Romaria did not hesitate. This time her sword sheared through the zuvembie's arm as if it had been butter, and a quick backhanded slash smashed the creature's skull.

Mazael stepped past her, his armor splattered with green-tinted calibah blood, Lion burning like a star in his fist. Gerald and Kjalmir stood behind him, their weapons shimmering with ghostly blue flame. 

“Stand!” Mazael roared, leaping into the melee, slapping Lion against the blade of every weapon he saw, the blue fire spreading across the ramparts. “Stand and fight! Drive them back! Fight!” 

Romaria grinned and joined the fray, and the zuvembie attack crumbled. 

###

Corvad's eyes narrowed at the shimmer of blue flame crowning Morsen's ramparts. 

“Mazael,” spat Molly, her voice cold. “I wonder what took him so long to join the battle.”

Corvad shrugged. “Perhaps he was busy slaughtering the San-keth. There is a temple to Sepharivaim buried beneath village. Which is the reason we are here, if you've forgotten.”

“No,” said Molly. She saw Mazael fighting on the ramparts, tearing through the zuvembies like a storm. Her hatred felt like a storm of her own, a black fire to counter the azure flames of Mazael's sword. “No. I haven't forgotten.” 

Romaria fought at Mazael's side. Molly shivered, looking at her. She hated Mazael, loathed him with every piece of her heart and soul. But she feared Romaria, and yet looked forward to facing her again. 

It was a...curious mixture of sensations.

“Good,” said Corvad. “Fear not, sister. You shall have your revenge. Once we find Arylkrad, once we transform Lucan Mandragon, you will have Mazael. And you shall make him suffer as no man has ever suffered.” 

He beckoned, and the twisted shapes of the infused Ogrags lumbered forward. 

###

Mazael smashed the skull of another zuvembie, ducked the rake of jagged claws, and destroyed another with a quick blow from Lion. 

He cursed himself as a fool. He should never have accepted Gaith's invitation. And he should never have left his men. He had known Corvad was going to attack, had known that only Lion's fire could destroy the zuvembies.

He just hadn't expected the attack to come so soon. 

But his men were holding. The strength of the zuvembie attacked faltered, and Mazael's men regained the walls, destroying the undead. Corvad's Malrags had not yet formed up for a proper attack on the walls. If Mazael's crossbowmen got into position before Corvad launched the next wave of his attack, they would hold.

And perhaps Corvad himself would pay for the dead men in Cravenlock colors who lay below the walls. 

A bloodcurdling screech rose from Corvad's host. 

The hideous war cry of a Malrag, but louder, much louder.

Mazael cut down one last zuvembie and looked over the battlements.

Four Ogrags lumbered up the hillside, massive spiked clubs dangling from their hands. The hulking creatures, each one taller than the wall, wore ragged black chain mail and battered black plates. Crimson veins pulsed and throbbed atop the leathery expanse of their gray hides. Regular Ogrags were dangerous enough, but Corvad's infused pets were lethal.

“Crossbows!” shouted Mazael. “Focus on the Ogrags. Fire! Fire!”

Mazael's crossbowmen raised their weapons, as did the Arminiars. The Arminiar knights bore massive, wicked-looking black crossbows, each loaded with a vicious barbed quarrel. Kjalmir said the weapons had been constructed specifically to kill Ogrags. 

Mazael hoped it would be enough.

A volley of crossbow bolts lanced out, punching into the first Ograg. The creature bellowed in pain, black blood spurting from its wounds even as the barbed Arminiar quarrels plunged through its armor. At last the creature stiffened and lost its footing, rolling back down the hill like a wayward boulder. Romaria stood atop the wall, composite bow in hand, loosing shaft after shaft with the uncanny accuracy of her Elderborn senses. Her arrows plunged into the second Ograg's enormous white eyes, its thick, tumor-encrusted neck, down its roaring maw. At last the Ograg fell, drowning in its own blood. 

The remaining two Ogrags reached the wall. 

The first swung its club in a massive overhand arc, bringing it down on the gates. The wooden gates and the stone arch collapsed in a pile of rubble, and the Ograg stormed into Morsen, howling its war cry. The second Ograg seized the battlements and heaved itself onto the ramparts, the wall cracking beneath its weight. It crushed one of Mazael's men and another of Gerald's beneath its bulk, and one swing of its club sent three armored men tumbling through the air like a child's toys. 

Mazael sprinted at the Ograg atop the ramparts and swung, Lion in both hands. The blade bit deep into the Ograg's leg, black blood sizzling against blue fire. The Ograg screeched and spun, the back of its hand slamming into Mazael's chest. He lost his balance and fell, landing hard below the wall. 

The Ograg howled and jumped from the wall, club raised high. 

Mazael rolled, the Ograg's massive feet slamming into the ground.

Which began to shake. 

Mazael scrambled to his feet as the ground shook, cracks opening below the wall. A hole appeared in the street before the gate, houses collapsing into the growing sinkhole. Mazael started at in astonishment, and then the explanation reached his brain.

He'd known there was a San-keth temple below the village.

He just didn't know how large it was.

Or if its roof had been built strongly enough to, say, support the weight of an Ograg leaping from the wall.

The ground collapsed beneath Mazael, and he plunged into darkness.

###

Molly watched as Romaria's arrows streaked home, driving the second Ograg to the ground. 

Astonishing. The woman was a more efficient killer than any of the master assassins of the Skulls. 

The remaining two Ogrags reached the wall, and a moment later the gates collapsed, disappearing into the hill.