Trials (9 page)

Cold… terrible cold… we’ll freeze, and there’s nothing we can do about it…

Lomar was trying desperately to defend the gate, together with Jonas and Elis. If the Norghanians took it, they would be lost. They fought boldly, impelled by the surge of adrenalin that came with the knowledge that they were on the brink of defeat, aware that death was coming to bear them away into infinite darkness. They were fierce and brutal, knowing the Norghanians were more skilled than they were themselves, trying to hold them back with the ferocity and savagery of desperation.

The battering ram, with a layer of frost protecting it from the Rogdonian fire, delivered terrible blows to the reinforced gate. The blows echoed along the wall as if a giant hammer were pounding it.

Lomar looked around. All the archers had fallen to the Mage’s freezing bolt, and half the reinforcements lay dead at the feet of the Invincibles of the Ice, who kept grimly climbing the wall in an attempt to take that section of it. The defenders were on the brink of utter despair. The gate was on the point of falling, the ram was battering them below and the Invincibles above. The enemy was winning the battle at its most critical point.

Luckily the Ice Mage had moved back, leaving the heavy infantry in charge of the rest of the work. A loud, ominous creak confirmed Lomar’s worst fears: the great gate had given way and would now crumble. With a fury born of impotence he charged against the three Invincibles who were blocking his path. Jonas and Elis hurried to his side. They fought like wild dogs, a foam of rage on their mouths. The battle was being lost, the gate was being taken by the enemy, they would lose the fortress. Jonas fell with his throat cut, but as he fell the brave veteran stabbed his opponent in the groin with a final effort. Lomar wielded his sword savagely left and right with the speed and strength of a madman.

Young Elis finished his man with a fierce cut to the head. He turned to help Lomar and a sword went through his thigh. Lomar saw it. Leaving his own enemy, he blocked a fatal blow directed at Elis’ neck where he had fallen on one knee.

“Get up, Elis! Get up!” he urged in desperation.

Elis lifted his head and nodded, then got to his feet without being able to put his weight on the wounded leg. Lomar blocked a stroke to his face and kicked his adversary viciously, making him step back. Elis went on fighting, defending himself with difficulty against the enemy attacks. Lomar grabbed a lance from the floor and thrust it into the side of Elis’ attacker. Elis finished him off with a savage cut to the face. Pain exploded in Lomar’s shoulder. A sword had caught him. Elis came to his defense, thrusting right and left, forcing the enemy to retreat.

Lomar held his left shoulder; the wound was deep and he was losing a lot of blood. He heard a muffled gurgle and turned to his comrade.

Elis took two steps back with his hands to his throat, trying in vain to stop the blood flowing out of the gaping cut.

“Elis! No!” Lomar shouted, furious at seeing the young soldier die.

Another sword flashed before his eyes and pierced his hip, where the cuirass ended. The pain drove him mad, and he launched himself against the row of Invincibles who had already taken that section of the gate.

A blow from a shield swept him off the wall into the courtyard, he seemed to fly for a moment then fell on top of a mound of corpses and lost consciousness.

Count Longor had managed to regroup his men and with great difficulty had driven the Invincibles of the Ice back. He looked along his section of wall and saw with a sinking heart that he barely had any soldiers left to hold it. Soon they would be engulfed by the assailants, unless there was a miracle.

The siege tower was still advancing toward the wall.

“Six men here with me! Form a line! We’ll defend the wall from the siege tower! We won’t let that bitch dishonor the wall with her presence!” he ordered impetuously, trying to show his men there was still some hope.

The giant tower reached the wall. The upper part remained covered, which puzzled Longor.

“Oil jars!” the Count commanded as the moving gangway extended towards the wall, revealing a row of Invincibles of the Ice ready to attack.

Longor watched them. They did not charge; they were watching the defensive line but did not move. The gangway, four paces wide and the same in length, was the only thing separating both groups of soldiers. Why did they not attack?

It hardly mattered. He would burn them all anyway.

“Launch the jars!” he ordered, and four soldiers pushed the jars to the edge of the wall and poured their contents over the base of the siege tower.

They’re mine, they’ll burn like tinder! There’s still hope
!

The upper part of the tower shed its wooden cover.

An Ice Mage appeared on it in his glacial attire.

Longor looked at him and his spirit froze.

The enemy Mage cast a spell while Longor ordered his men to fire incendiary arrows at the base of the structure. The Mage touched the wooden surface of the tower with his staff, which was crowned with a great crystalline jewel. Immediately the wood began to freeze and a thick layer of frost and ice soon covered it. The process spread across the whole structure at great speed, turning each level into ice and frost down to the base. In an instant the whole machine was covered with a frozen cloak.

“Fire at the base! Fire!” Count Longor urged.

But it was too late. The arrows met the ice and frost which prevented the spilt oil from catching fire. The Count contemplated his vain effort. This time they had come prepared, had brought an Ice Mage with them to protect the structure. And in that moment he understood what was about to happen.

We’re lost, there’s no hope
.

The Ice Mage disappeared within the structure as a dull roar sounded on the gangway. The Invincibles of the Ice charged against the Rogdonian line of defense.

Longor looked up at the sky and cried:

“Come and try my steel, you damned Norghanians!”

Four Invincibles broke the weak line of defense and fell upon the brave Count. Longor fought with skill, his sword dealing death among his enemies, but he was outnumbered. Mortally wounded, with his last breath he thrust at the armpit of the Norghanian who had reached him, making sure he would bleed to death.

“You’re coming with me,” he said to his adversary with a mocking grin.

A Norghanian sword went through him.

“It’s been… a… pleasure…” he said with shining eyes.

And he died with his signature smile on his lips.

The eastern section of the wall had fallen.

The Norghanian Army was now climbing the siege tower onto the wall with no opposition whatever.

At the other end of the wall, Gerart tried to get to his feet and stand up against the ice storm which was engulfing them, but the glacial wind would not let him. He was so cold, he was finished. Soon his limbs would freeze and he would die there on the wall.
At least I haven’t failed my father. I’ll die carrying out his orders. The only thing I regret is that I wasn’t able to stop the enemy advance. Now they’ll have free access to the capital. I haven’t failed my father, but I have failed my nation, and for that I’m truly sorry
.

An icy drowsiness warned him that he was about to enter the fatal frozen sleep of no return. He could almost see death disguised in white, flying above his soul in the middle of the storm of ice. The whole world was frost, snow and icy wind, and he was very, very sleepy. His eyes were closing; he could not stay awake.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and shook it hard.

“Gerart! Gerart! Wake up!” a vaguely familiar voice shouted from afar.

The Prince tried to open his eyes and fight against the drowsiness that had him in its power, but he found it impossible.

“Come on, Gerart! Wake up or you’ll die! Wake up in the name of King Solin!”

When he heard his father’s name something in his spirit reacted, a force which was a mixture of pride and rage. He opened his eyes and saw a familiar face which at first he did not recognize. Quiet grey eyes were staring at him, half-closed. A face was looking at him: one young but experienced, with long blond hair, someone he knew… And then he recognized him.

By all the Ancient Gods!

It was Haradin!

“Haradin!” Gerart cried with immense happiness.

Filled with joy, he managed to clear his mind a little and come to himself.

The Rogdonian Mage smiled at him and helped him back to his feet. At once a dozen Royal Swords surrounded them.

“It looks as if I’ve come at the last moment,” Haradin said. “We’ll have to do something about this ice storm before it freezes all of us.”

The Battle Mage of Rogdon, dressed in a simple grey robe, stood defiant in the middle of the storm. He gave out an aura of courage and valor.

He concentrated with his eyes closed and intoned a long sentence of power. Waving his staff in the direction of the siege tower, he cast a spell. The storm was attacked by another, this time one of burning heat from the desert which Haradin had conjured, and this began to engulf it. The intense dry heat was completely destroying the ice storm as it spread over the wall.

Gerart stood up with some difficulty, aided by two Royal Swords, as he tried to get back some warmth into his stiff legs. The scene on the wall was a nightmare, with the Rogdonian soldiers who had been caught by the storm lying there dead or dying. The Prince felt a searing pain at the sight of all his men fallen in the defense of the fortress.

The Ice Mage on the siege tower realized what was happening and prepared to attack Haradin. He lifted his long staff of white wood, and a spear of ice shot towards Haradin from the glassy jewel on it. The Rogdonian Mage saw it coming and at once conjured up a protective sphere.

Gerart saw the spear approaching at enormous speed. But something was wrong; Haradin was not managing to protect himself! He was taking too long to finish his spell. Haradin’s face showed immense frustration. It alarmed Gerart, for the devilish swiftness with which Haradin cast his spells was legendary in the kingdom and was said to be unequalled. His father had always told him that there was no other Mage in the whole continent who could cast spells so fast, something which gave him a great advantage when facing other Mages. He tried to warn him, fearing the worst, when one of the Royal Swords jumped in front of him to block the icy spear. The brave soldier fell to the ground with his heavy armor pierced through. He had saved Haradin’s life, and the Mage’s protective sphere was finally taking shape.

The Mage’s face showed deep sorrow.

Haradin looked at the Ice Mage and cast another spell. But nothing happened. Gerart realized that something was the matter with the Mage, something that was not normal at all. Gerart shivered, but not with cold. Quickly, refusing to give up, Haradin tried again, and this time the spell worked as it should. A huge ball of fire shot from his staff and exploded against the Ice Mage and the Invincibles who were protecting him. The whole top of the structure caught fire. The men, engulfed in flames, jumped into the void amid chilling screams. The Ice Mage had raised his own protective sphere and resisted the attack.

“Get out of here! Move back!” Haradin yelled to his compatriots when he saw the other Mage’s defensive sphere.

Gerart realized that a fight between two very powerful Mages had begun, and that they would have to leave immediately or else be destroyed. They raced to the stairs and hid, to be out of reach of the spells.

Haradin studied the glacial enemy Mage carefully. He was aware that the confrontation would be terrible, and the chances of coming out of it alive minimal. His magic was not responding as it should. Some connection between his mind and his inner energy had been severed as a result of being carbon-frozen for so long in the Ilenian temple. The Ice Mage counterattacked with a ball of ice and crystal which exploded over Haradin, filling the area with fragments and splinters sharp enough to cut to shreds any human, however thick his armor might be. The defensive sphere of Haradin, of Earth Magic, withstood the punishment, although it lost some of its density with the attack.

Since that enemy Mage specialized in a single type of magic, Water Magic, he was very powerful and every spell he cast was as strong as it could be. Haradin on the other hand, as a Mage of the Four Elements, was not a specialist in any single one, but instead used all of them. This gave him great flexibility when selecting his spell, although the disadvantage was that his spells were not as powerful as those of a Mage who specialized in a single school of magic.

The Norghanian Mage cast another one, and a dozen icicles hit Haradin’s protective barrier of earth; one of them pierced the sphere and remained stuck in it four fingers from his head.

Haradin checked that the sphere was holding and breathed out heavily. The icicle had gone almost completely through and nearly killed him. He concentrated and thought. He could not give back blow for blow, for the Ice Mage’s offensive power was superior to his, and in any case his own attacks offered no guarantees. He had to weaken the shield of ice which protected his adversary. But how to do it before his own gave way? Fire was the answer. That was what to use against an Ice Mage, but what spell? Then he saw the wooden structure his enemy was standing on, an idea sprang into his mind: