The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (375 page)

All around him Vesna sensed his brothers driving forward, killing and bludgeoning, falling from dying horses or impaled upon the spears of their victims. Many of the first charge had died, and Vesna sensed their deaths with sudden intensity as the God of War honoured their falling, but their loss had been accompanied by hundreds of the Devoted, rank after rank killed in one swift burst; three legions broken so quickly many of their number did not yet even know it.

Behind came more mounted Ghosts, driving into the last remaining space with slaughter on their minds. Vesna felt the blood spatter and gush over his black armour while the roar all around only got louder.

Larim, Lord of the Hidden Tower, looked around in confusion. The charge had been astonishing, driven by a desperation he could not understand. They had advanced under a hail of arrows, tramping forward while they died in their hundreds, but never wavering. When the charge had come a white corona had surrounded Larim and the mage gloried in his new power, while waiting for a magical assault.

On his right, black shadows blossomed, daemons raging out across the weakened boundaries and leaping for the first line of the defenders. Larim sent a dozen golden arrows to answer them, each shining dart the length of a man, but he gave no order; it was a feint, he knew it. Within the Menin ranks, men were ripped apart, golden light enveloping their bodies and charring their flesh before they even fell to the ground, but Larim held back the full force now at his command.

The daemons had been only half-summoned into the daylight; they were easily driven off. Larim laughed, realising it was that fool Nai who’d dragged them forward. Even without the Skull he was a far more powerful mage, his necromancy far more refined than that shoeless worm’s.

There.

Larim found his gaze dragged right, where the attackers had yet to close on the rise. Thirty yards left to go, and deadly rain was hammering through shields and armour, when a burst of magic rippled the ground between them. From nowhere dark figures appeared; tall, ragged barbarians rushed forward, outstripping their allies in the last yards of the charge. Magic flashed out from the ranks, cutting forward into the defenders with red and white light, and fire erupted around one legion standard just as the unnatural barbarians reached the Devoted spear-points.

At last he unleashed the power of his Skull; churning the earth across the defending ranks as he threw wave after wave of golden arrows at the Legion of the Damned. In his mind he shouted up to Vorizh, circling up above, never slowing his assault, even as the air screamed around him under the force of bucking energies. Man and undead alike were torn apart, the nearer flank shattered by his furious assault, even before the dark shapes of the crimson wyverns dropped down from the heavy clouds above. A larger one followed – Ruhen’s grey dragon, called from Byora – and landed awkwardly on the furthest edge of the attacking Legion.

The pale white-eye giggled as he saw, amidst the cloud of dust and further, the dragon had crushed a whole section of Devoted defenders. As though inspired by its careless abandon, he redoubled his efforts at the attacking force, though they had closed with the Devoted now, and his magic incinerated attacker and defender alike.

From the broiling maelstrom of fighting, coils of black smoke reached up and whipped across the dragon’s flank. The two wyverns recoiled at the attack, realising the power behind it was beyond them; and they flew up into the air until they were hovering above the fighting. Larim laughed more, and directed his assault on the source of that magic. A white shield formed above the troops and his arrows burst upon it, cutting short his laughter. There were two Skull-bearers there, one deflecting his attack and the other tearing strips from the dragon’s wings while the beast writhed and bellowed in pain.

‘I don’t need to kill you,’ Larim muttered. ‘Enjoy this while it lasts. You cannot afford your attack to be blunted, and even now it falters.’

As he spoke, a figure dropped from the lower wyvern, spiralling down towards the mage attacking the dragon. Magic lashed up to meet him, but Vorizh reached the ground with blade slashing down. The black-armoured vampire disappeared into the press and Larim flinched in shock, sensing a sudden cut-off of energies – but not through a mage’s death; it was the casual abandoning of a spell.

The surging mass of undead troops enveloping the Devoted line vanished in the blink of an eye, and though the dragon and wyverns dipped again to attack, Larim felt it like a punch to the gut.

Mage Endine struggled to keep his seat, one hand wrapped tightly around the saddle horn, the other was outstretched towards the Devoted lines. At his side Emin looked around, craning his neck to try and make out what he could of the left flank.

‘The illusion’s gone,’ Endine reported, sensing the break in Morghien’s spell.

‘Is he dead?’ Emin demanded, watching the three monsters renew their assault. He smacked a gauntlet on Doranei’s shoulder and the King’s Man yelled an order. The foot legion of the Ghosts bellowed and charged forward with the Legion of the Damned, towards their hero, Vesna, raging at the heart of the slaughter.

Endine didn’t reply; he couldn’t tell, and he had only one thing on his mind right now. It wasn’t hard for him to make out the brightly coloured figure of Lord Larim on the hillside, huge golden arrows erupting from the shuddering air around his hands. The small mage narrowed his eyes and felt the Skull respond, momentarily glowing hot before a bolt of crackling white light flashed forward towards Larim.

The white-eye saw it coming and a grey shield briefly obscured him from view, but then the bolt struck – not the shield, as Larim had expected, but at the ground, further down the slope from him.

‘Got the bastard!’ Endine screeched, his lined face suddenly filling with animation. ‘He’s drunk with blood-lust – he’s not thinking properly!’

As he cried out, the ground at Larim’s feet tore open, a jagged wound ten or twenty yards long, and the white-eye was thrown down, together with the mages and soldiers around him. Stones the size of men tumbled down the slope, cutting a path through the second line of defenders waiting below, but it was the sight of Larim falling forward that made King Emin catch his breath. All around him energies corkscrewed up into the sky as the abandoned magic dissipated. The white-eye lurched drunkenly before toppling over, only just catching himself as his head and shoulders went over the edge into the fissure.

‘Close it up on him,’ Doranei demanded from the king’s other side.

‘I don’t have that sort of power,’ Endine snapped.

‘Not even with the Skull?’

‘You’ve been spending too much time around white-eyes,’ Endine said. ‘The rest of us need a little more elegance if we’re to avoid our hearts exploding out of our chests!’ He closed his eyes and with the Skull of Knowledge held in both hands, he began to whisper arcane words under his breath. A bluish aura appeared around him, whipping up from stillness to a sudden fury in seconds. With a grunt of effort Endine pulled his hands apart again and cast the magic forward. It arched through the air towards Larim, tearing through the desperate defences of the lesser mages and plunging directly down onto the white-eye. Larim somehow managed to wrench himself around, and Endine rocked backwards as the white-eye dragged himself from the fissure’s edge. Enveloped in a blue-tinted cloud, Larim’s own Skull winked and sputtered with light while Endine moaned with effort, his exhausted muscles suddenly straining to close his hands again.

‘Emin!’ he croaked, his hands shaking wildly, and the king looked at him, wild-eyed for a moment until he realised what he needed to do.

‘Daken!’ he shouted to the tattooed white-eye on Endine’s other side, ‘grab his hands!’

Emin took one, Daken the other, and together they forced Endine’s palms back onto the Crystal Skull. The mage cried out with pain as they did so, but suddenly they heard a crack and a crunch of bone and the pressure vanished. The mage’s hands crashed against the Skull with force enough that Emin feared he might have broken them, but Endine was already straining to see the figure on the hillside.

Figures fluttered around where Larim had been, but there was no sign of the white-eye, or the magic he’d been struggling to re-gather.

‘Dead,’ Endine confirmed hoarsely after a moment, almost slumping forward in his seat until Daken jerked him back.

‘Then the time’s come,’ Emin announced. He pulled Endine around to look the scrawny mage in the eye again. ‘You have command of the army, my friend.’

Endine nodded weakly as Ebarn forced her way up to his side, the crystal shards on the battle-mage’s jacket shining as she prepared to unleash her power while Endine gathered his strength.

‘I want a defensive square of those spearmen,’ Emin added, directing his words to Dashain as well as Endine. ‘We need this hinge to hold, or we’ll be split apart and butchered.’

‘We know our duty, your Majesty,’ Dashain yelled, ‘now move!’

The king didn’t wait for a response but spurred his horse forward, the King’s Men and Legana’s Sisters close behind. Ahead the ground was stained rusty-red with blood and churned to a muddy mire, but they all knew that was only the beginning.

They walked for what felt like an age. Isak dragged down the pace as far as he could, but whenever Ruhen got too far ahead, Tiniq or Ilumene would hammer at Isak’s broad back with the pommels of their knives – never hard enough to break his bones, but the pain of the blows lingered long after he had dragged himself up again.

The tunnels twisted and turned, forever descending into the bowels of the Land. The oppressive warmth of the tunnels grew and the mixture of sweat and blood dried stickily across his back while the silver chain remained a hot presence against his skin. They passed through another chamber, then a third and fourth, and each time another squad of soldiers was left to hide in the side tunnels, ready to ambush anyone passing through. Twice Ruhen turned back from the path he had taken, doubling back without haste to take another instead. No one questioned his decisions; Ilumene and Venn were the only people even to speak to the child, and it was clear from the brief responses that Ruhen was not interested in conversation. He was too close to his goal; from time to time his serene face flowered briefly into moments of rare animation and expectation before he caught himself.

Isak kept his eyes down, exhausted and pained by the burden of Termin Mystt, enfeebled by the proximity of Ghenna and the ache it sparked deep in his bones. As they descended he felt the silver chain as Death’s final judgement, the weight of his sins bearing down on him as he came ever closer to the Dark Place of Torment. At last he realised they were in a wider tunnel than before, one that was slowly broadening until it suddenly opened out into a vast cavern that made even Ruhen stop in wonder. Isak heard Ilumene breath an oath at the sight, stopping as he stared up and all around.

Isak took the opportunity to sink to his knees.

The cavern was barely brighter than the chambers they had passed through, but magic filled the air with such intensity that Isak felt a stab of pain in his gut. Behind the great twisted scar on his stomach a fire burned, reminding him of the agonising wound that had killed him. He screwed up his eyes in pain, moaning piteously, but Ilumene kicked him in the ribs and sent him sprawling. His eyes flashed open and he stared up at the roof far above.

The cavern was several hundred feet high, with dozens of natural pillars all studded with crystal formations that glinted with orange-red light. As Isak hauled himself upright he realised the light was coming from the centre of the cavern, fifty yards off, and obscured by pillars wider than a man’s outstretched arms. Through them he glimpsed movement, flickering orange flames reflecting off the stone surfaces. Ahead were carved columns marked with ancient runes and angular images.

‘Come,’ Ruhen called to those behind him, ‘the sacrifice has begun. Soon we will be ready.’

Under Ilumene’s urging Isak shuffled forward, trying to make more sense of the cavern before he slipped and crashed face-first to the floor again. His jailers wasted no time in beating the white-eye brutally until he cried out in agony.

Then Ruhen’s voice stopped them short. ‘Enough. Let him rise.’

Isak stayed on the ground a little longer, curled protectively as best he could, expecting the violence to return, until he looked up tentatively and saw the boy with one white eye staring at him. ‘I promised you peace if you do not interfere,’ Ruhen said, the swirl of shadows in his eyes never more obvious than in the cavern’s half-light, ‘and torment if you defy me. But trust is not easily won; faith is never your first instinct.’

Isak grunted in response, unable to form a coherent reply, but Ruhen said, ‘Let this be a gesture to you. They will not harm you unless you break my faith. I am to be a God this day, so let mercy be my first act.’

Isak stared at Ruhen, momentarily forgetting the pain as the unexpected words slowly fitted into place in his mind. ‘Mercy?’ he croaked in disbelief.

The shadow-eyed boy smiled. ‘You think I do not know what mercy is? King Emin might not believe it, but he has long been my enemy. When you are at war your enemy sees you just as a monster, you understand? A creature incapable of reason, abhorrent in all ways. How else could you fight them?’

‘What about the rest, my friends? Mercy for them too?’

‘Most will die,’ Ruhen said, ‘but such is the nature of war. You fear eternal retribution? I admit I do not know what Godhood is like, but I choose to believe petty revenge would stain my victory. Those who oppose me must be dealt with, but to cast them all into Ghenna out of spite?’ He turned away and headed for the centre of the vast cavern.

‘We have time yet, Isak,’ Ruhen called back as Harlequins began to make their way between the stone pillars. ‘Rest a while, then join me with your Gods. We stand at the heart of the Land, on the cusp of a new age. History is born anew this day; the fulcrum of this moment can be permitted a few breaths to savour a purpose fulfilled.’