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Back to the previous chapter: Rallies
First Draft
The sun's rays stretched across the sands, breaking the chill of the desert night. The air was still as the vast camp of the army clamored with activity as men, elves, and orcs disassembled tents and prepared morning meals.
The party had gathered around one of the numerous cookfires, waiting as some porridge heated in a pot. The had wooden seats that the Footmen of Camelough had provided, simple contrivances made of two boards that fit together at an angle to provide a seat and low backrest.
"Hey, ummm," Kasey blurted. "You know, that boat is really neat and everything. But it's magickal, and I really don't understand it. I... I think I would rather ride with the Church Knights, if that's okay with you."
"'Lightning cleaves the way,'" Bilbus cited. Eric had already decided that the Church Knights would be the spearhead of the army. The charge of a mass of heavy knights would be devastating.
Eric must have had the same thought. He nodded. "That's okay, Kasey. You really have not had much of a chance to ride with your fellow knights, anyway."
Kasey beamed. "Okay. I'll see you later." He walked away, his step light, as he went to find the commander of the Church Knight contingent.
Bilbus looked at the pot. Large, slow bubbles were starting to push their way out of the thick porridge. "Can we have breakfast now, General?"
Eric nodded.
Bilbus ladled some porridge into a bowl. He opened a tightly wrapped package, revealing some links of sausage. He held one towards Eric. "Dwarf sausage?" It was pork, but Bilbus had purchased it at a shop run by dwarves.
Eric wrinkled his nose and shook his head.
Looking past Bilbus, Eric saw a group of elves marching in a single column, heading towards this cook fire. Commander Greenbough was at the head of the column of elves in their golden armor and green cloaks. Eric counted sixteen elves.
Bilbus noticed Eric's attention focused past him. "Now what?" he grumbled as he turned around. The column of elves had stopped, about five paces behind him, but Commander Greenbough walked forward a few more paces.
The rest of the party was watching him approach. He stopped, facing Adria, then spoke in accented Brytho-Kelltic. "Ever since you bested my company's champion in Kells, my elves have been talking about you." Adria raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Some theorize that you are really an elf with deformed ears, for no human could best an elf. There are other theories, as well, but they are of no concern to you. Still, Officer Stargaze is quite taken with your abilities. He has nominated you to join the Elven Archers."
Greenbough paused for a moment as a disapproving frown flashed across his face. "No one has ever nominated a non-elf before. The Elven Archers are the best archers of our people. One may only join the Archers by being nominated by a current member, and by passing the acceptance test. If you accept the nomination, Officer Stargaze will explain the test."
Adria stood. "It is a great honor, Commander Greenbough. I accept the nomination."
Officer Stargaze, the elf whom Adria bested in Kells, walked forward. He held an arrow in one hand and a two foot square board in the other. He held the arrow out to Adria. The head was triangular, but blunted. Still, with the force behind the arrow, it would do great harm.
"To pass the test," Officer Stargaze explained, "you must hit this target." he held up the board. A red circle had been painted, filling the middle of the board. "You have one shot."
The target was large. "At what distance?" Adria asked.
"Four hundred paces," the elf replied. He turned to another elf, removed a necklace, then paced off the distance.
Adria strung her elven bow as she watched him walk. When he had paced four hundred steps, he turned and held the board over his head. Bilbus chuckled disbelievingly.
Adria nocked the arrow and drew the bowstring taut, aiming into the sky. She shut her eyes for a moment, carefully feeling for the slightest breeze. She then raised the bow imperceptibly higher, adjusting for the target being over the elf's head. The noblewoman opened her eyes, then released the bowstring. The arrow shot into the morning sky, leaving a faint trail of smoke from the magickally burning arrow. It arced over and plummeted to the ground, punching through the center of the board on the way down.
Officer Stargaze lowered the target, picked up the arrow, and walked back towards the cook fire. He set the arrow and target on the ground and took the necklace from the other elf. He walked up to Adria.
"Congratulations. You have joined the ranks of the Elven Archers, the best archers on this world. You are the only human to join our ranks." He offered his necklace to Adria. "Wear this proudly. It identifies you as one of the Archers, and it will accord you the respect you deserve."
Adria looked at the necklace. It was a finely-woven golden chain with a pendant hanging from it. The pendant was a bow, three inches wide, that was drawn with an arrow nocked. It, too, was golden colored. The curve of the bow pointed downwards, and the necklace chain was laced through the space between the bowstring and the bow itself. Such a delicate piece of jewelry could not possibly stand up to any sort of abuse -- the fine gold wire of the bowstring would break readily.
Stargaze saw her furrowed brow. "It is not gold. It is mithril. It also has the property of making you impervious to piercing weapons. Bows and spears can not harm you as long as you wear this pendant."
Adria put the necklace on, pulling her blonde hair out from under it.
Stargaze then removed the quiver that was slung on a belt over his shoulder. "This is the quiver that the Archers use. Carry it with you, as well. It will never be empty." Adria looked at the quiver. It was a pale white leather, with fine stitching holding the cylinder of the quiver closed. She slung the belt over her shoulder. The quiver rested just right at her hip, where she could draw readily. She pulled one of the arrows out. It was a fine bodkin arrow, the small metal head sharpened to punch through armor. She looked back at the quiver. The tails of a dozen arrows were still in the quiver.
"Thank you," Adria said. "This is a great honor."
"Thank you for proving me right," Stargaze said. "A mistake on my part could have been more than just humiliating."
He tipped his head towards her lightly, then rejoined the other elves. The column marched away, turning back towards the elven encampment.
"Great. I'm married to an elf," Bilbus groused.
After the party finished breakfast, Breanna stood next to Eric. "I want to go talk to the priests," she said. "I have some questions about what I should be doing to help."
"We need to get underway soon," Eric reminded her.
"That's okay. I'll take the carpet." Breanna turned to walk away. Sturm was two feet away from her, blocking her way.
"Breanna?" the Sun Knight said quietly. "I've never been on a magic carpet." He looked around. The rest of the party was busying themselves, making ready to return to the Caliph's Zephyr. "Would you take me for a ride?"
Breanna looked up at the knight's face. There was something else he wanted to say. "Okay. Come on." She walked back to her healing bags and the carpet, rolled and neatly tied next to the bags. She untied the carpet and sat down on the front of it. "Sit down behind me," she instructed.
Once Sturm had taken his seat, Breanna mentally commanded the carpet to rise and start moving.
Eric watched the two fly away. "I'm worried about Sturm," he confessed once the two had flown out of earshot. "We don't really know what he's feeling. He doesn't really talk to us much about what's going on, and what fate has in store for him. What happens if he's changed his mind and decides not to go through with this?" He looked towards Adria. She had placed a hand absently on her abdomen. "Adria, you and Sturm have had something of a rapport. He may not want to talk to us men about it."
"I'll talk to him," Adria agreed.
Breanna had kept the carpet fairly low, only ten paces above the ground. She was circling around the edge of the encampment, watching the support trains hitching oxen to pull the hundreds of wagons, and the warriors getting into formation. As they circled past the Church Knight part of the encampment, she could see Kasey astride Farran, waving at her. She waved back gleefully, then spotted her brother and the rest of the boys from Armagh, close to Kasey. They already had the Armagh banner high on its pole.
"Fun, isn't it?" she asked brightly.
Sturm ignored the question. There were things on his mind, and Breanna was the only person who could understand them. The men would not appreciate a sign of weakness from him, and Adria was as much a warrior as the rest of them. Breanna had changed since those early days in Armagh, but still.
"I've been having dreams," Sturm finally said.
"I think we've all been having dreams," Breanna replied. Her voice was guarded.
"My dreams are about what we've been doing. And what we're going to do. The first dream happened a few weeks ago. I dreamed we were sailing into the harbor of al-Qayir. There were not a lot of ships there. It seemed strange, since the city is a major trade destination. Then, we got close to the docks and orcs came out from everywhere. They destroyed the ship with flaming arrows and magickal explosions. And we all died. I could hear the Dark One's laugh at the end of the dream.
"The next dream happened a little later. We had made it to the shore, and we had gone in to talk to the Caliph. He refused to help us. He said his advisor had told him to turn us away. When Eric asked to talk to the advisor, to convince him otherwise, the Caliph showed us his advisor. It was a Shadow Kindred. As it attacked us, orcs streamed into the throne room. We all died again. And I could hear the Dark One laughing."
Sturm paused for a moment to glance down at the army. Thousands of men and orcs were down there, getting ready to march into battle. Most of them were probably going to die within the next two weeks. "The third dream was like the first two. We made it to the Caliph's throne room, and he agreed to help us. He offered to let us have the Caliph's Zephyr, so we rode out to see it. While we were in the building that housed it, orcs attacked. We were trapped, with no way out. They swarmed through all the exits. We all died. And there was the laughing once more, mocking us."
Sturm paused again. Talking to Breanna was easier than he had thought, but admitting to these dreams was still no easy task. "In the fourth dream, we were fighting a screening force of orcs at Vulcan's Gap. We were all on the Zephyr, where we could keep an eye on the battle. Something happened, and the orc mages were able to strike us. The ship tipped over, and we all fell out. We fell a couple hundred feet, into the midst of an orc Fist..."
"And we all died," Breanna said. Her voice quivered slightly.
"In the next dream, we made it to as-Tikat. That's the ruins of the city where the Dark One's Palace is. The Zephyr had been destroyed at Vulcan's Gap, but we had survived. The army was fighting a much larger force of orcs, and they were losing ground. We were riding with the Caliph's Horses, trying to circle around the battle and get to the palace. And we were attacked by hundreds of Shadow Kindred, riding things that looked like horses. And we were overcome. We died once more."
"Sturm..."
Sturm interrupted. "There were only two more dreams. In the next one, we made it to the Dark One's prison. It's in the inner citadel of his palace, a round keep that can only be accessed by a footbridge on the second story. I was on the footbridge, about to... about to stab myself with Gas Bulg, when Bilbus came up behind me and stabbed me in the back. I fell off the bridge, to the ground. Bilbus turned on the rest of you, and orcs charged in to help."
He took a deep breath. "In all of these dreams, they ended in darkness. I could hear the Dark One laughing at me. And we all died. The seventh dream was different. I had it last night. We made it to the prison. And I stabbed myself with the spear. It hurt. A lot. But I didn't die. I could feel myself being pulled into the prison. Not my body, but just my soul. And I faced off against the Dark One. We fought. It seemed like we fought forever. The surroundings around us changed, like we were in the dreamlands, but the fight never ended.
"During that dream, the Dark One stopped for a moment. He said to me, 'Sturm, is this what you really want? Fighting me eternally, until you, too, fall. Just like Sir Cunnick, who even now is on his knees. Is death not easier?'" Sturm paused. He realized that his voice had become unsteady. "Breanna... He may be right. Death would be easier."
Breanna looked drained. Her face was pale. "Sturm, are you willing to let the Dark One win?"
"It doesn't matter to me if I'm dead."
"Don't you have something worth fighting for, possibly dying for?" Sturm said nothing. "Sturm, I can show you what I think is worth fighting for, but I can't show you what you would be willing to die for."
Sturm remained quiet.
"I can give you some suggestions, but I can't tell you what to believe in. But I know this. If you die, all of us will die. There will be nothing left. The Dark One wants to destroy everything. We can't let that happen. What is going on around us is bigger than any of us. It's more important than any one of us. I don't want to die. But, if I must, I will. I can think of the children I've helped bring into this world, back home in Armagh. They will not live to see adulthood if the Dark One wins. I look at Eric, and Bilbus, and Adria. They were all on the brink of death, and I helped them. And, if my life must be sacrificed in order for them to live..." Her voice trailed off.
"But if I die, none of it matters."
Breanna's voice became hard. "No, Sturm. If you die, none of it matters. There will be no tomorrow. The Spring Festival in Armagh, that starts in a month, will be the last. Next winter will find the cities cold and empty. These people," she waved her hand towards the army. "These people who are marching off to war. Many of them marching towards their deaths, just to give you the chance to give the world another tomorrow, will have died in vain." She stopped. Sturm was still brooding, sitting on the back of the carpet. Maybe he needed something else to think about. "Want to go fast?"
"No."
Breanna mentally pushed the carpet. It shot forward, so fast that the wind brought tears to the eyes. Breanna suppressed the urge to giggle. The sensation of speed was incredible, far faster than a horse, and smoother than anything. She finally slowed the carpet down and landed near the party's cook fire.
"Thank you for the ride," Sturm said. "It was interesting."
Eric was watching the two intently as Sturm walked away. Adria was already walking towards the Sun Knight.
"Your turn," Breanna called out to Eric. She patted the back of the carpet. Eric complied, sitting down and crossing his legs in a meditative position.
Once they were away from the party, Breanna relayed what Sturm had told her. "He doesn't sound like he knows what to do," she added afterwards.
"I was afraid of this," Eric admitted. "Sturm has never really talked to us much, especially about what's going on. He had been drinking heavily for a while, but he seemed to get himself back under control again. We had no idea what he has been going through. Adria's going to talk to him now. I think we need to find Father Gillifin. They must know something that they haven't told us."
"Like what?" Breanna asked.
"Why Sturm? Why is he the one who must face the Dark One? Take us back to the camp. We need to talk to him, but I think Rishala and Bilbus should go, as well."
As Breanna and Eric flew away, Adria approached Sturm. The Sun Knight's scowl was deeper than ever, and he did not seem to be paying much attention to anything.
"Sturm? How are you doing?" Adria asked.
"Fine."
"You've been quiet, lately. Quieter than usual. Is anything going on?"
"Nothing new."
"Oh." She circled around to get in front of the knight. "You know, I'm naming this baby after you."
Sturm raised an eyebrow. "Does Bilbus know?"
Adria waved her hand dismissively. "No."
A smirk crept onto Sturm's face.
When Breanna and Eric returned to the camp, Adria and Sturm were a distance away, talking. Eric gestured to Rishala and Bilbus to come with him, and he started heading towards the Church Knights' encampment. The priests with Father Gillifin tended to stay near the Shield of the Church. As they walked, Eric repeated what Sturm had told Breanna, with Breanna filling in some of the details.
Bilbus groaned. "What he needs is something to fight for..."
"No, he needs something he is willing to die for," Rishala corrected.
"Whatever. He really doesn't have much attachment to anything. He was raised in some harsh conditions. He's never had a family. The one time he thought he had a relationship with a woman, she was using him as the butt of jokes in court. We need to find the Sword of the Church..."
"'There is no Sword of the Church'," Breanna interjected, giggling.
"Thanks, Bree," Bilbus said as he mockingly scowled at her. "We still don't know why it's Sturm. Rishala knows, but he won't tell us. We have to figure it out for ourselves, then he'll confirm it."
Rishala looked at Bilbus quizzically.
The priests had finished readying for the day's journey. They were milling about near the fifteen hundred Church Knights, waiting for the order to move. As the party approached Father Gillifin, Bilbus veered off towards Father Lahiff, who was looking south across the desert, puffing on a tabac stick.
Bilbus pulled out a stick of his own. He channeled Heka into the tip of his thumb, causing a flame to leap up from it. Holding his flaming thumb under the rolled paper and weed for a moment was enough to light the tabac stick. The flame quickly vanished as Bilbus let the Heka flows unravel.
"Nice tabac," Father Lahiff said as he caught a whiff of the smoke drifting off of Bilbus's stick.
"There's a shop on that main avenue in town..."
"That tabac shop?" Lahiff interrupted. When Bilbus nodded, the priest said, "I ducked out of our formation when I saw it. That stuff was much fresher than anything I've seen, even in Brallian. I managed to catch up with everyone before they reached the bazaar."
"I stocked up there, too," Bilbus admitted.
Father Gillifin smiled as Eric approached. "Good morning, General," he greeted the Azirian. "And to the rest of you, as well."
"Father Gillifin, there is a question I must ask. It is something I have been wondering for some time now, and it is becoming more important as we get closer to our destination."
"Yes?" Father Gillifin asked.
"Why Sturm? What has he done? Why must he face the Dark One?"
Father Gillifin looked around. Besides the party, only his fellow Sword of the Church were within earshot. "I was wondering when I would be asked this question. Sturm was born for this purpose. The Church has had prophecies foretelling a time when the prison would weaken and fail. Because the magicks used to seal the prison invoked the Sun King's name, his blood is the only thing that can strengthen it. The Church has been tracing the Sun King's descendents for generations, trying to keep a blood line strong enough to affect the prison."
"So, it is a breeding program?" Eric asked.
"It's not as easy as breeding cattle," Gillifin countered. "There is a trait in the soul that only shows up occasionally. King Paendroeg's blood has been diluted for eighty generations, and the right traits happen at most once in each generation. Sturm has those traits, and we knew that the prison would fail soon, so he was taken to Sir Atenburg to raise Sturm to fight. Sturm does not die to seal the Dark One's prison. His soul will be pulled into the prison, and he will fight the Dark One until a way is found to destroy the Dark One once and for all."
"Why is the prison failing?"
"When the mages created the prison, they used ancient, powerful magicks. Magicks that existed long before man did. In doing so, they had to sacrifice someone, someone who had to do battle against the Dark One to keep the Dark One from breaking through the prison. Sir Cunnick volunteered. The founder of the Sun Knights has been in battle with the Dark One for over two thousand years, and he is finally faltering. Sturm must take Sir Cunnick's place, to keep the prison intact until we can find the magicks to defeat the Dark One."
Breanna fell heavily to the sand. Her face was pale, and she sat unsteadily. "It's real. The dream I had was real." She looked up at Father Gillifin. "There was a dream I had a few weeks ago. I remember it being a few years from now, and I was visiting Bilbus and Adria. They had two children, who were outside playing. Shadow Kindred attacked and killed the boy. Later in that same dream, I saw the boy -- now grown up -- outside the Dark One's prison. He was casting some sort of powerful magick. And he destroyed the prison, and the Dark One. It was Bilbus's son."
Bilbus had overheard her story. "It can't be. I'm not the blood of Uther. Then I'd be related to Sturm."
Father Gillifin shook his head. "The one who defeats the Dark One does not have to be the blood of Uther. He just has to be able to wield some very powerful magicks."
Eric asked, "If you bred Sturm to be the one who faces the Dark One, do you have a backup? A spare? What if Sturm fails?"
Father Gillifin shook his head. "No. Sturm is the only person we've seen in the last two generations who has enough of Uther's blood."
"How long does he have to hold the prison?" Eric asked.
"As long as he must. Uther's blood has diluted over the years, so Sturm probably will not hold out as long as Sir Cunnick has, but he will still have to hold the prison for a number of years."
"Yeah, like twenty," Bilbus guessed. He turned to Rishala. "You knew about this, right? You've known all along."
"Aye," Rishala agreed. Bilbus had convinced himself that Rishala was omniscient, and Rishala decided to play to the former mountebank's paranoia.
"Adria and I are the backup plan," Bilbus deduced.
"No," Eric said, shaking his head.
"Sturm is the backup plan?"
"No," Eric repeated. "Sturm has to face the current crisis. Your son will fix the problem permanently."
"Wait," Bilbus said. "In the dream, the Shadow Kindred kills the kid. That means the Dark One knows what we are going to do. We win this battle, then we fight him again."
"No, Bilbus," Rishala replied. "The Dark One knows the possible futures, and he is showing them to us."
"That's why we keep him around," Bilbus said, pointing at Rishala.
Changing the subject, Eric said, "It would be nice if we had weapons for the Zephyr. Does the Sword have any of the marbles like we used in Erelhei Cinlu? Father Ilsinan had a number of them."
"No," Gillifin answered, "they would be too dangerous to transport. If one broke, they would all explode."
"It would be nice if we could make some."
"Sand!" Rishala blurted. He looked around at the desert. "We melt sand to make glass."
"How do we melt it?" Eric asked.
"The army has forges to repair weapons. Sand melts easier than metal."
"If we make many of them, we could dump them on the enemy's army as we fly over."
As the party walked back to their cook fire, Bilbus muttered to himself. "Hells. I am descended from royalty. I'm married to an elf. Can this day get any worse?" He looked skyward suddenly. "I didn't say that," he said loudly.
For three days the army marched south, across the endless sands of inland al-Rhayidh. The blistering sun was a constant companion for the army as they approached the Vulcan's Furnace. The Church's priests and the handful of healers riding with the Caliph's Horsemen were kept busy healing those who succumbed to the brutal heat.
Late during the fourth day, above the shimmering of the desert sands, rose the smooth, steep peaks of the Vulcan's Furnace. Ashen white clouds billowed from several of the peaks, active volcanoes that gave the mountain range its name. In the vista of the front range of the rugged mountains, an opening was visible. Vulcan's Gap was a large, gentle valley that led to a low pass through the mountains. It was the only pass the could let the army pass quickly over the oft-treacherous volcanic mountain range. And the Dark One's army knew that, as well.
Al-Rhayidhian scouts returned from their day's patrols, riding upon the magickal carpets that Eric had requested that they use. As each returned, he reported to Eric the same thing: Orcs were at Vulcan's Gap. By each scout's account, five fists were waiting at the mouth of the valley, effectively closing it. Eric assembled the army's commanders to discuss a plan.
"Five fists is not a large force," Sir Atenburg said. The Sun Knights had never faced that many organized orcs in a single battle. "Our orcs alone outnumber them two to one."
"It's a screening force," Sir Goudge determined. "Surely the Dark One can field a much larger army. He must be holding them back for the defense of his palace."
"Agreed," Eric said. "How do we get through them? Do we use the orcs to stage an ambush, like they did to the Stone Fists and Wet Foot?"
Sir Goudge shook his head. "It's too risky. They would have to close in to do it, and we wouldn't be able to back them up. We don't want to throw away any forces now that we'll need later. We're better off hitting them hard, with everything." He kneeled so he could draw in the sand. "Set up the orc fists in a tight formation, four fists on the front line, four fists in the second. With their bows, the second rank can support the first rank. March them up the middle, with the remaining two fists and the Footmen of Camelough in reserve. The elves can march with the orcs, and so can the Sword of the Church. My Church Knights can take one wing of the formation, and the Caliph's Horses can take the other wing. That way, our fast shock troops can hit them on the sides, like pincers, while the orc fists drive through them."
Eric studied the diagram. "Very well. We will organize the formations tomorrow, and march on Vulcan's Gap. Thank you."
With the meeting over, the commanders returned to notify their troops. The army would meet the first of the Dark One's army in battle by midday tomorrow. The camp was restless that night, as warriors made ready for battle.
As the army made ready to march to Vulcan's Gap, Bilbus and Adria stopped to talk to Eric.
"I'm riding with the orcs today," Bilbus announced. "I'll be with the First Fist. You need someone who can relay information, and I can do it with Heka. Adria's riding with me."
Adria nodded. "To keep him out of trouble."
Eric looked at his two friends for a long moment. At last, he said, "We'll see you this evening."
Bilbus and Adria went to fetch their horses and ride out to the orc encampment. Eric was climbing the rope ladder to the Caliph's Zephyr. The army was soon underway.
They reached Vulcan's Gap in just a few hours, the orc fists leading the way as their thunderous drums rolled across the vast desert. The five fists of orcs waiting for the party's army had moved into a loose line, forming a block between the party and the valley. The walls of the valley were steep, far too rough to simply bypass the army. A single steep, rounded hill jutted from the sands, a few hundred paces north of the Gap. The al-Rhayidhians called it 'Sentinel Hill'.
As the mounted troops pulled out to the sides of the front rank of orcs, Adria and Bilbus rode their horses near Fists Commander Krag.
"Bilbus, I told Sturm that we're naming our first child after him," Adria confided.
Bilbus frowned. "Our first child is going to be a girl. Bree's dream said so."
"So we'll call her Sturmelina." She looked around at the orcs marching. The bows had a very familiar quality to them. "Bilbus? Have you taken a close look at the orc bows?"
"They're big."
"No, Bilbus. Well, yes. They are big. But, look at how they're made. If you would set it down next to my old bow, the one that Eric broke when I hit him with it in Brallian, you wouldn't be able to tell them apart. They look like Dalesian long bows."
"They probably stole them from Dalesians. The Tree Eaters live there, you know." He switched to orcish, then snarled something at Krag.
The orc replied at length, his snarls and grunts chaotic. Bilbus then translated. "Krag says that Tree Eaters bowyers apprenticed to men in the Dales. He says it is common for his tribes artisans to study with men."
"Why haven't I heard of this?" Adria asked.
Bilbus relayed the question. "Krag says that there are many small, isolated hamlets in the Dales, and many of them appreciate having strong labor willing to trade with them. And they also realize that the Dalesian nobles would not react well to orcs so close."
The armies were close. The knights and horsemen had pulled wide, and they were making ready to charge at the sides of the defending fists. Bilbus pulled his spyglass out to look at the banners the enemy carried. Four fists had banners comprised of two yellow bands split horizontally by a wide blue stripe. The fifth fist bore a black flag.
"What tribes are those?" Bilbus asked Fists Commander Krag in orcish.
The orc leader squinted his eyes, shielding his face from the sun's glare with one broad hand. "Hot Sands Tribe and Dark Cave Tribe." He huffed. "Hot Sands were left behind to keep the palace safe. Didn't do too well, considering your human mages were able to make the prison. Dark Cave Tribe. Very deadly. They are the drow's personal guard, from Erelhei Cinlu."
The Tree Eaters' Fists were close to the enemy orcs. From either side of the tightly-packed front sounded the blasts of bugles as the Church Knights and the Caliph's Horsemen charged ahead. The mass of horses raced towards the sides of the Hot Sands' lines crashing into them with incredible ferocity. Arrows shot skywards as the hostile orcs tried desperately to stop the onrushing mounted warriors. The men pulled back quickly, circling out and away from the orcs. As they turned back inwards to charge again, the Tree Eaters' archers started lofting arrows towards the Hot Sands Fists.
The second charge of the knights and horsemen was vicious. Orcs had hastily closed the front ranks, but they had no spears that could be used to skewer onrushing horses. The mass of over two thousand mounted warriors charging into the orc lines was enough to overwhelm the orc defenses. As the orcs' perimeter failed, their cohesion failed as well. The sudden charge of the Caledonian footmen and the front ranks of the Tree Eaters' lines decided the battle.
As the battle raged ahead, Bilbus looked around to find the Caliph's Zephyr. The ship had flown high to avoid the deadly orc bows. It was now at full sail, darting southwards a couple hundred paces in the air.
"That's odd," Bilbus shouted over the din of the battle raging a few hundred paces away.
"What?" Adria asked as she continued to scan for hostile orcs breaking free of the melee.
"They're flying south a little too fast. They're heading towards the mountains."
"Who?" Adria asked, still not really paying attention to Bilbus.
Bilbus turned her head towards the flying ship. The crews were frantically climbing the rigging, trying to lower the sails as the ship started to descend. The Zephyr had started to list, as well, from the force of the winds across its sails.
An abrupt vicious gust pushed the ship onto its side, dumping a number of people. Bilbus heard Adria gasp, then felt himself choke, as several familiar figures plummeted towards the ground below.
Breanna, distinctive in her dark leather armor, was one of the figures. She had flailed to grab the ship's rails as it rolled, but she had been thrown just clear of them. Rishala likewise fell, scrambling to unroll his carpet and gain control of it before he landed in the midst of the battle. The third figure that Bilbus recognized was Sturm's. The Sun Knight was falling towards the ground, arms and legs spread, at a dizzying speed.
Bilbus pulled out his spyglass and quickly swept it across the ship. He could just make out Eric, lashed to a mast, as the ship finished rolling onto its side. The former thief lowered his spyglass to watch in horror as his other friends fell to a certain doom.
Rishala was now wrapped in the carpet, a red fluttering shape that abruptly unfurled to a flat carpet and slowed, until it had leveled off. Bilbus watched Rishala look around until the Caledonian spotted Sturm. The carpet pitched abruptly, racing after the Sun Knight as Rishala tried to save him.
Breanna struggled with her carpet for a much longer time, unable to get it under control. She fell to within a few paces of the ground before she was able to stop her descent. She quickly climbed again, hoping to escape the notice of the fighters below her. She readily spotted Eric tied to the Zephyr, and she immediately raced towards the ship as it careened towards the rocky cliff faces surrounding Vulcan's Gap.
Rishala managed to overtake Sturm, and he swooped beneath the Sun Knight. Sturm landed on the carpet, and Rishala pulled away from the battle, charging north towards the support trains of the party's army.
Breanna was soon below the overturned ship, matching her carpet's speed to its while Eric cut himself free of the rope. Once he had dropped onto her carpet, Breanna likewise veered north towards safety.
Bilbus watched the crippled ship slam into a steep mountainside, splintering quickly as it slowly slid towards the ground. With the drama overhead concluded, Bilbus turned his attention to the battle.
The remnants of the Dark One's screening force had collapsed inward, trying to prevent any openings that the horses, orcs, and footmen attacking them could exploit. However, their casualties had quickly added up as the overwhelming force of the attackers eroded their numbers. The battle quickly ended.
The cries and moans of the wounded and dying soon were the only noises on the battlefield. Hundreds of men, many from the lightly armored Caliph's Horses, lay amongst thousands of orcs. The Tree Eaters quickly went through the battlefield, eliminating hostile survivors and extracting friendly casualties who could be saved. The Church Knights had dismounted so they could use their magickal training to help stabilize and heal the wounded. Father Gillifin's priests were soon in the sea of wounded, as well, using their powerful priestly castings to save as many lives as possible.
The aftermath of the battle would take hours. By late afternoon, those men and orcs who could be saved were able to travel. The dead had been moved to funeral pyres -- friends and enemies separated. The army marched into Vulcan's Gap, heading towards the pass that led to the Wasted Lands, with large fires burning on the desert sands behind them.
As the army made their way up Vulcan's Gap to the pass, Bilbus convinced Rishala to start talking to the troops, telling them about their mission and Sturm's purpose. During the evenings, Rishala went from camp to camp, talking about the party's adventure and the importance of the upcoming battle. Meanwhile, Breanna and Adria took Sturm around to the camps, as well, to talk to the warriors who were marching with him. Breanna was hoping that Sturm could find a reason to want to save the world. His confession while riding with her on the magickal carpet had nagged at the back of her mind, a continual worry that Sturm would quit, and that there truly would be no tomorrow.
Vulcan's Gap was dry and dusty, like the rest of the deserts around them, but there were clouds of smoke that blocked the sun for part of the day. Volcanoes raged in the distance, spewing ash and rock high into the sky. Enough were active that, at any given time, two or three columns of smoke stabbed into the sky. As the ash clouds got high enough, they caught winds aloft and sheared to the side, creating spotty shade along the pass.
The army had marched a couple of days up the pass before scouts reported anything other than sand and rock.
Several of the carpet-riding scouts returned at once. One of them reported to Eric.
"We have found hegenilb up ahead. They are hiding in ambush on cliffs."
"Hegenilb?" Eric asked.
"Yes. Like men, but very, very tall. Maybe seven paces tall."
"Ogres?" Bilbus asked. The party had fought against a pair of ogres months ago.
"Not ogres," the scouted corrected. "Hegenilb."
"Huh," Bilbus harrumphed. He glanced upwards. "What in the Hells is that?" He pointed skywards.
High overhead flew something that appeared to be an enormous bird. However, it also appeared to be composed of flame. It soared lazily over the valley, too far overhead for archers to strike it.
"A firebird," the scout answered.
"Whose side is it on?" Eric wondered. "It must have spotted us. Where is it going?"
"It is on no one's side," the scout replied. "They have been seen near the Vulcan's Furnace for many, many years. Always high in the sky. They never get close to anyone."
Rishala asked for Bilbus's spyglass. Once the former mountebank gave it to him, Rishala studied the firebird. He also scanned the mountaintops to see if he could see anything else of interest. His scan stopped on the top of one of the taller mountains. A brilliant spot of light was atop the mountain, unmoving. Rishala lowered the spyglass to watch the firebird. It was heading straight for the same mountain. When it got close, Rishala raised the spyglass again. The firebird folded its wings and dived into the bright spot, disappearing.
Rishala lowered the spyglass and blinked his eyes. He was seeing spots. He glanced skywards. The sun was almost directly overhead. "I think it was from the sun."
"What?" Bilbus asked, disbelief clear in his voice. "How could it be from the sun."
"There's a Gate on that mountaintop." Rishala pointed it out. "A gate goes somewhere very bright. It was like staring at the sun. There are naturally occurring gates all over the world. They connect our world to other worlds. It is widely believed that one such gate is in the Elven Court, leading to Phaeree." Bilbus rolled his eyes and sighed. "Bilbus, the gates are real. They are also strongest when they are directly below their destination. It's noon. It's the best explanation."
"So it's a flying fire thing from the sun," Bilbus stated levelly.
"Aye."
Seeing no immediate threat from the departed firebird, Eric decided to get back to the task at hand. "Where are these hegenilb?" Eric asked one of the scouts.
"There are three on each side of the valley, a mile from the pass. They wait to throw rocks on us as we pass."
Eric studied the terrain for a while. The walls of the valley were steep, but not impassable for someone on foot. "Are their cliffs at the top of the valley?"
"No. They are, perhaps, two thirds of the way up. Maybe just twenty paces above the floor of the valley."
"Okay. Bilbus, I want you to get some volunteers from the Tree Eaters. I want orcs to sneak up the sides of the valley, where they can come around behind these giants. They should strike the giants hard -- they don't need to defeat them, but just knock them off of the cliff. I'll send the Church Knights up the valley to finish them off."
Bilbus thought about the plan. "They'll be noisy. The orcs are wearing plate armor."
"Have them leave the armor behind. Like I said, they don't need to fight the hegenilb, they just need to shove them off of the cliff so the Church Knights can mop up."
"Okay," Bilbus said skeptically.
"Get going, Bilbus. We've spent enough time here."
"Yeah, yeah," Bilbus said as he walked off.
There were plenty of orc volunteers -- enough that Bilbus asked Fists Commander Krag to pick out the best. A hundred orcs followed Bilbus back to the head of the army, where Eric was briefing a hundred Church Knights. Bilbus gave the orcs their orders.
The orcs were quickly underway, all stripped to the padding they wore under their armor and carrying their long swords. They scrambled up the narrow, sheer ravines in the sides of the valley, until they had disappeared beyond the valley wall. Meanwhile, the Church Knights rode forward slowly, looking for the cliffs that the Caliph's scouts had described. Soon, they, too were out of sight.
Nearly an hour passed before the Church Knights returned.
"The giants are dead," the head of the group reported. "The orcs are moving the bodies to the side of the valley."
"Good," Eric said. He sent back orders for the army to march once more.
As the army got underway again, Eric pointed towards the sides of the pass. "Bilbus, do you see this? It looks like someone carved statues out of the mountain. They're worn, but you can make them out."
Bilbus looked where Eric pointed. Sure enough, there were a pair of tall, carved statues of men bracketing the pass. Bilbus studied the faces of the men for a few moments.
"It's the Dark One," he said quietly. He then chuckled. "There's an ego for you. He had giant statues of himself carved into the heights of this pass. Looks like they'll outlive him after all."
The descent out of Vulcan's Gap went quickly. The route was steeper, but still manageable for the wagons. Within a couple of days, the army found itself once more on the desert sands. But these sands were different. Where the sands of al-Rhayidh had a yellowish tint, these sands looked bleached. At the head of the army, the party stopped to look.
"The Wasted Lands," Rishala said solemnly. "A land of death. The land of the Dark One."
Jumbled piles of rounded, weathered stone, the remains of tremendous buildings, were littered about the sands past the valley, creating a pattern of rocky mounds that stretched for miles. Near the center of the crumbled city was a pyramid, perhaps forty paces tall.
"That's odd," Rishala muttered.
"What's that?" Bilbus asked.
"There's a pyramid over there."
"Well, it looks like there used to be a city here. Why is seeing the pyramid odd?"
"The pyramid is not what's odd. It has no charge. I can sense no Heka in the pyramid."
"I thought they charged naturally," Bilbus stated.
"They do. But that pyramid is dead."
Commander Greenbough had walked up to the front of the army as it waited for the party to move out once more. He stood on the white sands, looking towards the dead city. "This land was jungle, once. Many years ago, I visited it. As far as the eye could see, thick, dark jungles broken occasionally by marshy fields. This city, Atir, had many mages and priests whose sole job was to keep the jungle at bay."
Breanna stared at the distant pyramid. "What happened?" she asked in a hushed tone.
"The lands have been dying for over two thousand years. The magicks of the prison that binds Caliph bin Hatsreod, your 'Dark One', are very wasteful and costly. Such is the nature of that dweomer that the life force, the Heka itself, is being drawn from this land. Remain here too long, and you, too, shall die."
"What about the Hot Sands orcs?" Bilbus asked. "They live here, right?"
"Some do. Bin Hatsreod's prison is weak enough that he is able to influence the lands around as-Tikat, his capital. The orcs live within the ruins of that city, and their drow allies supply them with sustenance."
"How long will the lands be drained?" Eric asked. He was worried that he knew the answer.
"These lands are already dead. The prison is drawing its power from farther and farther away. The lands of al-Rhayidh were once jungles, as well. Now, only the farthest emirates on this continent are green. The lands around al-Qayir are dying. The city is now importing food to survive. It used to be an exporter."
"Caliph bin Rhayidh is the caliph of a dying land," Eric deduced. "We need a better prison." He look towards the blazing sun overhead. "Perhaps something that could harness sunlight."
"What about night time?" Bilbus asked. He watched the elf walk away, heading back to his company of archers.
"Something that collects enough light during the day to sustain the prison at night as well. Something that can store the energies in a reservoir, like the pyramids do. And something that can maintain enough energy in storage to last through several days of clouds."
"What's the big deal..." Bilbus started to ask.
Eric cut him off. "If you are the caliph of a dying land, with your farms failing, what do you do?"
"Find arable land somewhere. Take it, if need be."
"Where, though?" Eric asked intently.
"The closest place? Eiresud, the lands around Brallian."
"Exactly," Eric said. "And they blame the Kellts for doing this to their land in the first place."
"And they're right."
Eric nodded slowly. "Let's go. If we don't reinforce the prison now, it won't matter. But we have to do something about the prison."
He rode off towards the south. The rest of the party followed him, and the army trailed behind them all.
The march across the Wasted Lands had been uneventful, days of walking marked by chilly, dark nights. The Caliph's carpet-borne scouts continued patrols, looking for signs of opposition, but nothing reared itself. At last, a week after the army had left the Vulcan's Furnace and entered the white sands of the Wasted Lands, the scouts reported something different.
"We have seen the ruins of as-Tikat," one reported to Eric in the evening, after the army had settled in for the night. "The Morning Star's Palace still stands, but the sands have not been kind to it. The city is rubble, and it shall not be a problem for us to march through."
"What of defenses?" Eric asked.
The scout looked gravely at Eric. "I kept my distance. But I could still see more than fifteen Fists of orcs, and many dark elves. Perhaps three thousand."
Eric winced. The Dark One had at least half again as many troops as Eric had. "Very well. We shall meet them tomorrow."
Eric rousted his army early. The supply trains remained behind this time, so they would have a head start if a retreat were sounded. The army marched forward after a morning meal.
Bilbus wore a full suit of plate armor. He had ordered it long ago and had taken delivery on it when the army passed through Brallian. The plate armor was fashioned after the illustrations of Uther Paendroeg's armor in the books Bilbus had read as a child. He had had Kasey help him get it adjusted before rejoining the rest of the party.
The army was soon close to as-Tikat. The palace was visible, shimmering in the heat of the day, atop its stony hill. All around the palace, as far as the eye could see, was rocky debris, the remains of a city dead for two thousand years. That the Dark One's palace/prison still stood after these centuries was a testament to the magicks it contained. And all that remained between the party and the palace was the Dark One's army.
Bilbus surveyed the forces that had lined up against the party. Counting banners, and estimating based on what he could see, Bilbus counted fourteen fists of Hot Sands Tribe orcs, and an additional three fists of the Dark Cave Tribe. The drow had joined the battlefield, with close to four thousand waiting. And there were several hundred Shadow Kindred atop their hellish horse beasts, pacing behind the main line of the enemy army.
The army had been arranged with six fists of orcs forward, and another six in a second rank well behind the first rank. The drow were lined up close behind the second rank of orcs, and the remaining forces were set up in a couple of fists for flanking, and four fists held in far reserve, guarding the approach to the castle.
"That's a lot of orcs," Bilbus observed quietly. The party's army was easily outnumbered by at least three to two.
Eric nodded his head somberly. "We don't have to win this battle. We just need to get ourselves into that castle." He stopped to think of what he had just said. It was sobering, but cruelly true. The entire army was expendable, if that was what was needed to get Sturm into the Dark One's palace.
Bilbus shifted in his saddle. The metal armor took a lot of getting used to, especially when riding. "Are we going to do this? I didn't get dressed up for nothing."
"We need to address the troops," Eric said. He turned to Sturm. "Do you care to talk to them?"
Sturm thought about it. He really had nothing planned. "Today, we face our enemy! We have trained for this battle, and we shall prevail!"
Bilbus suppressed a groan. "Eric, if you don't make a speech, I will."
Eric stood in his stirrups and addressed the army.
"All your life you look for a way to make a difference. You find ways to make a difference for someone like your wife or lover. Sometimes you get to make a change for your family, or your business, or even your town. Sometimes you lay awake at night after everyone has gone to sleep and you stare up at the ceiling and you wish for something like people out of story books get to change. But those are tales told around the fire to make people smile and think of grand times. Those aren't the kind of stories that you get to live."
He looked over the army. Some of the faces were grim. All of them were tired. Three weeks of marching in a brutal desert had taken its toll. "Today. Today is your chance to prove that idea wrong. Today you get your turn to live a huge story. It's a story that's bigger than any one of you, or even any one group of you. It's bigger than all of us put together.
"We get a chance to save the world!"
The army had been told it already, but many of them thought their commanders had been exaggerating. "It's not like this kind of thing comes along any old day! This is the kind of legend that will be told over and over. Passed down through countless generations, from you to your children, and your grandchildren, and their children and grandchildren. On and on it will go through time, for as long as there are people on this world, and for as long as they tell stories.
"They will tell how Men and Elves and Orcs stood together on this sandy plain and stared unflinchingly into the face of evil. Stood with Courage. Faced it with Valor. And gave him Blood and Pain for his arrogance in thinking he could take this world from any of us. From all of us."
"They will say how we stood against a larger force and said 'Do your worst, for we shall not flinch! And we're here to give you everything we've got in return!'"
A silence followed the speech. A number of the men nodded, and Jamie's Band looked wildly enthusiastic. There was no ovation, but Eric could feel the determination in his army harden. They were ready to face the Dark One.
Bilbus spoke next, in the growling tongue of the orcs.
"Man and orc have been enemy for as long as anyone knows. We have died at each other's steel, and we have fought with venom. But the Tree Eaters have shown that it must not always be so. You orcs have traded with men, and learned with men, and taught to men. And, now, you have fought with men. Today, we march to battle against orcs and dark elves beholden to the Great Lord. To the man who once commanded your tribe. The man who abandoned you when his battle with the Sun King ended. The Tree Eaters have returned home, to their master. But he is no longer your master, and this is no longer your home. This Era comes to an end as orcs live free. They live with men, and fight with men, and die with men. Let us strike at the man who once ruled your tribe, that we may return to our homes in the Great Forest, where we may live as brothers."
The orcs snarled in response, a horrifying noise that turned to a cacophonous cheer.
Bilbus glanced at Eric, who was staring, agape. Bilbus shrugged. "Are we ready?" he asked Eric. Eric nodded.
Bilbus shouted in orcish as he pointed past the Tree Eaters towards the Dark One's army. "Your mother is a coward. She flees from battle!" Orcs joined in the taunt, until thousands shouted across the battlefield towards the Hot Sands Tribe.
Eric ordered his army into formation. Once more, the Tree Eaters would be the center of the formation, stacked tightly. The Church Knights and the Caledonian warriors would form the wings of the formation, where they could strike quickly at exposed flanks. The Caliph's Horsemen were kept in reserve, with the party and Jamie's Band. Once the battle was underway and the Dark One's forces were preoccupied, the horsemen and the party would race out to the side, past the battle, and towards the Dark One's castle.
Bilbus's taunts had their effects. Two fists of the front rank of Hot Sands orcs started charging forward, their formation quickly becoming ragged. At Eric's command, the party's army marched forward to meet them.
Eric had briefed the commanders of the units in his army about the general strategy. The army had to engage the Dark One's forces, and keep them busy, so that the Caliph's Horses could escort the party to the castle. Everything hinged on the horses reaching the castle, on the far side of a mass of orcs and drow. The Tree Eaters would take the brunt of the battle, charging forward and hitting the Hot Sands fists head on. The Footmen of Camelough, the former Sun Knights, would be held in reserve to plug the inevitable holes in the line. The elves would fight from the center of the line, with the Sword of the Church relegated to defending them from the onslaught. The Shield of the Church, the fifteen hundred mounted knights, would harry the enemy lines with flanking attacks and charges from behind their line, weakening them as they went. The Caledonian warriors, with their greatswords and lighter armor, would likewise move around to harry the weaker spots of the enemy army's lines.
The remaining four fists of Hot Sands orcs in the front rank of the enemy formation soon started closing, following behind the two fists that had charged in response to Bilbus's taunting. Within minutes, the two forces had closed to battle distances. The din of steel on steel, punctuated by screams as blows found their targets, soon filled the air.
Eric watched the battle. The drow and over half of the orcs had held back, staying well out of range. Why are they waiting? The Tree Eaters were quickly gaining the upper hand, smashing the smaller force of Hot Sands orcs who had closed to fight. The battle was going favorably for quite a few minutes as the drow and their defending orcs held position.
In unison, the drow and most of the remaining fists of orcs marched forward. There were four fists far to the rear, still defending the castle, and there were a number of Shadow Kindred likewise holding back, but the bulk of the Dark One's army was now closing to do battle.
"Horsemen!" Eric shouted. "To the left! Charge!"
"No more holes!" Breanna shouted, hoping the plea would work.
The horsemen raced to the left of the battle, with the party and Jamie's Band riding along with them. They soon were clear of the battlefield, circling wide to approach the Dark One's castle from the east. As they passed the front line of the battle, the second rank of orcs had reached arrow range. A withering hail of arrows fell towards the Tree Eaters, who the first rank of Hot Sands orcs were already battling. The elves had started a rapid counter barrage of arrows, but there were too many defending orcs for the elves to affect the arrowfire.
Orcs fell on both sides as the battle ground on. The Church Knights had split, with a thousand striking the east side of the defending forces, and five hundred on the west side; the Caledonians ran with the western knights, charging the orcs, striking at the front ranks of the defending forces, then pulling back and circling around to hit from another direction.
Once the horsemen were well past the battle, the mounted Shadow Kindred who had held back surged towards them. The Caliph's Horsemen moved to intercept the Shadow Kindred. The Shadow Kindred savaged the horsemen, but they also suffered greatly. One of the squadrons of Church Knights broke free of the battle to help, the surviving two hundred knights of the squadron charging across the desert in a line, lances lowered, to hit the Shadow Kindred formation from the rear. The fight quickly degenerated to fast strikes and feints as the Caliph's Horses and Church Knights destroyed the Shadow Kindred. The cost was steep, and less than half of the warriors who had attacked the Shadow Kindred rode away from the fight.
The party raced onwards, towards the castle, as the remains of Caliph's Horsemen and the Church Knights who had battled the Shadow Kindred charged ahead, to engage the four fists of orcs defending the Dark One's palace.
Eric looked at the four fists that remained between the party and the castle. Two of them held position, while the other two moved to position themselves between the castle and the charging horses. He glanced off to his right to look at the main battle. His army had lost ground, consolidating its position as casualties quickly added up. The drow had reached the main line of the battle, and Dark Cave and Hot Sands fists were starting to circle around the army, intent on trapping and killing them all. He could see the remains of the Church Knights who had stayed in the main battle racing along, striking the back of the enemy formation. The Caledonians, too, ran behind the battle, harassing the drow relentlessly. It took only minutes for the drow to tire of the attacks and redirect their attentions to the sources of irritation. Bodies of Church Knights and Caledonians soon were scattered across the rear area of the battle.
Ahead, the four fists defending the castle pulled back to make a tighter formation before the Caliph's Horsemen reached them. Two of the fists still seemed to move strangely. Eric grabbed his spyglass and peered at them. It was difficult to see them clearly, between the shimmer of the heat and the bouncing of the galloping horse, but Eric was able to figure out what was odd about them after a minute of effort.
"Two of those fists are undead!" Eric shouted over the thundering of the horses. "The orcs look skeletal."
"We can sneak past them!" Bilbus replied. "We can make ourselves invisible to undead and go right through them without them noticing!"
"The other orcs have pulled back too far. We may be invisible to half of them, but it leaves two fists still able to strike."
The Caliph's Horsemen had also realized that half of the orcs were undead. They charged after them, striking fast and quickly destroying the dried skeletons that bore swords. The live Hot Sands orcs counter attacked, hurting the remaining horsemen and Church Knights.
"Let's circle the castle!" Eric called out. "We might be able to get to the north gate from the other side!"
Jamie's Band veered towards the left, to circle south of the castle, with the party following close behind. The castle was large, nearly the size of the Caledonian King's castle. It sat upon a rocky mound, perhaps ten feet above the sands of the desert. Centuries ago, its mound may have been a hill with a commanding view of the city, but the drifting sands had taken its toll, burying most of the city of as-Tikat and reducing the castle's hill to little more than a mound.
There were two entrances -- the north gate and the east gate. The east gate was too heavily defended, but the orcs had shifted northeast to block the Caliph's Horses. Approaching from the west, close to the castle, might get the party inside the outer bailey. The column of nearly thirty horses passed the narrower southern side of the castle.
As they circled the west side of the castle, they could see the Horses still fighting the undead orcs. The casualties still accumulated, and the horsemen who still fought were visibly slower as fatigue took its toll. But the orcs were still too close to the gate to get in without being noticed.
"Rishala!" Eric shouted. "Can you make us invisible? Like you did when we were in Caledonia?"
"Aye!" the Caledonian replied. "But I'll need to use several castings. With us on horses, we can't ride too closely. Everyone! Line up, three abreast, and slow a little so as I ride alongside I can make ye invisible!"
Jamie's Band led the party, riding in a three abreast formation at a rapid trot. The remains of the Caliph's Horsemen were off to the party's left, forming up for another charge at the Fist of orcs and the fist of sluggish orc skeletons and zombies. The few Church Knights who were able to fight rode with the Caliph's men, forty men in metal armor bearing heavy lances at the head of a few hundred other men in lighter armor brandishing curved swords. With so many of their comrades already fallen, these few hundred men were all that remained of the army's heavy hitting shock forces.
Rishala raced alongside the column of Jamie's Band, casting the invisibility magicks on the center rider of each row. A shout rose from the Caliph's men, and they sped to a gallop, rushing towards the orcs for another strike at the defenders of the Dark One's castle. As they did so, Jamie's Band likewise sped up, veering away from the charge and towards the open front gates of the castle. Try as Rishala did, he was unable to catch the lead riders, Jamie, Matthias, and Broedrick. Broedrick carried the Armagh city banner as the three visible men raced towards the castle.
The horsemen crashed into the orcs in a horrific din, just forty paces from the front gates. Screams of men, orcs, and horses, punctuated by the sharp clashes of metal, raced with the party into the gates of the castle. But the diversion had worked. None of the orcs had even fired shots at the three visible riders.
As Bilbus rode through the outer gatehouse, he looked at the crumbling stone arch overhead. There were openings for three portcullises, and he could see the rusting spikes jutting from each of the openings. Once through the gates and into the dusty, rocky outer bailey, Bilbus yanked his horse around. Just because the orcs had not seen them enter the castle did not mean that they would not get called back. There had to be a release for the portcullises somewhere. There. Bilbus pushed Acquisition 3 over to a bank of large wooden spools wrapped with chain. The wood looked like it was ready to crumble to dust, and by all rights, it should have already.
Acquisition 3 reared at Bilbus's prompt and smashed its steel-shod forehooves into the spools, finishing what two thousand years of decay had not. The spools disintegrated under the impact of the large warhorse's feet, letting the chains fall slack. The three portcullises of the front gate fell loudly, blocking the front entrance. But there was still a side entrance.
"Someone drop those gates!" Bilbus shouted, pointing towards the eastern entrance to the outer bailey and forgetting that he was not visible.
Invisible horses thundered across the bailey to the other gatehouse. There was a small commotion, and the gates all fell there, as well.
Bilbus concentrated on the three portcullises near him. He pushed Heka into the gates, mentally binding them to the ground. Nothing short of another dweomer user would open them. He looked over at the eastern gatehouse. There were three stout grills there, as well. With another surge of Heka, he magickally locked those gates, as well.
He turned his horse to face out the gates. He heard another horse walking nearby on the bedrock of the outer bailey. A glance revealed nothing; the other rider was invisible as well.
Bilbus turned his attention back outside. He exhaled loudly. "What a mess." Bodies were nearby, mostly of orcs, but a large number of men and horses had fallen outside the gates, as well. Farther out, across the rubble-strewn remains of as-Tikat, the main body of the party's army fought desperately. The casualties there were quickly adding up as the drow and the orcs that they had held in reserve joined the battle.
Bilbus quickly channeled Heka, looking towards the middle of the Tree Eater's line. Father Lahiff and the rest of the Sword of the Church were there, still shielding the elves from the fury of the Dark One's orcs. Bilbus sent a thought message to the tabac smoking priest. We are inside the castle. Fall back. Save who you can. There was no sense wasting any more lives, and Bilbus had already resigned himself to the likelihood of not leaving this castle.
"Yes, it is," Sturm's voice said quietly. He had turned back to look out over the battle as well.
The enormity of the battle had not truly registered for Sturm. The party's forces numbered over ten thousand combatants, and the Dark One had fielded even more orcs than that, then backed them up with four thousand drow. The army that had fought to get Sturm and his comrades into the palace was falling quickly. Thousands already lay dead, or dying, out on the sands of as-Tikat. A look across the battlefield showed that the banner of the Footmen of Camelough, the rebel Sun Knights, no longer flew. Sturm had an idea of where they should be in the battle line, but he saw nothing but orcs and drow there. They had fought and died to give Sturm a chance to get into this castle. And if he did not confront the Dark One, those lives would have been spent for naught.
Scowling at the battle field one last time, Sturm reined his horse about and rode towards the gate leading to the inner bailey.
Back to the previous chapter: Rallies
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Original Draft 19 March 2004
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