The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (75 page)

“Thank you, and now I think we had all better get into position, Borman is on the move and we must be ready for him.” He held out his wrist and Allowyn took it in a firm grip. “May the Goddess be with you, my friend.”

“And with you, master.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The Goddess’s Work

“Oh sweet Goddess, look!” Dozo grabbed Jonderill’s arm and pointed urgently into the distance beyond the screaming men and the clash of weapons and the dead of both sides.

Jonderill tore his eyes away from the right flank where Barrin fought with the enemy, protected from the magic of the gathered grey robes by the invisible wall he held. It was a fragile construction held together only by his concentration and will and if he took his eyes off it for more than a dozen heart beats it would fall and let the grey robes’ magic through. Their magic was weak compared to his and was unlikely to kill outright, but it would be enough to cause pain which would distract a warrior and allow an enemy sword to do its work. He held the wall in his mind and tried to focus beyond the battle to where Dozo pointed.

Malingar too had stopped giving orders to the flag men and had turned his attention to the centre of the battle line where Allowyn led the best trained of their troops. The fighting there had been the heaviest and the most vicious, but Allowyn and his small band had held their ground despite the numbers being against them. Moments before, Borman had sent more men into the centre to push it back, and he was just about to respond by committing half his reserve, but for no reason that he could see, the enemy were disengaging, not pulling back but pulling apart. He looked up to where Dozo was pointing and swore.

One thing Jonderill’s magic didn’t do was enhance his senses, but it didn’t matter that much, his sight had always been good and he had no trouble picking out detail a long way off. Today however it seemed less sharp than usual. Perhaps it was the dust churned up over the last three candle lengths by thousands of feet as men fought with each other, or it could have been the strain of holding the protective wall against the grey robes’ magic which was affecting him. Whatever it was, it made the distance shimmer like a heat haze and the distant pillars blur until it seemed that they were alive and moving.

He blinked his eyes a few times to refocus his vision, wiped the sweat from his forehead onto the back of his arm and then gasped in shock as he realised what he was seeing. As he stared into the distance he let the wall he was holding fall away to nothing. That didn’t matter anymore, the grey robes were withdrawing anyway. The only thing which mattered now was what was happening at the pillars.

From his position on the northern side of the valley, Borman watched in fascination as Sadrin braced himself against the smooth pillar and started his incantation. He couldn’t hear what the magician was saying from that distance but he could see the boy’s lips move so he expected something to happen soon. Sadrin had promised that he could give him a victory, and not just a victory, but a complete annihilation of the enemy. Well, it had better happen that way or he would have the magician’s lying tongue ripped out.

Sadrin knew the incantation the moment he laid his hands on the grey, unadorned pillar, just as the Goddess had said he would. One moment his mind was a blank, and the next it was full of colour and noise and dark images moving purposefully through swirling smoke. The words came from his mouth of their own accord, sounds so horrific that the guards assigned to protect him covered their ears. Despite that they still fell to the ground screaming and clawing at their heads to rid themselves of the noise. Sadrin leaned against the pillar whilst his voice rose in volume, tearing at his throat as he spat out the spell.

His mind was full of roaring sounds so that he couldn’t hear the words he spoke, but he could see their effect and knew for certain that the Goddess had tricked him. He tried to pull away but he was held fast, his hands welded to the grey stone as if they were part of it. In desperation he tried to hold the words back but they wouldn’t be silenced even, when he bit his own tongue in half. As the spell reached its climax he screamed in agony as white hot flames shot from his eyes and fire engulfed his body. In the instant before he was consumed, as his skin blistered and his blood boiled, gentle, mocking laughter filled his mind. Then he was gone, turned to ash like all of the others he had dealt with before.

Borman watched his men disengage and cursed to himself. This would cost him dearly if nothing happened and he had to send them all back into the battle again when the enemy had a chance to reform. The opposition might only be made up of turncoats and peasants but so far they had fought better than he’d anticipated, and the traitorous protector in the centre was being particularly bothersome. He turned his attention away from the battlefield and back to the pillars giving a sudden gasp of surprise and standing in his stirrups to get a better view of what was happening.

Allowyn didn’t need a better view; he was at the front of the battle line where he’d fought since the two sides had engaged. He was sweating and tired and blood covered most of his armour, some of it his own, but mostly from the men he had slain. They lay in front of him forming an obstacle which the enemy had to climb over to reach him. The tips of his two swords rested on the back of the last man who had clambered over the barrier to die, so they wouldn’t be defiled by touching the earth. All around him in an untidy heap lay other bodies, many with limbs missing or with gaping wounds pumping blood into the already saturated ground.

Along the length of the battle line there were bodies, both the enemies and his own men. They had held their ground against superior numbers for over two candle lengths, but only just. That was why he was so surprised when the enemy disengaged. One moment they were pressing them hard and reinforcements were being sent in and the next, they were pulling back and giving him and his men room to breathe and regroup. They weren’t retreating exactly, but moving to one side. It would have been a good move to pursue them, but his remaining men were too few and too exhausted. He took a deep breath, ignoring the stench of blood, piss and voided bowels, looked up at the open ground in front of him and felt his blood turn to ice.

The darker pillar closest to the battle line was the first to change. For a moment the ancient lettering and symbols blurred and melded into each other forming a steep pathway spiralling around and down the pillar. Strange creatures wound their way down the pathway, growing as they did so until they swarmed around the base of the pillar like a pack of demons from hellden’s halls.

Some were familiar like sly hunters or wild forest grunters, but the hunters had slashing teeth the length of a man’s hand and the grunters had pointed tusks sharper than a dagger’s blade. Others were creatures of nightmare with sinuous bodies covered in razor-edged spikes or with scaled bodies and long arms ending in vicious claws. They gathered around the base of the pillar, growling and snarling and tasting the air.

Behind them the other pillars were changing too. Thousands of soldiers were marching down the column, growing in size and forming up into ranks carrying fearful weapons that looked like pikes with giant meat cleavers attached to the top. Another pillar was disgorging figures in ancient armour with horned helmets and dark cloaks rippling with an energy that sent sparks jumping from their cloaks to the short, thin throwing spears they carried.

Amongst them, figures with wands were emerging and beside them protectors in bronze armour and swords in each hand. There were hundreds of protectors and thousands of soldiers standing in ranks with the savage creatures in front of them as if they were waiting for a signal. When a brilliant column of flame exploded next to the very last pillar they charged.

Allowyn had no need to prove his bravery, he had already done so many times in the service of Callabris, so when the hoard charged across the ground towards him he did the only sensible thing he could and ran, not out of fear but out of the need to protect his master. He knew they were all going to die. No army could hope to win against such a force, but at least he could die fulfilling his vow to protect his magician.

The rest of the battle line ran out of fear, some throwing down their weapons to lighten their load as they ran across the valley in order to reach the higher ground where their commanders stood in the vain hope that they might save them. On the right flank, furthest from the advancing hoard, Barrin tried to rally his mounted men to make a counterattack. It was hopeless though, even if the guards had wanted to stand their ground, their horses, terrified by the sound and smell of the charging creatures, were in a frenzy of panic and retreat.

Those who were the slowest across the ground or were hampered by their wounds were the first to fall as massive jaws clamped on their shoulders or claws raked their backs exposing muscle and bone. They went down with hideous screams and a welter of blood as the creatures ripped them to pieces. Some men tried to fend them off, but they were defenceless against the creatures which tore them apart and swallowed chunks of flesh as they leaped after their next victim.

The men who ran faster fared little better as the horned warriors launched their spears into the air in a deadly wave trailing sparks behind them. They ploughed through men’s fleeing backs and pinned them to the ground until the creatures reached them and tore into them, or the warriors caught up and gouged out their eyes to take as grisly trophies. Behind the creatures and the warriors, the protectors and magicians and the unstoppable army came on at a steady pace to the booming sound of beating drums.

Borman stood in his stirrups and shouted in delight. He’d never seen carnage like it. The ghastly creatures and the warriors with the sparking cloaks were literally ripping the peasants apart, and the protectors and the huge army of warriors hadn’t even been engaged yet. It was going to be a rout and when it was all over he was going to have an army that no one would ever dare stand against. With these fighters at his command, he could not only be the total ruler of the six kingdoms, but the king of all the lands across the northern and southern oceans as well if he wanted to.

He waved the armsmen who were guarding Tarraquin forward so she could get a better view of the death of her friends and laughingly pointed out where two creatures were fighting over the body of a woman who was still alive. He couldn’t hear her screams, but he still enjoyed the spectacle as they pulled her apart. Tarraquin sat on her horse and stared blankly across the valley to where her friends stood, waiting to be overwhelmed by Borman’s monsters. If she had a knife and could kill him there and then she would have done so even if it meant her own life was forfeit.

“Do something,” whispered Dozo beneath his breath and then louder and with desperation, “Jonderill, for hellden’s sake, do something, anything! They are my people and your friends and they are all going to die unless you do something.”

Do something? Of course he could do something but at what cost? He could finish it all, now, in an instant but the land would never be the same again, and with it would go the last chance he had of being whole as he once was. Would saving some peasants and a few people he called friends but hardly knew be worth all that, when he could safely walk away with a protective wall around him? What was Borman being king of the six kingdoms compared to him having his life back again? It was nothing, less than nothing.

He turned away and heard laughter, bright, feminine, laughter all around him and inside his head. It was the Goddess’s laughter. Federa, who cared nothing for the people and played games with their lives. This was all her doing. He turned back just as Allowyn reached him, bloody and breathing hard and looking more desperate than he had ever seen him. Their eyes met and he knew what had to be done. Jonderill reached inside his robe and lifted out the black bag by the cord which tied it closed.

“The time has come, Allowyn.”

“Master?” He didn’t know what it was that Jonderill intended to do, but the look in his pale eyes told him it was drastic and things would never be the same again. He hesitated to be part of such a thing.

Jonderill sensed his sudden reluctance. “You said you would help me, Allowyn. Now do it, it is the Goddess’s will.”

Allowyn reached into the bag with his gauntleted hand and withdrew the torc. The eyes of the dragon glowed red and its body seemed to twist along the length of the torc as if it was alive. Jonderill hadn’t worn it before but he knew what it had done to Maladran and feared what it would do to him. But there was no other choice. His protector held it out and Jonderill closed his eyes and stepped forward so that Allowyn could place it around his neck.

He waited for a reaction, for the torc to glow red hot and weld itself to his skin as it had done with Maladran, but instead it felt cool and settled comfortably around his throat as if it had been made for him. It felt so natural that he wondered why he hadn’t worn it before. When he opened his eyes again Allowyn had taken the small, carved wooden box that would change things for ever from the bag and held it out to him. A gift from the Goddess Callistares had called it, but it was more like a gift from hellden, more terrible than anyone could ever imagine. He stepped towards the box, lifting it from Allowyn’s hands until it hung in the air before him.

“Are you sure of this, master?”

He hesitated. It still wasn’t too late for him to change his mind except the howls of the beasts were growing closer and the screams of men and women being eaten alive filled his ears. “Yes, I am sure.”

Allowyn took a step back to give him more room and Jonderill took a deep breath and slid back the lid.

For a moment time froze. All movement around him ceased as wisps of vapour spiralled upwards from the box and were carried away on the breeze. He waited for a reaction, some sign that the spell had worked, but nothing happened. In relief he released the breath he’d been holding, strangely pleased that he’d failed despite the slaughter that was going on around him. Then, as if a hand had swept across rippled sand to wipe it smooth, the creatures began to disappear, turning to dust and blowing away.