Conflict (43 page)

“Very well, my Lord,” Zecly said with a small bow.

Sumal looked one last time out of the corner of his eye at the grotesque ritual and a new chill ran down his spine; these men were very dangerous. He looked at the Blood Mage, Asuris. His face was extraordinarily pale, all color had left his skin, he looked more like a corpse than a living being. But the eyes, those bloodshot eyes, like a demon’s: they impressed him so much that the hardened spy had nightmares.

Finally, the war was beginning.

The Rogdonians would have to face an army far superior in number, and also those Sorcerers and their arcane arts of death.

Sumal shook his head.

“The Rogdonians had better pray to their gods, tomorrow evil itself personified will come down on them.”

General Drocus was right. The attack started with the first light of day and without warning: very typical of the Nocean character. Hundreds of missiles in the shape of enormous rocks crashed against the wall of the southern section. Parapets and battlements were destroyed, shattered by those devastating impacts. The alarm sounded throughout the city, and the soldiers took up their positions at once. The lethal deluge of rocks went on all morning, bringing chaos to the walls and the first rows of buildings in the southern zone, which collapsed in rubble.

The siege weapons were not visible under the cloak of darkness which protected them, but the devastating missiles showered down on the city as if appearing from nowhere.

General Drocus ordered his men to fall back inside out of reach of the catapults, given that the black tide was not advancing.

A bugle sounded the alarm from the western side of the city.

“It’s a ruse!” roared Drocus.

Duke Galen was beside him. “What is this?” he asked uneasily.

“They’re attacking from the western side,” the General explained, “and we have our troops positioned a little to the south of the city, since that’s where the catapults were striking hardest. The city is like an island in the middle of this immense plateau, surrounded by a wall in the form of a ring. The defense of the whole perimeter is going to be more complicated.”

“They can attack us from any direction,” commented Mirkos.

“Exactly,” said Duke Galen. “We must be alert and move swiftly or else we’re finished.”

As First General of the Army, Drocus assumed leadership at once.

“Mirkos, you come with me, we’ll go to the western wall. Kilbar, you defend the eastern side. Galen, the north is yours. Dolbar, you’ll be in charge of the southern wall.”

Mirkos turned to his Royal Swords. “Half of you protect the Duke, the other half go with Galen.” Before they could protest, the Mage raised his hand in a clear indication that he would accept no discussion on the subject.

“Very well then. Good luck, gentlemen. Let’s teach these treacherous desert snakes what mettle the men of Rogdon are made of. Don’t let them reach the walls!” said the Duke, and they all hastened to their posts.

The western wall was ten paces wide, with five rectangular towers jutting out. Drocus and Mirkos arrived at a run, escorted by a dozen soldiers among whom were Kayti, Hartz and Komir. They went to the central tower. The wall was crowded with Rogdonian defenders ready to enter combat. Before them a great black cloud extended, slowly approaching the wall, covering everything in its way with impenetrable darkness. It was less than two hundred paces from the wall: very close, far too close.

Komir had a strange feeling as he watched it. Once again the medallion activated itself. A flash from it indicated that they were facing something arcane and powerful. Luckily they had arrived just in time; a few moments more and the cloud would have reached the wall.

“Mirkos, can you lift this darkness so the archers can see their enemies?” Drocus asked.

“By all means, right away!”

The Mage prepared to cast the spell.

He hesitated…

Mirkos saw the deep brown flash two hundred paces in front of him, under the impenetrable cloud. The Mage recognized the magical radiance at once. A spell had been cast, a very wide-ranging and powerful spell, the unmistakable work of a powerful Sorcerer.

And he had not protected himself…

Suddenly a mysterious cloud the color of copper engulfed a long stretch of the wall, swallowing up the soldiers in it. Mirkos cursed bitterly and lifted his staff to cast a spell.

Too late!

A terrifying, paralyzing fear ran through his body, rising from his feet like a climbing plant to ensnare him completely. A fear which shriveled him up within, so that his courage shrank until it was no more than a speck of dust whirled by the wind. Mirkos became aware that he had been struck by a virulent spell of Curse Magic. He started to tremble, unable to control himself; his body seemed barren, he could no longer hold up his staff, he could not work magic and defend himself. Spasms of abysmal terror shook his body and he fell to the ground, unable to defend himself. Beside him General Drocus was holding on to the battlements trying to stay upright, struggling against the feeling of absolute terror which the copper cloud spread across everything it reached.

The Noceans’ diversionary tactic had worked. They had taken too long to reach the western wall, and the black tide which hid the enemy was already too close. And under it, waiting, were the enemy Sorcerers.

Along a good part of the western wall the defenders, affected by the evil spell, were falling down on to the walkways behind the battlements. Almost five thousand men were shaking uncontrollably, possessed by unbearable panic. Many lost control of their bladders. None could wield a weapon, much less fight back. They were at the mercy of the Noceans.

All except one. One was still standing, immune to the evil spell. Komir towered like a god, untouchable, in the midst of the disaster. In absolute awe, he gazed at the translucent sphere which surrounded him completely, protecting him. The Ilenian medallion had conjured it up at the same moment as the enemy spell.

“What the …” he murmured, still unable to believe it.

He saw Hartz lying on the ground beside him with terror in his face and went quickly over to his friend. The sphere moved with him as if it were somehow bound to his body.

“Hartz, stand up, come on. We have to get out of reach of this copper cloud.”

“I… I… can’t…” Hartz managed to mutter, trembling uncontrollably.

“Come on, we’ve got to get out of here!”

“Save … Kayti… save her…”

Komir looked over to the warrior in white, equally incapacitated and trembling, her face contorted in fear.

“No way. I’ll get you out of here, not her.”

“Save her… for the sake of… our friendship… please.”

Ignoring his friend’s plea, Komir began to drag the giant with all his might. He weighed a ton. Komir dragged him, thanking the medallion for having detected the evil spell and raising the sphere which protected him from the arcane arts of the Sorcerers.

The ominous cloak of darkness reached the wall, hiding the sons of the desert, messengers of death, under its wings. Hundreds of hooks flew over the battlements while as many assault ladders rose along the walls. The helpless defenders, lying there terrified, could only watch the beginning of the end, unable to rid themselves of that feeling of absolute fear.

Komir dragged Hartz to the stairs. Once there he pushed him down ruthlessly. The giant rolled down like a sack of potatoes until he reached the bottom. Komir turned towards Kayti. At that moment the first Nocean reached the battlements. He was very dark-skinned. He stopped and with his black eyes scanned the scene on the wall. He wore a long blue tunic over black pants, and was protected by a long coat of chain-mail which reached as far as his thighs. Over his chest and back he wore a cuirass with a golden image of the sun king, the Nocean emblem. Over his long curly hair he wore a rounded Nocean helmet with a sharp spike at the top, a hand’s-breadth tall.

He took two steps forward, then looked left and right. Nobody stood up, nobody confronted him. All the Rogdonian defenders were shaking on the ground, utterly incapacitated and helpless. He unsheathed a Nocean scimitar and a long curved dagger. The first of his comrades appeared at his side, and without delay they began to kill the helpless defenders.

Komir hesitated. This was the chance to get rid of the interfering redhead once and for all. If he did not go to her aid the Noceans would kill her and he would be free of her forever. Hartz would be free from her spell and they would be able to go on with the quest by themselves, the way it should always have been. It was a golden opportunity. Komir hesitated again. A unique opportunity and a moral dilemma… What should he do? Save her or let her die? His damned conscience began to hammer away at his mind.
I can’t let her die, not like this, it would turn me into a despicable coward. However much I want her to disappear, this isn’t the way. It would stain me with dishonor forever. Damn!
He ran to Kayti like lightning. Grabbing both her arms he dragged her to the stairs. As he had done with Hartz, he pushed her down.

Further south, Duke Galen realized the terrible situation and immediately sent reinforcements to the western wall. The soldiers tried desperately to save their comrades, but the Noceans blocked their advance and went on with their carnage. The struggle to reach the helpless soldiers turned desperate. Dolbar too noticed the massacre and attacked from the north. While both ends were trying to clear a way to reach the western section, the Noceans climbed over the wall as though it were a dam overwhelmed by a flood.

If the hemorrhage was not stitched quickly, the avalanche of Noceans would finish off the defenders. Everything would be lost.

Komir saw the enemy soldiers and knew instinctively that if he wanted to survive that siege, he had to save the General and the Mage. If the Rogdonian leaders perished, nothing would save them. They would die before nightfall at the hands of the Noceans. He raced back to where Mirkos and Drocus had fallen. They were already trying to reach the stairs out of sheer stubbornness, fighting against the horror that possessed them. Komir grabbed Mirkos by the arms and started to drag him to safety. The Mage, with burning eyes, said to him:

“I… see I was…not wrong… You have…. The Gift… you… you’re… special…”

“I’m a Norriel,” mumbled Komir.

A Nocean soldier climbed over the wall and ran for him. Komir let go of Mirkos and drew his dagger. The scimitar almost grazed his head as he crouched to avoid it. He gathered his strength, lunged at the man and stabbed him in the eye. He immediately grabbed Mirkos again and went on.

The Mage was watching him. “I feel… your… power … I see the protective sphere,” Mirkos said between spasms.

Komir had not counted on the Mage being able to see the sphere. He had to confess.

“I have the Gift, yes. But I don’t know how to use it.”

“And… the… sphere?”

“It wasn’t me, it was the medallion,” Komir said. He reached the top of the stairs, flung the Mage over his shoulder and ran down. When he arrived below he laid Mirkos on the ground beside Hartz and Kayti, who were beginning to recover from the spell.

“I’ll be back. I’m going to see if I can save the general.”

He ran back up the stairs and found Drocus on the first step down, struggling against the fear that overwhelmed him. Komir flung him over his shoulder and went down the stairs to take him to safety.

In the inner courtyard the defenders gathered, trying to form themselves into lines and go back upstairs to help their comrades.

Half a dozen Noceans ran down after Komir.

Hartz, already quite recovered, drew his great Ilenian sword and ran to defend his friend. Kayti did the same, although her arm was still shaking. The Noceans’ blood bathed the stairs in the face of the giant’s sweeping attack and Kayti’s skill with the sword.

Outside the effect of the noxious copper cloud Mirkos rose to his feet, helped by Komir and one of the soldiers.

“Damned treacherous Sorcerers! They’ve decimated us!” Drocus cried in fury as he got to his feet, his face like a ripe tomato.

“Their magic is a very powerful one,” muttered Mirkos in consternation. “They’ve acted intelligently, hiding themselves from us under the cloak of darkness and distracting us with the attack on the south …”

Turning to Komir, Drocus said:

“Our thanks, young Norriel, we owe you our lives. What’s your name?”

“My name is Komir, General.”

“I don’t know why you weren’t affected by the spell, but you’ve rendered an invaluable service to Rogdon by saving your General and the King’s Battle Mage. It won’t be forgotten, I promise you.”

“There’s no need, Sir. I couldn’t let the Noceans kill you, there’s too much at stake.”

“I too wish to thank you, Komir,” Mirkos said. “I’ve much to ask you, but this is hardly the best moment for it. The situation is dire.”

Komir nodded at the Mage.

“What do we do now?” Drocus asked doubtfully. “Shall we go back up? Or will we fall under the damned spell again?”

“The effect of the spell is over, or else it would be affecting the Nocean soldiers too. We can go back up.”

“Very well, then, it’s time to act!” Drocus turned to his men. “One third, take the lower stairs. Another third, with me! The rest, take the upper stairs! Use your bows, kill them all! Don’t let them into the city! Off you go!”

Mirkos shook the dirt off his tunic and looked up at the battlements. The Noceans had taken over it completely. More than five thousand good Rogdonian soldiers had died. Galen and Dolbar were blocked, unable to advance. Soon the enemy would attack the inner part of the city. The Nocean troops were gathering their forces on the walls for the assault. The old Mage, inconsolably shaken by the death of those noble defenders in such a shameful, treacherous manner, decided to unleash his anger and rage.

It was contained rage: pure anger, depthless in its magnitude.