High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (59 page)

After the punishing volley of arrows, the remaining goblins in front of us were in poor order when Terleman’s sword exploded the first hob to step forward against him.  He turned and struck a second and kicked a third in the head as he twisted.  Bendonal the Outlaw was right behind him with his men, and as soon as they hit the line they spread out and challenged the largest and fiercest opponents at hand. 

I pushed to my left, into the flank of the shieldwall the infantry were attacking, my blade growing slick with blood as I hewed one gurvan after another.  Tyndal kept up with me on his way toward the worm – Rondal got separated, and stuck next to Sire Cei and Sir Festaran – so we did our damnedest to distract the hobs from their task.

Combat magic is tricky to use when friend and foe are so well-mixed.  But there were still plenty of spells to choose from.  Pain, weakness, nausea, blindness, sleep, fear, I used it all.  When we were truly in the thick of battle, behind the foe’s shieldwall and causing real damage, I dropped my sense of restraint and started using more wide-area spells.  A few dozen fell to their knees, unable to breathe (diaphragm stunning spell).  Another knot of them burst into flames when Tyndal cast something nasty from his warstaff. At one point I drew Twilight just to give me more options, and began cutting my way through the center of their ranks before returning the mageblade to its scabbard.

I don’t know how long I fought or who was around me, beyond a certain point.  My existence was confined to the goblin in front of me and the one I would kill after that.  I hacked and dismembered with my glaive until things got too close, then switched to a spearhead.  Blizzard was like a dream in my hand.  Stab, point, blast, parry, turn, stab, repeat.  I used physical augmentations lavishly, expending power to keep me moving much faster than my enemies. 

It also helped that I attacked most of them blindsided.  The infantry was doing a good job keeping the goblins focused on them, so we warmagi had an unfair advantage, and we used it.  It doesn’t take much to stab a goblin under the arm or through the neck when they don’t see you coming.  We chewed into that right flank like a troll with a bag full of kittens.  And we didn’t slow down until we could see the fronts of the shields of the infantry.

That’s when things got really interesting.  Someone had finally unlimbered the disassembled siege engine components from the backs of the two worms, and now each was being led into battle by a team of three trolls, tugging at the chains that pierced their . . . noses?  While they had not been fitted for the portable redoubts that Tyndal and Rondal had spoken of, that massive horn and those gaping jaws made it formidable enough without it.

The goblins cheered as the beasts were being led into the fray, even as they were being slaughtered by steel and spell.  The worms were clearly hard to control – the trolls struggled mightily with the things, who clearly did not want to be led into conflict. 

Tyndal!
I called out, mind-to-mind. 
I believe the one on the left is yours?  Stir him up. 

Yes, Master!
He promised, mentally.  I don’t know where he was in the battle, but soon the beast on the left was bucking its head wildly.

Meanwhile, I found Rondal in the battle, protecting Sire Cei’s back with Sir Festaran as the Dragonslayer was carving his own way through the foe.  He had yet to draw his hammer, depending instead on the cavalry sword every knight carried along with his broad dragonhide greatshield.  He looked grimly serene in the action.  His mustache was curled with concentration as he felled one goblin after another.  A few would attempt his flanks, but Sir Festaran’s stalwart blade or Rondal’s warstaff would intercept, followed by a brutal follow-through. 

“Rondal!” I called through the din 
“Ace!”
I said, remembering his warname.  Those who have been through the Mysteries of Huin oftentimes respond better to that in the heat of battle, I’d noted.  My apprentice looked up.  “Your date for the ball is here,” I said, indicating the worm to the right.  “That could be deadly.  Make it useless.”

“Master?” Rondal breathed, studying the problem.  The worm reached out and bit an infantryman in half, tugging at its trollish handler like an oversized dog leashed to a small boy.  Rondal took a deep breath and let it out.  “All right,” he finally said.  “This will take a moment.”

As he lumbered off through the battle, sprinting in zig-zags with augmented speed, Sire Cei raised his visor and watched him go.

“Are you certain that is not too much responsibility for one boy?” he asked.

“He’s a man, now,” I responded.  “They both are.  They aren’t alone, and they’ve faced one before.”

“You have a lot of faith in your apprentices,” Lorcus said, coming to rest beside us.  There was a lull in this part of the battlefield, and I’d learned long ago to take advantage of such respites.  I uncorked my water bottle and upended it.

“They justify my faith,” I said, “usually.  I just want them to irritate the worms enough so they aren’t controllable.”

Sire Cei looked at me skeptically.  “You think the key to winning the battle is to drive the foe’s greatest weapon into a killing rage?”

“There are a lot more of them that stand to be killed than us,” I pointed out.  “Remember what happened when the dragon fell at Cambrian?”

“Vividly,” Sire Cei said, his face stone.  I shut up.  That was likely a tender memory, I realized.

“Well, if we can deprive the goblins of their heavy cavalry, and make them more of a worry for them than us, I count that as a win.  Besides,” I said, glancing at the sun overhead, “we’re running out of time.”

Sire Cei nodded.  Lorcus looked amused.  Sir Festaran looked aghast.

“And what, pray the gods, do we do once the beasts are rioting?” asked Sire Cei.

“Why, that’s where our Dragonslayer comes in,” Lorcas said with a wicked chuckle.  He sipped on his bottle too, but I could tell by the fumes that it wasn’t water.  “That bloody big hammer of yours, I’m guessing.  Right, Min?”

“Right,” I agreed.  “At least as our first line of attack.  I’m guessing that as strong and powerful as those things are, if you hit it hard enough it’s going to fall.”

“Your secret plan,” Sire Cei reasoned, “is
me?”

“One of them,” I corrected.  “You’re the first line of attack.  We have others.  Myself included.  A lot of us have been working on anti-dragon combat spells.  This looks like an excellent opportunity to test some out.”

“I’m so proud to be able to contribute to your research,” Sire Cei said, sarcastically.  “Magelord, it occurs to me that attacking one of those things will likely attract the other.”

“Which is why I sent both apprentices.  If both are busy with those irritants, then they won’t be able to come to each others’ aid.  Sir Festaran, how many goblins left fighting?”

It took the young magical savant a moment to look around and survey the carnage.

“Six thousand, seven hundred eighty-eight, nine trolls, and two worms,” he reported, a moment later.  I had no way of verifying that number, but thus far the knight’s magical talent had been accurate.  I still had no idea how it worked, thaumaturgically speaking, and I had yet to see anything similar in the literature.  But I was relying on it now. 

“And how many of our forces?”

“Three thousand two hundred and six infantry,” he reported, instantly, “forty-four cavalry and a hundred and eight warmagi.  Hundred and seven,” he said, as someone, somewhere, died.

“We enrage the worms, let them roll around, get the goblins to back away from them, and we’ll deal with them,” I counseled.

“Whose going to deal with the bloody goblins?” asked Lorcus with a guffaw.

“One thing at a time,” I promised.  To emphasize my point, the left-hand worm started moaning pitifully and shaking its head wildly back and forth.  The three trolls struggling with the beast went flying.  As I predicted, the worm’s exertions proved more deadly to its friends than its foes.  In moments goblins were fleeing from it in all directions, those who were lucky enough to escape its trampling feet.

Tyndal, try to drive it toward the east side of the field!
I ordered, mind-to-mind.  It took him a moment to get back to me.

I’m trying, Master! He’s stubborn! 
A few moments later, however, the beast took a few lumbering steps through the goblin infantry in a generally eastwardly direction.  Good boy.

Rondal’s worm, on the other hand, sat down on its hind legs and was refusing to move.  Instead it reared up on its back two sets of legs and howled painfully.  I wasn’t sure what the boy was doing to it, but it was effective.   As I watched, Dranus reached me, mind-to-mind.  He was attached to the Alka Alon and providing observation.

Magelord, there seem to be some activity in the north,
he dutifully reported. 
That seems to be where the goblin priests are.  They’re raising power.  I’m uncertain what they plan on doing with it, but I’m guessing their intentions are harmful.

Thanks for the warning,
I replied, then turned to the rest of the men.  A few more warmagi who had run out of targets for the moment joined us, Bendonal and Alscot the Fair among them.  I looked around and counted noses.  Eight or nine.  More than enough for my purposes.

The worm bellowed in pain again, nearly silencing everything else in the battle.

“That’s our cue, gentlemen,” I said, returning my water bottle to my belt and summoning the boar spear head on Blizzard.  “We kill the worms and then destroy that stinking nest of evil the priests are putting together on the other side.  Last one to the top of the rise buys the rest of us wine tonight.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Icy Road

The chaos around the two suffering siege worms was bloody.  Everywhere they stepped, the beasts seem to crush the gurvani desperately trying either
to control them or flee for their lives.  The trolls were looking frightened.  If you’ve never seen a frightened, twelve-foot tall troll panic like a little girl, it’s an experience best viewed from a distance.

As for me, I ignored their fragile mental states and stabbed the first one I came to in the back of the knee with eighteen inches of razor-sharp steel.  The crossguard kept the blade from getting caught as the brute dropped to one knee and howled in pain.  With a word, I banished the boar spear; with another, I summoned the pole axe, and I buried the blade five inches deep in its neck.  Trolls have very thick skin and tough bones, but five inches was enough to sever its spinal cord. 

“Well struck!” Lorcus said with a grin as he whizzed by me to confront the next troll.  He stabbed a wand from his belt into its left elbow and it screamed in pain.  While its mouth was open he jammed his mageblade through its roof, point-first, and twisted. The troll’s eyes widened and then lost all signs of life.

“I had expected that to be more difficult,” Lorcus said, disapprovingly, as he yanked the sword free of the fallen corpse.  He had more difficulty doing that than he had slaying it.  “I do hope the worms are more challenging!”

“Let’s find out!” Onranion said, suddenly, springing into action with that ridiculously long greatsword.  He impaled a gurvan, stepped aside and cut two more in twain at the waist, and kicked a fourth in the face before impaling it through the chest.  He did it all with the grace and fluidity of a swordmaster.  “I had no idea that warfare was this much fun!” he laughed as he came to a rest with perfect form.

The area around the head of the left-hand beast was clearing out, save for the dead and dying.  The worm itself was still moaning and trying to dislodge something from its head.  Less than fifty yards away, I could smell its strong, foul odor.

“That one first,” I breathed.  “Sire Cei, if you will?”

My castellan nodded and pulled his visor down.  He sheathed his sword and pulled his warhammer from his belt.  Then he brought the great dragonhide warshield into guard, took a deep breath, and began marching resolutely toward the beast.

“Fall in behind!” I ordered, summoning my halberd and taking a position behind Cei’s left shoulder.  Lorcus fell in on his right.  We marched in a rough wedge, dispatching individual goblins we came across as we crossed the field.

Sire Cei waited until the mewling beast’s head waved slowly and painfully into his direction.  The great creature stared at him with tiny, confused eyes, its massive lips curled back in irritation.  If it sensed Cei was a threat, it didn’t show it.

The Dragonslayer took another deep breath and wound up his hammer.  I could feel the surge of magical energy as he summoned the emotion needed to trigger his special ability.  Just like in training, the moment the head of his meteoric iron hammer impacted on the side of the worm’s head, a concussive wave of force exploded from it.

You could see the shockwave ripple through the massive head.  The great, heavily-muscled neck flopped instantly to the side at an unnatural angle, and the rigid bones of the skull were shattered.  With a final mournful moan, the great head fell to the ground, the legs lifelessly following suit a moment later.

There was stunned silence on the battlefield for a split second.  Then the chaos resumed accompanied by a chorus of despair from the gurvani.

Before we could turn our attention to the second beast, it, too, faced defeat.  Onranion had crossed the field again and had tried to attack its head, as Sire Cei had done.  Lacking the Dragonslayer’s weapon or ability, his greatsword deflected harmlessly off of the beast’s nosehorn, and a flick of its head sent the Alka Alon lord flying.