Destiny (22 page)

“Zecly, stop them,” Mulko ordered. “Gain some time for me so I can escape.”

“My lord, escaping south isn’t a sensible decision,” the Great Sorcerer replied.

“I’m ordering you to stop them. You owe me your loyalty.”

Zecly turned his gaze on his lord. He was about to speak, but in the end said nothing. “Your wishes will be obeyed,” he said, and gave a small bow.

Mulko, Ukbi and a hundred guards of honor mounted and rode south at a gallop, while at the same time the Nocean legions fought to avoid succumbing to the enemy’s clear superiority.

Sumal approached his master. “Will you use your power against the enemy, my Lord?”

Zecly pointed at the Invincibles of the Ice. “Watch,” he said.

Sumal watched the splendid Norghanian fighters closely. In their midst he could see the Ice Mage who was casting spells on the hosts of the black army. His spells of ice and frost were wreaking havoc among the enemy soldiers, who fell frozen to death or impaled by ice missiles. Suddenly, a massive black shadow, like the veil of death herself, surrounded the Ice Mage. The defensive sphere of the Mage seemed to reject the attacking blackness. The blackness enveloped the Mage as if it were a living entity, an evil entity, voraciously attacking the Norghanian’s defense.

Sumal tried to pinpoint the origin of the attack but was unable to amid the seething mass of the black army. An agonized scream made him turn towards the Mage again. The blackness had penetrated his defenses and was devouring him, absorbing the essence of life itself from his body. In the space of a few heartbeats he fell to the ground dead, his body completely drained of life, his face twisted in agony.

Zecly spoke. “It’s time to leave, Sumal. The enemy’s magic is very powerful. I can feel it in me. A magic of colossal power, such as I could never in my life have imagined I’d meet. It is hiding in that sea of blackness.”

“More powerful than your magic, my Lord?” Sumal asked in disbelief.

“Yes, Sumal, more powerful. I must not confront it, not in these conditions, not without the assistance of other Mages of a high level in Blood or Curses beside me. It would be suicide. There is a time to fight and win, and a time to draw back and await a better opportunity. Today we face the second situation. Get ready.” He cast a spell with dizzying speed. A toxic cloud spread over the enemy troops in front of them, who began to fall dead immediately.

“That will delay them long enough,” Zecly said, and withdrew with amazing speed for a man of his age.

Sumal followed him at a run.

“Where are we going, my Lord?”

“West, Sumal, to the sea.”

The Invincibles of the Ice stopped the carnage, forming an unbreakable defensive line at the rearguard. The fighting seemed to slow until it almost stopped. Rangulfsen watched uneasily. The war drums rolled again, and suddenly the enemy lines opened up to form a wide corridor. Accompanied by a terrifying roll of drums, a formation of strong men in black wearing horrendous masks began to advance toward the Invincibles of the Ice.

“Moyuki! Moyuki!” thousands of throats roared.

Now Rangulfsen understood: the enemy was sending their elite forces to meet the Norghanians’. The Moyuki advanced in close formation. They wore laminated armor, black as night, polished like ceremonial steel. Their faces were hidden behind grim masks, and on their backs were tied poles six feet high bearing red banners, the color the Dark Lady shed on her path.

The fighting between those superb elite forces was epic, one to be written down in the annals of history. The warriors fought like demigods. Feints, sword-thrusts and back-strokes were executed with a precision and skill bordering on the inconceivable. The battle was so finely-balanced that the casualties occurred on both sides at almost equal rate. For every Moyuki who fell dead, an Invincible soon followed. The dead soon began to get in the way of the fighting. Both sides struggled to gain the initiative, but neither managed to gain the upper hand. Little by little the heroes of each army fell under the expert swords of their opponents until no more than a hundred men were left alive in each band.

At that moment the war drums thundered again so loudly that earth and sky shook with horror. The soldiers of the black army charged feverishly with furious battle-cries, and all hell broke loose upon the men of the snow and the children of the deserts. They began to fall by the hundreds, and soon by the thousands, under the awesome ferocity and greater numbers of the men from beyond the seas. The black tide swept the battlefield clear, and both Norghanian and Nocean armies were hacked to pieces with no way of escape.

A short distance from the front, Count Volgren was desperately searching for his horse. This was a holocaust; they were being destroyed by the black army.
I’ve got to get clear, get away from here immediately. The battle’s lost. Those foreign demons are going to finish us all off!

“To me!” he called his guards, and the dozen well-tried Norghanian body guards immediately rallied round to protect him.

Several soldiers in black tried to reach the Count, but were brought down by his bodyguards.

“To the horses, quickly!” he ordered, and ran to the trees where some thirty horses were tethered.

Behind him Volgren could hear the yelling of the combatants. He had to secure his escape.

“Fight to the last man!” he ordered his men, hoping to gain time and get away.

“Fight like Norghanians! Win or die!” he shouted from his horse to the sea of combatants, and spurred his mount.

In the middle of the fray General Rangulfsen heard the order and saw Volgren escaping at a gallop, together with his guard,

“Damned traitor!” he cried in fury.

General Olagson was leading the Thunder Army on his left. “He’s leaving us to our fate!” he shouted.

Rangulfsen looked to his right. The Noceans protecting the flanks had been cut down by the enemy, who were clearing a route toward them. The Snow Army was also falling and would not withstand the enemy pressure much longer.

“We must retreat!” he shouted at Olagson.

The voluminous Norghanian General nodded.

“Close formation! Square of shields!” Rangulfsen ordered his men.

The lines moved together until his men formed a perfect square. Rangulfsen and two of his officers remained in the center.

“Close shields!” Rangulfsen ordered. At once the four outer lines forming each of the sides of the rectangle became a barrier of shields.

Each side of the rectangle protected them from any attack. The officers began to set the pace with shouted commands and the formation retreated, slowly moving away from the enemy. Several groups of enemy soldiers managed to reach the right-hand side of the retreating formation.

“Shields up!” ordered Rangulfsen, and the black-clad enemy crashed against a wall of Norghanian shields.

While the first line held back the attack with their shields, the second knifed the attackers tirelessly. Several Norghanians in the first line fell and were quickly replaced by men from the second. The inner lines in turn took the place of those who were advancing.

“Forward!” Rangulfsen ordered, and the airtight square advanced again, repelling the attacks as they retreated. Rangulfsen peered out and saw Olagson’s square of shields following him closely.
Very good, my friend. Let’s retreat now while we still have a chance, or else there won’t be a single Norghanian left alive on this battlefield.

“We’re heading east, my lord,” his Captain warned him.

“I know. That’s where we have to go.”

“But sir, the Mountains of the Half Moon are to the east. Shouldn’t we be heading for the pass, for the Fortress?”

“No, Captain. That’s exactly where the enemy army is coming from. They’ve taken the Fortress, so we can’t cross the mountains by the pass. The patrols we sent never came back.”

“Then we’re trapped. The enemy’s all around us and the mountains are behind us. How are we going to get out of here?”

“The way the highlanders of eastern Rogdon do. We’ll look for the narrow passes and we’ll climb the mountains. An army couldn’t get over them, but that’s something we aren’t any longer. There’s no other option. Let’s pray to the Frozen Gods, Captain, because if we don’t find the paths across the mountains, we won’t get out of Rogdon alive.”

Count Volgren was galloping as fast as his mount could go, with the bloody din of the battle behind him.
I must head towards the northeast, I must save my life and get back to Norghana. I can’t let myself perish in this foreign land. I’m too slippery to be caught. I’ll make it!
he thought as he spurred his horse on.

He turned to see his escort lagging behind. “Come on, quickly!” he shouted. He entered the forest by a path and slowed down; among the trees, following the path, he felt safer. The battle was far away now, and with it the enemy.

Suddenly a man appeared from behind a tree and came to stand in the middle of the path.

Volgren was startled, but recovered and tugged hard at his mount’s reins. His horse stopped with a neigh. Volgren stared at the man blocking his way and was taken aback. The man was dressed in purple and wore a mask of the same color, with a thin silver line at eye level. There was something ominous about him, and a warning shiver ran down the Count’s back. Danger, clear and present. The man held a short axe ornamented in silver in one hand, and in the other something which froze Volgren’s blood: a skull with two red jewels set in the eye-sockets. This macabre image made him look round for his guards, who were already coming up to him.

A gloomy chant sounded. Its source was beneath the mask of that ill-omened man.

“Kill him!” Volgren ordered his guards.

Before they could charge, the dozen horses reared, suddenly possessed by a terrible fear. One after another, they dislodged their riders.

“What the devil…!” the Count cried. “Get up and kill him! He’s a Sorcerer!”

The Norghanian warriors got to their feet and drew their swords. Tall, strong, battle-hardened sons of the snows. Volgren knew there were no better warriors in all the north. The Sorcerer was as good as dead.

“These,” the Sorcerer said, with a gesture behind him, “are Red Arrows. The elite archers of the Dark Lady.”

And as if out of nowhere a dozen men in lightweight red armor, with scarves of the same color hiding their faces, appeared behind the Sorcerer.

“I think it will be very interesting to find out who comes out victorious from this encounter.”

“Kill them all!” Count Volgren ordered.

The Norghanian soldiers charged.

The Red Arrows nocked their short black bows in a single move.

The massive Norghanians took three steps forward, swords and axes held high.

The whistle of the arrows cutting through the air rang in Volgren’s ears.

The Norghanian warriors fell dead, each with an arrow in his forehead.

The Sorcerer pointed at his men with his axe. “An impressive exhibition of skill, was it not? Incomparable archers. They always fill me with pride. But my Master waits, and I must carry out his orders.”

Desperately, Volgren tried to flee. He wheeled his mount round and spurred it, but the horse was struck by a dozen arrows and fell dead instantly. The blow was painful, but Volgren recovered and drew his sword. Before him stood the Sorcerer, with the Red Arrows beside him.

“I am Count Volgren, Sorcerer! Tell whoever you serve that I wish to discuss the terms of surrender.”

“I know perfectly well who you are, Norghanian. My name is Narmos, Priest of the Cult of Imork” ‒ he gave a small bow ‒ “and my Lord Isuzeni has ordered your death.”

“No! Wait!”

“My Master requires your death, and your death he shall have.” Then with a wave of his axe he cast a spell, and night fell over Volgren.

A terrible pain began in his stomach, as if all his organs had rotted all of a sudden. He fell to the ground, gripped by a dreadful agony.

The last thing Volgren heard was the words of the Sorcerer.

“Take out his heart while he’s still alive. Our Lord Isuzeni has ordered it thus.”

Haradin stared at the battlefield. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers lay dead on that great open area among rivers of blood. The spectacle was so chilling that the Mage had to close his eyes for a moment so as not to be overwhelmed by the bestiality and desolation of it all. The battle was over, the black army had swept away all opposition, and now only death reigned on the battlefield.

“It’s… it’s… appalling…” Aliana managed to utter.

“Death, blood. Horrible, yes,” Asti said.

Iruki was looking on coldly. “The Norghanians have got what they deserved at last.”

“How can you say that?” Sonea said, sounding horrified. “There are thousands dead. It’s horrendous, it’s insane.”

“I say what my heart feels,” Iruki replied without flinching.

“And this is just the beginning,” Komir said. His gaze was fixed on the victorious black host, which was retreating to the sound of war-drums into the forest it had appeared from. Behind them it left a sea of blood and corpses.