Gerard’s legions devoured the farming and trading community of Kastia like a plague. Lord Gregory’s decision to send Dreen’s city guard and as many soldiers as could be mustered ahead to defend Xwarda saved most of the common folk between the two cities. Some, though, thought to defend their homes. The foresters of Tip sent their women and children to Southron, and then stood in defiance. They lasted about as long as it takes to draw a breath, but unlike many, they died defending the life they loved, not running and afraid.
The people of Tarn and the Pixie River fisher folk weren’t as bold. Two years before, Pael’s army had marched through and now there was an obvious lack of young, hearty men willing to fight. Most of them made the day-long ride to the safety of Xwarda’s walls, hurrying along behind the Valleyan soldiers Lord Gregory sent. Those who waited too long were consumed by the Warlord’s horde.
The large city of Platt acted as Xwarda’s main trade center. Queen Willa didn’t allow mercantile activity outside and along the city walls. This prevented the chaotic and often unclean huddle towns from forming around Xwarda’s main gates. People either traded inside the walls in an establishment, or in the open market that Platt had become. The people of Platt acted in a completely different manner than those who lived in Xwarda. Though the Queen had opened the gates for all who sought protection, there were many merchants with warehouses full of stores. Most of them hired sellswords to guard their goods. Platt, after all, had a solid wall around it, too. These men were just starting to recuperate from the devastation Pael had brought. Having rebuilt their inventories of goods, and stockpiled grain, oats and other staples for the long winter months, they were reluctant to abandon everything a second time.
They should have.
Platt’s wall stood twelve feet tall and was built of solid stone blocks. Though it did a superb job deterring bandits and thieves, it fell over like a picket fence under a stampede.
The Warlord’s legions left nothing but blood, death, and destruction in their wake as they rolled through the place like a bloody tidal wave.
Queen Rosa’s mother, Queen Rachel, had sent the bulk of Seaward’s soldiers to help defend the Wardstone. She did this of her own accord, after her mage told her of Sir Hyden Hawk Skyler’s warning. They had taken too long to muster. Now, as the head of the five-thousand-man column was approaching Xwarda’s southern gate, the rear of the procession was falling prey to some of the Warlord’s winged beasts.
The hellspawn and demon kind bound to travel by hoof, claw, and undulating slither were closing in on the city’s western gate. At both places, swarms of Blacksword soldiers were pouring out to meet the dark enemy. Accompanying Queen Willa’s elite troops were a few thousand dwarven axemen. Along the top of the sixty-foot-high granite walls, both human and elven archers, a few dozen breed giant dragon gunners, and small groups of robed wizards hurried into position to lend their spells and shafts to the defense of the powerful bedrock. Above the shouts and commands, alarm bells and short horn bursts shrilled and gonged the armies of the realm into position.
The High King stood atop a blocky crenelated tower at the southwestern corner of the city, watching it all unfold. He could see the Seaward men being decimated by lavender and crimson blasts of dark magic. They fought hard, but swooping clawed monsters snatched men from their mounts and hurled them like so much fodder. He shook his head. They would have been a welcome addition to the defense had they arrived in time to enter the city and organize. Maybe only half of them were going to get the chance to form ranks and make a stand, and those only because of the Blacksword troops pouring out to aid them.
The idea of sending dwarves and swordsmen out to meet the hellspawn army bothered Mikahl. General Wisikman, Queen Willa’s newest commander, had explained that, with the addition of the elves and all the human refugees to the overcrowded city’s numbers, they had no choice. The streets, alleys, and even the long, wide tunnels that led east under the walls toward Jenkanta were already packed full of refugees.
“It’s just as well,” Mikahl said to himself. “Against a foe like this it might be better to die sooner.”
He glanced down at the western gate to his right. The heavy banded portal was closing. Dwarves, a few elven swordsmen and most of the soldiers Lord Gregory had sent were forming up in lines to meet the cloud of evil that was closing on them.
The sun was low in the western sky, giving the approaching beasts long, imposing shadows.
Having learned about night fighting in the long battles that were fought right here, four-keg pyramids of flammable oil, three in a triangle with one on top, had been stacked at intervals out beyond the walls. Flaming spears would be launched into them later to give the archers light by which to aim.
Mikahl wished Hyden were here. He expected him to be. Even young Phen would have been a great boon. The boy would have already researched what there is to know about the dark army. He would know the weaknesses and strengths of each particular creature, and be full of suggestions that might tilt the battle in the right direction. As it was, Mikahl held little hope of surviving the night. His plan was to seek out the leader of this foul army and end it. He and Ironspike would cleanse themselves of the rage he felt over Rosa’s death. He would do his very best to avenge her and his unborn child. It was all he knew to do. Since the day he took the king’s sword from Father Petri and started into the Giant Mountains, the realm had been fighting one war or another. He was no king; he was a swordsman, and he had every intention of finding the limits of his skill as such. He resolved to die fighting, for that’s what fighters do.
None of the wizards could reach Hyden Hawk, the giants in Afdeon, or even Phen. Learning from Dieter Willowbrow that most of the elves had perished in the Evermore gave Mikahl little reason to hope for his friends.
If he had known that Queen Mother Telgra’s arboreal magic was shielding out the attempts to contact Phen, and that they and a few hundred elven soldiers were quickly approaching from the north, he might have felt the need for some restraint. As it was, he was resigned to kill or be killed by the dark, malignant thing that had taken his wife and child from the world. Even now, as he scanned the battleground and the disheveled ranks of the enemy’s charge, he couldn’t help but search for the Warlord. He was anxious to get on with it, no matter what the outcome might be.
Queen Willa took the news of Queen Rosa’s death hard. She had been instrumental in arranging the marriage and had a strong maternal affection for Mikahl. She’d welcomed him into her arms earlier, in her private chambers, and let him cry out his sorrow against her bosom. She smothered his hair and rocked him as his own mother might have done long ago. After he recovered, she got the sense that he was in a reckless mood. This frightened her. She understood the power of the enemy and knew that if Mikahl were lost, then so was Ironspike’s might. Without Ironspike’s power to defend the Wardstone, the Warlord would soon do more than a open few doorways into the Nethers; he would tear the boundary wide open.
After consoling Mikahl, she gathered her wizards and commanders and explained that the heroes of the previous years couldn’t be found. Sir Hyden Hawk Skyler was unaccounted for, his powerful warning sent from somewhere deep in the Giant Mountains. King Jarrek, the old Red Wolf warrior, was being held prisoner by his own men in a mine shaft in the Wilder Mountains. They were holding him to keep him from raging into the Dark Lord’s host with no army behind him.
Queen Willa smiled internaly at the thought of him. She loved King Jarrek. They’d grown closer over the last few visits. She was pleased that his men had the sense to keep his temper and his fierce pride from getting him killed. His bravery had always outweighed his good sense.
She went on to explain that Phen was off with Hyden Hawk. She called him Marble Boy instead of using his name, because no one knew who Phen was, but everyone from Portsmouth to Jenkanta knew who Marble Boy was.
General Spyra was now Lord Spyra, and too far away to be of any assistance. The dwarven general who had so cleverly orchestrated the sinking of Seareach to save Castlemont from King Ra’Gren’s assault was in the Wilder Mountains with King Jarrek.
“The High King stands with us,” she told them. “But he has lost his wife and unborn heir to this evil foe. He is distraught and may prove unpredictable. He will be prone to vengeance.” She paused and took a deep breath. “It will be no easy task, but he and Ironspike must be protected at all times.”
“This is the time for new heroes,” she said. “We must not falter against the darkness, for if we do, we may never see the light again. Rally your men. The creatures they will face are terrifying to look upon. They are unnatural things that should never have found the light of day. If nothing else, you must give your men encouragement and hope. Master Wizard Feist says that the Warlord leading this host is most formidable, but without him the creatures that make up this horde will lose the power of purpose. This thing that commands the others must be our main target. Outside of defending the city and protecting the High King, killing the Dark Lord is what must be done.” She raised her hands and smiled as if she knew they could win. “I say rally your men. Prepare them well, for the dark host will be upon us this night.”
As the commanders and wizards left her to carry out her orders, the alarm bells sounded. The harrumph of dwarven battle horns filled the air, as did the ringing of bells in the towers. The city was so crowded with panicked people and herd animals that most of the commanders couldn’t get back to their troops in time to command them. The more powerful of the wizards teleported to the wall top and began spreading the word, but already the battle had begun in earnest.
Queen Willa returned to her private chamber hoping to have a word with Mikahl before the battle began, but he was already gone. In his place was Master Wizard Sholt, all the way from Westland, and lying on the divan was Queen Rosa. The rise and fall of her chest was obvious and the soft snore that accompanied the movement left no room to doubt that she was alive and whole.
“She’s alive,” Queen Willa gushed, feeling a tidal wave of relief wash over her. She turned to Sholt, “But how?”
Master Wizard Sholt shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean? Was her safety ever in doubt?”
Queen Willa gasped, covering her open mouth with her hand. “Mik thinks the Warlord killed her when he came out of the Nethers.”
Sholt was silent for a few long moments. From outside, the distinct clanging of bells and the tiny shouts of men came to the room. As soon as Mikahl had given him the order to sound the alarm, Sholt had teleported to the garden yard to try to save young Suza from the same fate De’Rain met. The sounding of alarms was a simple kinetic spell. He didn’t tell a man to ring the bells. He rang them magically and went directly to his students. He found Queen Rosa frozen in shock. She had blood spattered across her chest and was so close to the hellborn beast that was crawling out of the gateway that Sholt had no other choice but to protect the queen. He grabbed her and teleported them from the garden yard to an empty, snow-covered field just south of Lord Able’s abandoned stronghold. The casting had cost him most of his strength. Spell weary and somewhat in shock himself, he checked and found that the queen wasn’t wounded and led them through the snow to the crumbled tower. A few rooms were still intact, and with the rest of his strength he set a magical fire to blaze and slipped into a deep slumber.
“I don’t know why he would think such a thing,” Sholt finally said to Queen Willa. “There was a small girl there in the yard, and Rosa’s handmaiden was down. Maybe he…”
“She was wearing my green dress,” Rosa whispered. Neither the wizard nor Queen Willa had noticed that her snoring had stopped. “That thing crushed her and nearly twisted her in two. I was wearing that dress when Mikahl saw me that morning.” Rosa got to her feet and ran the few steps from the divan into Queen Willa’s arms. “She was just trying it on so we could get the hem the right length,” she cried. “He must be horribly sad. He was so pleased about the baby, and now he thinks…”
“He’s more than sad, dear,” Queen Willa said. She was relieved. Mikahl wouldn’t rage off into an unsurvivable situation if he knew that his wife and child were still alive.
“Master Wizard Sholt.” Even though Queen Willa was no longer his liege, she commanded him with total authority. “As soon as you have told the High King that his wife and child are here safe, that he must fight with some restraint, then you should rest.” She gave her old castle wizard a look that was insistent. “Those magi serving on the wall will want and need your guidance now, but your strength will be more valuable when they have grown weary and you have recouped. King Mikahl, though, must be told this news immediately.”
Queen Rosa lifted her head from Willa’s shoulder and sobbed. Sholt had teleported the two of them more than a dozen times. He had only enough constitution to move them so far at a time, and each effort was all the more taxing. He had seen what the demon horde left behind in Locar and Dreen. His assessment of the enemy left him anything but optimistic, and he wanted to converse with the High King anyway, before this battle became all-consuming.
King Mikahl had sworn him to the duty of protecting Pavreal’s bloodline, no matter the cost. If things grew dire, he wouldn’t hesitate to take Ironspike and Rosa and sail to Harthgar, or seek protection in Afdeon. He felt the High King should be aware of these things. Even though it would take all the strength left in him to find his king, he nodded his understanding to Queen Willa and then disappeared from the room with a crackling pop.
Outside Xwarda’s western-facing gate, the setting sun’s rays painted the horizon beautiful shades of pastel blue and peach. The wingless faction of the demon horde engaged the ranks of defenders in a violent clash. It was a disheartening sight for the High King to look upon. The relatively white field of trampled snow turned quickly into a steaming mush of gore. Mikahl decided that defeating this army with swords, axes, and bows might prove impossible. Already, streaking bolts of lightning and scarlet blasts of hellborn magic were scattering body parts. Mikahl held his position and continued his search for the vaguely human form baring those familiar Skyler eyes. It was all he could do to keep from drawing Ironspike and raging mindlessly into the fray. He might clear a path through the enemy’s ranks, or kill a handful of the monstrous creatures, but that would serve no real purpose.
To the south he could see the flying beasts going high over the wall, out of the archers’ range. They were coming down in the crowded streets now. A Choska demon was flapping wildly like a kite in a gale. Its vain attempt to get away from the barbed tether one of the breed giants had stuck into it was futile. It would die as soon as they could reel the line in, but it was only one of a thousand foes swarming the sky.
“Mikahl! High King Mikahl,” Sholt’s voice called weakly from the roof below and behind the High King’s position. Mikahl barely heard him over the shouts of the archers and the roar of the beasts. He turned and nodded to the wizard, but quickly put his attention back on the enemy. “You made it,” he said simply.
“We must speak,” said Sholt, but he was so exhausted that the words barely made a sound as they came out of his mouth. Sholt closed his eyes and summoned what was left inside him. “My lord,” he said a little more loudly. Seeing that Mikahl had heard him, the wizard continued. “The bloodline must be protected.”
Mikahl assumed that Sholt meant that he shouldn’t enter the battle and risk dying. As far as he knew, he was the last of Pavreal’s kin. “I’ll only fight the Hell Master himself, wizard,” he snapped his response. “Now leave me,” he commanded as he saw a gout of flame shooting skyward, reflected in the wizard’s eyes. He turned to find the source of it, hoping it was the beast Hyden’s brother had become. “Do not return until you have rested.”
Before Sholt could respond Mikahl leapt to the next merlon, then the next.
Sholt found that he was so tired he could barely move, yet he screamed out, “My Lord, listen to me! Queen Rosa is…”
“Dead!” Mikahl finished for him as Ironspike came out of its scabbard with a rasping metallic ring. The normally passive blue radiance the sword emitted was white hot with Mikahl’s rage and was nearly as bright as the sun. Sholt was temporarily blinded by it, and by the time he could see again, King Mikahl was gone.
The over-fatigued wizard could barely make out the bright horse as it went streaking madly toward a distant eruption of flame. Ironspike lit the carnage immediately below the High King as if it were midday.
Sholt managed to get to his feet, and the amount of bloody death he could see in the field was sickening. He started to cast one last spell before consciousness left him, but he was yanked off the wall by the claws of a swooping hellcat. He didn’t have the strength to fight back, and the creature wasn’t strong enough to carry him far. Both of them went sinking toward the battle below, until the hellcat dropped him right into a knot of swarming demon kin and banked away.