Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2) (9 page)

Suddenly, he caught sight of the mass of green glowing spheres rolling directly towards him, the same spheres that had contained the deadly magic that would have killed him at the lake had it not been for Adella. Here, in lone combat with the titan, he now knew he had no chance of victory, and the spheres were a danger that must be countered.

Strike!
raged Sarinian, resisting any suggestion of withdrawal.

We are over-matched, he said to the sword. But Regnar has unleashed this new horror at me alone, and he will be made to regret that choice.

He sprang to the right, and just as he anticipated, he found Andros charging towards him, slowing just enough to allow his rider to swing into the saddle, horse and rider emerging from the shadow of the Juggernaut with the green spheres of fire closing down upon them He altered course with the spheres following suit and charged directly into the thickest part of the goblin rear, Sarinian singing their death song as he slashed a path through them, and he didn’t need to look back to know the spheres were following.

One, two, five, a dozen, a score of the spheres smashed into the massed goblins, hundreds of the creatures exploding in flames from contact with the huge balls. The spheres lost both speed and size, dying out, but when they vanished, a hideous warrior stood in its place, monsters part ogre, part troll, and part something from the Nether realms that never before had stood upon the sweet earth. Mad as these creatures were, however, they had no taste for goblin blood, and they made their way towards the front of the battle, killing only those creatures too slow to leap out of their path.

Darius had broken free of the goblin ranks again, and he had a moment to survey the battle. The heavy horse of Palmany had joined Boltran and the Maganhall cavalry in the very middle of the goblin ranks, and while they appeared to be holding their own, they would be at a severe disadvantage when the monsters from the green spheres reached them. To the left and right, the Maganhall infantry had launched themselves against the Northing trap, tying down the enemy but unable to come to the rescue of their beleaguered lord.

Boltran was held fast, beset by these flaming warriors, and the main body of the Silver Horde was slowly surging forward to join the battle.

“The reserves,” Darius said aloud, though he spoke to no one but himself. “We need the reserves now.”

CHAPTER 7

The Dead Arise

Darius flew past the outward sentinels of Corland’s headquarters, not even acknowledging the formal challenge of the guard, and made for the small hill where he could see Argus’ banner flying. As he approached, he was struck by the inexplicable calmness of the scene, generals and soldiers alike mere spectators to the drama unfolding a few thousand paces beyond them.

“My Lord Argus!” Darius shouted as he leaped down from the saddle, and even the hostile Corlanders marveled to see such agility from a warrior wearing full plate mail. “Maganhall requires that you move your reserves forward!”

“Only the liaisons to the lords may carry messages requesting the movements of troops,” General Kargos responded stiffly. “You are not even a servant in Maganhall’s household.”

“Look for yourself, General!” Darius snapped, his patience already at an end. “Palmany is giving ground, and the heavy horse of Hathage and Gemsbrook are already committed to the flanks! Lord Boltran needs relief, and he needs it immediately. The time has come to commit the reserves!”

“We cannot respond to every shift and sway in the battle,” said Argus. “Regnar has not yet committed his main body.”

“Nor will he have need with only Maganhall engaged.”

“Boltran has laid his own meal,” said the Duke. “He has only himself to blame for those who come to feed.”

“He fights your battle, Lord Duke. Your oath and your honor compel you to come to his aid now.”

“In yet a little bit.”

Darius bristled, knowing that every minute’s delay might spare Corland a death, even if it cost Maganhall three.

“If you choose not to fight, then withdraw from the field,” the Paladin said fiercely. “You deceive by offering a false hope, and the deaths of brave men are not for the eyes of cowards!”

The Corlanders bristled as to an electrical shock, and the Duke’s face purpled with rage

“Those words shall cost you dear in blood, Paladin,” Argus said, drawing his huge axe. Members of the Black Watch began to close around the pair, wolves circling at the first hint of blood.

Darius, however, made no move, and only one eyelid lifted, as if surprised that the problem was to be solved so easily.

“That may be, Argus,” he said softly. “But it is my fate and my doom that I never bleed alone.”

The two men stood taking the measure of each other, all other matters dropping away as warrior faced warrior, and slowly Darius drew Sarinian from its sheath, the Avenger glowing with a light even more bright than when it faced the goblins. But before a single blow could fall, there came a cry from the signalman.

“A standard! A standard to the southeast!”

All eyes save the two warriors were turned in the direction, the standard heralding the approach of an army. But what army?

“What make you of the standard’s field?” shouted Argus, his gaze still on his opponent, his huge arms flexing to strike. There was an agonizing pause as the signalman strained his eyes.

“Red Dragon Rampant!” he yelled at last. “The Banner of the House of Mandrik! The regiments of Warhaven have arrived!”

Every eyebrow rose in surprise. The heavy Warhaven infantry was trained and equipped to defend the rocky terrain of their home, not to speed across the Plains of Alencia. They had been left behind on the first day, for men in full armor could march at half the speed and for half the time as their mounted counterparts. Yet here they were arriving less than an hour behind the vanguard of the army. And coming in on the flank of the embattled Northings!

“A fortunate arrival,” said Argus grimly, leaving others to guess who’s fortune it was. “It appears you will live for at least another day, Paladin.”

Darius eyed the man, and there was an actually touch of regret in his expression.

“Only a delay,” he promised them both, still softly. Then more loudly. “My Lord Duke, Warhaven’s arrival threatens the enemy flank. I ask you again to release your cavalry to relieve Maganhall and pressure the enemy’s front.”

Argus stared at him for a long moment, and then without moving his eyes, he called, “Kragos, send forth the 1st, 3rd, and 5th squadrons to try the enemy’s right flank. Move the rest of the cavalry to the crest of the hill and await my orders. Have Mardax move his regiment to the front of the hill and prepare to screen any retreat.”

Darius paused only long enough to hear the orders, and a moment later, he was swinging himself up onto Andros again.

“It is clear you deserve your reputation as a worthy general, Duke Argus,” he said. “You shall reap the reward you so richly merit for your actions this day.”

With that, he was off again, launching Andros back towards the front of the battle even as the black cavalry of Corland began to gather for its charge.

*

“Warhaven!” came the cry from the far end of the battlefield, and it was taken up by every weary warrior of the Southlands, shouting to take comfort from the word and to pass it on to others.

“Warhaven! Warhaven is come!”

Lord Boltran tried to raise a cheer, but the sound stuck in his throat as one of the fiery green warriors struck the trooper directly in front of him and set the man on fire. The man’s horse went mad with terror, charging into the thinning ranks of the goblin spears to send its flaming burden crashing into them.

Two more of these burning horrors were pressing forward, and his men were understandably giving ground before them, having no desire to share the fate of their colleague. I am the Duke of Maganhall, Boltran reminded himself as he felt a similar desire to shy away. These men look to me.

Snarling in anger, the young lord put spurs into his white charger, Elwine, and forced him to rear closer, giving Boltran the opportunity to slash down on the thing and leave an ugly wound on its torso. But the thing didn’t die, didn’t even flinch from the obvious damage.

It’s already in agony, Boltran realized suddenly. What does it care about the pain of wounds? The thing swung back with its battle ax, but Boltran edged Elwine away in the nick of time. He bumped into the mass of riders already engaged in their own fights behind him, and in desperation, he pulled hard right on Elwine’s reins and actually made the stallion pivot in place, the movement momentarily holding back his opponent.

Suddenly, a grey charger rushed between him and the blazing green nightmare, a heavy lance leveled with deadly precision skewered the monster perfectly and threw him to the ground.

“Honor to Eldoran!” Boltran cried jubilantly to the aged fighter who was casting away his broken and flaming lance. “Honor to the Duke’s Champion!”

But Eldoran only replied, “Ware, My Lord, ware!”

Boltran barely had time to steady himself when something struck the back of his charger a deadly blow, buckling Elwine’s hind legs and causing a horrid scream of agony from the animal. The Duke fell to the ground and was just able to roll out from under as the horse came crashing down beside him. A huge fiery ogre had brought its war hammer down on Elwine’s exposed back, crushing the steed’s spine.

Boltran struggled to his feet, trying to steady himself, but once again the gray steed interceded, Eldoran charging the second monster, though this time he had only his sword with which to strike. The gray horse reared at its riders command, and sword and hooves came down together on the ogre. But the monster hunkered down and threw its weight and strength both up into the belly of the steed, and the charger staggered to the left, tried to right itself, and crashed down on its side.

Miraculously, Eldoran found his feet despite the fall, but the ogre leaped on top of the dying animal to get at the rider. The monster lunged, its ax plunging down in a killing stroke, and Eldoran’s wounds and years combined to betray him. He rushed inwards to try to get inside the stroke, his own sword flashing upwards into the ogre’s belly, but the ax caught him in the back with a terrible wound.

“No!” roared Boltran, denying the evidence of his eyes, and he threw himself forward to bury his own sword in the thing’s side. The ogre twisted, impaled on two sides, and both warriors drove their blades home. It collapsed in a ruin of green fire, but it fell directly on top of Eldoran.

Another green fire was coming at him from the right, two of his bodyguard already slain, and Boltran had no time to think about his fallen champion let alone mourn him. He couldn’t even tell what type of creature was upon him as he parried a savage spear thrust and tried to fall back to gain some room, but he nearly tripped over the head of the grey charger and staggered, leaving himself open.

Suddenly a huge white form seemed to descend from the sky and intercede between him and the green death that was upon him, and Boltran actually wondered if an angel had been sent to his aid. He spun around and half smiled at the aptness of the thought. Darius had send Andros leaping over the fallen bodies of the grey charger and the fiery corpse of the ogre, and Sarinian had put a sudden end to the green fire that had been pressing upon him.

“Come, My Lord!” Darius shouted coming back to him. “We must withdraw while still we may!”

The Paladin reached down and grabbed the breastplate of Boltran’s armor, and the young Duke felt himself lifted up and swung around to sit on the back of Andros, his arms immediately going around the Paladin’s chest. From here, he looked out over the dead and dying and saw the wisdom in Darius’ words.

“Withdraw!” he called to the dwindling group of his household. “Thelsan! Call the retreat!”

*

In the midst of the Silver Horde, Regnar watched the swaying of fortunes, and his lips twisted with a sneer of contempt as he saw the Corland cavalry commit itself to battle. His vision had grown so sharp that he could even make out the figure of young Duke Boltran riding on the back of the Paladin’s charger and count the numbers of the Corland and Warhaven infantry approaching to crash into his right flank.

“So Argus makes his choice,” he rumbled.

The vanguard is overthrown
, the Ohric warned.
If Boltran rallies them, the heavy horse of the enemy will strike the Juggernaut before your main body can engage. We cannot risk any further wounds.

No more than a dozen of the Rage Warriors remained, and while they continued to take a satisfying toll, they were scattered and cut off from each other, no longer able to affect the tide of the battle. No matter. It was time to demonstrate to these impertinent fools the utter hopelessness of their cause.

“The goblins were of little enough use in life,” Regnar answered. “Let us see if they can be of some greater service in death.”

He raised his arms to the heavens, his red eyes radiating scarlet light, and the massive green clouds slowly swirled in answer, thunderheads moving closer together, lightning crackling between them.

Then the two largest thunderheads directly overhead began to descend.

*

Across the entire field of battle, warriors staggered backward, Northing and ogre, Rock Goblins and Southlanders, all disengaging to watch in stunned amazement as the Canopy of Oblivion that had protected the Juggernaut now began to fall upon them.

“What in the blessed name of Mirna…?” murmured Darius, looking over his shoulder as he and the remains of the Maganhall cavalry made good their escape.

Already some troops were falling back from the area around the Juggernaut where the battle had raged the hottest and the dead were the most numerous, none of them wishing to be enveloped in that hideous cloud. The thunderheads continued to descend until they were a green fog that obscured the Juggernaut and all about it, and the green mist began to fan out like slow shrapnel from a measured impact.

The fighting had all but stopped, the clouds a strange peacemaker separating the two armies, and attention had shifted from killing to watching what magics had been unleashed. A huge black form appeared within the cloud, becoming more and more distinct as it continued its inexorable march towards Jalan’s Drift, the Juggernaut, unharmed and unaffected. But more forms were emerging from the cloud, smaller, deformed entities, moving with the same pace and the same intensity as the black titan

“The Dead!” came the terrified cry. “The Dead have arisen!”

The rock goblin dead had been reanimated and were coming forward to renew the battle, dozens, hundreds, thousands, staggering forward out of the haze, still gripping their weapons, ignoring the wounds that had laid them low, many with arrows still sticking from torsos, heads, and throats, their eyes gleaming with a gangrenous green light. They were advancing at much the same pace as before they had died, though now they seemed oblivious to their surroundings and to each other. But everyone who beheld them sensed the truth. They were being drawn forward by the warmth of living flesh and marching towards the beating of living hearts.

There were worse than rock goblins emerging from that green gas. Human forms, too, were trotting forward, Northing warriors slain in the battle taking up their arms again and, far worse, figures that wore the golden armor of Maganhall. The soldiers of the Southlands looked on, aghast, their hearts rejecting the evidence of their eyes, the fallen heroes of Maganhall denied an honorable rest, now marching against their friends, their brothers, and their lord.

Darius spurred Andros to the top of the small hill where the banners of Hathage and Gemsbrook had been joined by the newly arrived banner of Warhaven.

The leaders of the Southlands were looking on with the same frozen horror as the youngest of their soldiers, such visions beyond even the nightmares of warrior or Duke.

“What now, Paladin?” asked Boltran, as he took a fresh mount, but he was unable to completely control the shiver of fear in his voice. The dead seemed to be moving even faster than their living foes. “How can living men fight against those already slain?”

Darius studied the bloody, terrible army rising before them, and dreadful as the sight might be, his heart did not quiver with the same terror that racked all others who beheld it.

“The Dead will fall to blade and spear, just as the living goblins did,” Darius answered. “Terrible as they appear, they are no more than the ultimate reserves of Regnar’s army. The real danger comes from the main body of the Silver Horde that now draws closer.”