Storm of Prophecy: Book 1, Dark Awakening (52 page)

Far off to the right, a green blast came down on their front ranks. Several more joined it, flying through the air toward their forces. At great effort, Rick steered one that was aimed at their fore down just enough to land on the undead’s own forces, yet they still wreaked havoc elsewhere. Their army was dwindling, more than half was gone, and each one fallen only began to rise and aid the enemy. They were losing. A smaller hail of black arrows came and was obliterated in loud thunderclaps that were uncomfortably close, sending a spray of splinters that caused them both to recoil and cover their faces.

Karl cursed profusely, pulling a large one out of his cheek while it steamed and burned him as it dissolved. Blood ran down the side of his face after it was dislodged. Vincent clenched his teeth and pulled several out of his own right forearm, feeling the same sharp pain that also burned, keeping his sword pointed down. The dissolving pieces turned to ash when they were discarded.

“
I’m going to try just one last thing, and if it doesn’t work, I’m leaving!” He heard his cousin declare angrily. “You can stay here and die if you want!” He looked around at the landscape in annoyance, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Firstly though, it looks like I need to do some mining.” His voice became louder and slower, emphasizing a deeper frustration while he vaguely pointed in the direction of the enemy. “
Keep
those
damn
things off of me!” Karl closed his eyes and held his hands down, moving them around as though feeling the ground with them.

“I’ll try,” Vincent muttered, stepping in front of him and holding his sword up with both hands.

“Wait,” Karl said, “don’t stand there. I just found something.”

Vincent heard more explosions and saw arrows flying throughout the blood strewn pandemonium that was taking place. His head turned worriedly toward the distraction of his cousin’s voice and then back. “What?”

Karl put his hands on Vincent’s shoulders and started ushering him to stand several feet over to the right of where he was. “It’s a bit left of here,” he explained, “we’re going to want to stand on ground more sturdy than this.”

“What is?”

“You’ll see, just stand here in front of me and keep hitting those things while I work.” He raised his voice to the rows of soldiers marching around them. “All of you stand clear of this spot!” They looked on in fear of the battle they were about to join and in confusion of his words but did as asked.

Vincent glanced behind quickly. Karl stood facing to their left while squatting down low and holding both palms up. Out front, the battle raged and losses on each side mounted, with theirs at a clear disadvantage. While Vincent concentrated on watching for more black arrows, he heard a low rumbling followed by loud knocking sounds of rocks hitting each other and the sifting of dirt being moved and disturbed. Tangles of grass and thin tree roots ripped. Then he heard a sustained grunt coming from his cousin as though he were lifting a heavy burden. The ground near his feet shook only the slightest bit but otherwise remained firm. He glanced left again and saw dirt and rocks falling off a large boulder that hovered up out of a big opening in the ground.

“Watch out!” A soldier yelled.

BOOM!

More black arrows came. Flashes of light went up to destroy them. Anxiety tore through Vincent as one flew his way and he frantically swung across his face to chop at it. Another found its mark on the chest of a wizard. A woman atmomancer near Stacy quickly noticed and sent forth lightning from her hand that blasted the person apart. Vincent continued to hear Karl’s strained grunting.

Right after an intense blast of purple lightning shot down from the sky, smiting a throng of walking corpses in a terrible wind of dust and torn flesh, Vincent heard his cousin make one final roar of effort and at last saw the massive boulder hurtling through the air toward the enemy. With eyes wide, Clyde quickly side-stepped his undead horse. The boulder flew by him and instead smashed another robed, skeletal figure off theirs, crushing them on the ground and rolling over many zombies behind them. All wizards froze for an instant, staring at the massive stone that had penetrated the enemy’s barrier. Vincent looked carefully but did not see the cult member get up.

Black arrows flew.

There was one fewer.

“Guard him!” Master Anthony yelled, joining the others again in shooting them down.

Another volley came quickly right after it, and was frantically destroyed. Another came and then another. The enemy had realized the threat that Karl posed and was making every attempt to slay him. Vincent watched nervously while the arrows kept coming. He chopped one quickly and then swung again to get another. They were coming faster and faster, and they were coming for Karl.

He felt Karl put his hands on his shoulders. “Hurry! Let’s get behind the others!”

Using Vincent as a shield, Karl walked them closer toward a crowd of wizards that was grouping itself tighter to fend off the hails. Many crouched or bent their knees so that others behind could aim over them. Frightened and desperate, Vincent sent magic into his sword to make it faster and lighter, swinging over and over at high speeds to chop at the black shafts while Karl moved them toward the others. The arrowhead of one he chopped flew off and scratched his face.

After they rejoined the group, Vincent was careful to keep enough distance so his blade wouldn’t strike anyone. The arrows flew and flew, getting decimated by their intense barrage of magic. One making it through arched up and over the top of their friends, toward Karl. Vincent jumped and swung high in the air to cut it down. The skeletal cultists then started trying to curve them around to avoid their defense. Most were obliterated, yet Karl still hurriedly switched places with Vincent to crowd near the others. Vincent concentrated, watching warily, then had to swing to one side and then another.

With his back to Vincent, Karl lifted his green-sleeved arms to his sides with elbows bent and fists clenched. He bent his knees down in a more solid stance and began grunting in effort. The large boulder he flung began to roll from its position, crushing zombies caught under it, until it stopped at a new position off to the right of the row of undead horses and riders.

He opened his hands and his body shook while he braced his legs against the ground as though lifting something heavy. Lightning bolts and balls of fire shot up and destroyed black arrows. Vincent chopped another one trying to sneak in from the right and then warily checked again to the left. The boulder levitated from the ground, and when his cousin judged it high enough, he made a strained yell while pushing out with his hands.

The boulder flew, knocking one skeletal cultist off their horse and crushing them on top of the undead mount of a second. A loud whinny was cut short, and its rider’s legs were pinned underneath it. Karl strained himself, causing it to roll and finish the job. The battle’s momentum against the keep’s forces grinded to a halt. Desperate Rygan soldiers regained their courage and fought harder against the undead.

“Snighne!” A hail from Deralon’s men flew in to help them.

The hails of black arrows coming in from the enemy intensified and required all of the attention from Master Anthony, Stacy, and others to continuously destroy, which in turn weakened their group’s overall ability to assist men fighting out front. Zombies took advantage. A cultist broke from sending black arrows to unleash green fire at their soldiers out front. Rick’s body quaked, sweat poured from his neck, and with a heavy growl he reached up his hands with shaking, claw-like fingers and swung it down. It crashed short of its target, killing more zombies than Rygan soldiers in a burst of green flames and rent corpses. Men wielding halberds thrust them to keep the ones on fire at bay. Other men with swords or axes hacked with relentless abandon to keep from being washed over by the tide of dead people who were now little more than crazed, ravenous beasts, lunging, grabbing, and biting at every opportunity.

The cultists broke rank and moved their horses around, trying to avoid giving Karl the chance to capitalize on another well-aimed throw. They sent another ball of green flame at the monstrous plant, and Rick was unable to save it. Vincent was surprised to hear a high-pitched screech of pain when it was blown apart. More zombies poured through after the obstacle had been removed.

Master Anthony shouted an unusual order. “Karl! Distract them!” Vincent swiped another arrow out of the air.

Karl didn’t question it, he immediately ripped hundreds of smaller cobbles out of the ground near their horses’ feet and swirled them around along with dirt, pelting the cultists and causing them to move about in disarray. Master Anthony held up a fist and gambled on their weakened concentration. From high in the sky, larger than anything he had used before, an ear-shattering, blindingly bright bolt of intense purple lightning came down like a hammer strike from the gods.

“
Arrrrrrrgh!”
Cried haggardly the ones who succeeded in shielding themselves as they held up a skeletal hand in front of their skull. Those who did not were torn apart in a deafening thunder-crack and thrown to the wind. Vincent guessed six or seven had perished.

The dead on foot around the cultists suffered a similar fate, and those who were not ravaged and blown as smaller pieces were blasted as though their bodies were made of burning paper that flaked and fell apart. Smaller bands of shock, the children of the initial strike, flew off in different directions far from the source and blew apart entire throngs of corpses. The debris that was kicked up from the center of focus flew in a cloud of dust at high speed toward their own forces, causing everyone to close their eyes and cover their faces. Before covering his face, Vincent caught a glimpse of Master Anthony, the only one to not recoil.

When the air cleared, he immediately saw yet more dead streaming in to make a major push. A constantly flickering stream of fire sparks and lightning bolts flew out over the few soldiers remaining to obliterate the zombies, yet the mass pushed on, making headway despite their grievous losses. Arrows from Deralon’s men flew in, dropping corpses but to no avail. Vincent knew that those out front standing between them and the wizards weren’t going to hold out long enough for others to assist, and started moving around to help them.

Black arrows appeared, flying down toward them. Many students of the keep diverted their attention from shooting the enemy for an instant to destroy them, yet several soldiers were still hit and turned their swords on their fellows. One of Derlaon’s men was claimed and attacked another near him who was bald except for a horsetail off the back of his head. As he struggled with the corpse, another helped him wrestle with it, allowing him to pull free a mace and savagely bludgeon its head with it until the twitching limbs no longer moved.

When Vincent ran to join in trying to guard their group of magi from the horde, he had to heat his blade and decapitate several of their own fallen before arriving and swinging viciously and desperately toward the on-comers. Three living soldiers remained on his left and two on his right. He swung like mad, lopping off heads as well as any grasping hands or fingers that got in his blade’s path. He was being forced slowly back. Light from magic occasionally streaked by him, destroying the corpses he couldn’t kill fast enough.

He saw and heard flashes of light overhead, explosions, arching torrents of flame, and black arrows being destroyed, yet these were a blur in the back of his consciousness, his only focus being to swing faster, swing harder, kill. He kicked one that was a child. No amount of swinging seemed enough. The enemy was intractable, prolific, relentless, and cared nothing for the physical harm he inflicted on their bodies. Only a removal of the head silenced their vicious snarls.

From behind, he barely heard another sergeant rallying his men. “Beat them back, boys!”

They yelled, charging into the fray off to the sides and not close enough to help. A green ball of flame exploded somewhere, killing many. Karl’s boulder leap-frogged into the air just enough to knock off another cultist from their horse and crush them, rolling afterward.

Head after head fell like grain before a scythe while Vincent ignored the painful gash in his side, his arms burning from the effort. He breathed hard, feeling like the dead were a sea they would all drown in. He swung and swung and fought on desperately, trying to keep his neck above the rising water.

He was soon pushed up against his fellows. “Get down!” He heard someone yell, not knowing why or to whom.

“Vincent, get down!” He heard Stacy’s voice scream. With no time to think, he immediately complied with her wishes, diving into a mess of gore.

A collective gust of wind from atmomancers slammed into the undead all at once, flinging back any that were nearby. Some further away fought against it but were soon carried off. Zombies fell onto other corpses, knocking them over. When the wind stopped, the barrage against them resumed.

Vincent lifted himself with one hand and used the other to stab his sword through one of the bodies beneath him and into the ground below, using it to steady himself as he slowly stood up. He was momentarily grateful for this reprieve that he knew would be all too short. Having the precious few seconds to think and breathe was almost worse than not. Almost. He now realized his fatigue and dreaded the next onslaught he would have to fend off.

More soldiers moved up to their group’s sides. He glanced immediately right and saw below helmets two pairs of worried brown eyes amidst soiled, sweaty faces. A worried pair of blue ones stood on his left. Like Vincent, they were covered in blood and were losing hope.