The Lady's Man (40 page)

A pair of sheep sized creatures attacked him then and he had to concentrate on the battle in front of him and not the death of the city. But at least they were small and easily dispatched. Perhaps they actually had once been sheep. It was hard to tell when they were completely covered in flames.

By the time he had dealt with the sheep he could hear another tree being torn from the ground and knew that the pattern was going to continue. Mayfall was going to destroy the city from the ground up. And there was nothing he could do about it save hope that Mayfall’s time as a thane in this world would be short. That was the one thing all the elders, scholars, clerics and wizards had agreed upon. There was no defeating him. The battle was purely about surviving him until he went away.

Elron, finding himself alone and knowing that there was nothing more he could do for anyone, made his way deeper into the forest. It was time to flee. At least he hoped he was heading deeper into it. With fire all around and smoke as well it was hard to tell which way was which and unfortunately in the fighting he'd gotten himself turned around – a mistake a raw recruit shouldn't have made. All he could hope was that the tree tops he could see emerging from the smoke and flame were further away from the clearing that was the heart of the city and not closer to it.

A pair of flaming dwarves came out of nowhere to attack him with their rusting axes, and he had to dodge and weave his way through another battle. But it wasn't easy. He wasn't as young as he had once been, and without the Lady to grant him her strength his flesh was weak. One of the dwarves managed to land a glancing blow on his breast plate that sent him reeling. Still, he managed to dispatch both of them and continued on his way.

And all the time he could hear more trees being torn from the land and hurled through the air. He could hear screaming too. Men and women in fear for their lives. It was strange how he couldn't tell if they were elves or humans. Whether they were his men or complete strangers. Or even if they were young or old. In the end he realised, all people screamed the same when they were about to die.

And he could help none of them.

He wished he could. But he didn't know where they were. The screams were coming from all around, somewhere beyond the trees and smoke and walls of fire. He couldn't tell why they were screaming either. Whether something undead was attacking them, whether they were burning alive or whether they were falling from a flying tree. All he could do was what he was doing. Try to find the safety of the deep forest and then rescue as many as he could. It was all that any of them could now do.

Then he couldn't even do that.

Even as he was trying to find his way around the walls of flame that were surrounding him, a tree just in front of him screamed. He watched it's trunk actually get crushed as if by an invisible giant hand, then saw the actual tree being ripped from the ground. He saw its roots being pulled up like those of any weed, the clumps of soil as large as a house falling away from them. Elron threw himself to one side to avoid being hit and watched the tree ascending into the air. What remained behind was nothing but a hole. A crater thirty feet across and at least as deep where once there had been a magnificent cedar.

How could that be?

“Ahh Commander.”

A voice called to him unexpectedly – a voice he knew if only from his nightmares – and he spun as fast as he could to see him standing there just behind him.

“Mayfall!”

It was him. There was no escaping that fact. He knew his face. He knew his mocking grin. They had hunted him for weeks before he had finally fled Ender's Fall. They had wanted nothing more than for him to face the hangman's noose as he should.

“So you do remember. Good.”

The grin grew broader and Elron knew he was in trouble. He was about to die. Still, he held his sword before him, wishing it was glowing as it should, and prepared to rush the dark wizard.

“You did after all try to have me arrested. Charged with crimes. And if you had had your way, you would have had me swinging from a rope.”

“After what you did? You deserved far worse!”

“Well at least you admit your crime.”

The wizard's grin grew broader and Elron's blood almost froze in his veins. Then he charged him, yelling as loudly as he could. Only to find that he could do neither. His body wouldn't respond to him. His legs wouldn't move and air wouldn't come out of his mouth.

“I wouldn't want you to die in ignorance.”

The wizard gestured then, a minor flick of his fingers and suddenly Elron found himself flying backwards faster than any arrow ever loosed. But only for a fraction of a heartbeat. Then he hit something; hard.

There was a terrible crack that seemed to run right through him, and even before he felt the pain he knew it was bad. Then he felt the pain, raw and vivid and knew it was worse. His armour had broken, most of his bones too and he knew he was dead. It was just that there was a little bit of time between being killed and actually being dead.

Long enough to feel himself fall to the ground. To see the grass rise up to meet him and be unable to put out a hand to stop his face smashing into it. Long enough to hear the dark wizard laughing as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

And long enough to wish that Yorik had done the complete job and killed him thoroughly. Vengeance be damned, it was right that this wizard die horribly. It wasn't even for justice. It was just that something like Mayfall should never have existed.

Maybe, he prayed, Yorik would still get that chance.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

When Yorik and Myral finally emerged from the trees to see the city properly it came as a shock to them. They had known for some time as they'd ridden their ancient plough horse that things ahead were not right in Hammeral.

The acrid smell of wood smoke that hung in the air. The carrion birds they could see circling high above. The unnatural silence of the wildlife. All were signs that things were bad. But they had said nothing as they'd ridden their poor horse to the city. Neither of them had wanted to say anything that might reveal their fears.

But when they finally saw the city before them all their fears were proven true.

Hammeral was destroyed. That was about the best that could be said for the city, and it would have been easy to have said much worse. Too easy. Yorik should have said that it had been murdered.

The houses – all of them – were broken, smashed in to pieces and lying on the ground under what trees that were still standing. They were kindling. As for the trees themselves – those that were left from the huge plantation of massive oaks, pines, redwoods and cedars that had once stood proud and glorious as the heart of the city – they were burnt and broken as well.

And those were the ones that remained upright. Many didn't. A great many had been simply ripped out of the ground and tossed aside. Their trunks lay strewn everywhere – right across the great clearing that had been the heart of the city. The very land that had been the heart of the town was no longer green but rather black and brown. It had been torn apart, gouged with massive craters, and the grass blackened by fire.

All of those things were terrible, but even they didn't compare to the people.

There were bodies everywhere. So many of them were torn, broken and bloody. They looked as if they had been strewn around by a giant who picked them up in their hundreds and thousands, and scattered them like grains of wheat being sown in the wind. But these grains would not grow into plants in time.

So many of them! Young and old, men and women, the elderly and the young. All dead. No one had been spared. And most of them had been torn apart.

The only life they could see anywhere were the scavengers; black birds, crows and wild dogs, feasting on what was surely the largest banquet they had ever known.

As Yorik stared at them from the opening to the glade, he couldn't believe he was actually seeing what his eyes were showing him. It was simply too terrible. But it was also true. And it was his fault.

Because he knew this was Mayfall's doing. This wasn't the Dark One's undead – or not them alone. There were some bodies around that looked like the remains of the undead. There were also countless piles of ash and bone that he was sure had once been them. But the Dark One's necromancers could never have caused the terrible physical destruction he was staring at. No undead creature could ever have torn hundred and fifty foot tall trees out of the ground and hurled them aside. That took magic; powerful and terrible magic. And it took hatred. The hatred that Mayfall had.

Besides, as they'd travelled Yorik had come to accept that the Dark One wasn't involved at all. It was all Mayfall. Myral couldn't say that for sure. It was hard to see how the thane could have been responsible for everything that had happened. After all as far as they knew the first time he had appeared had been at the temple of Wind Dragon Falls. And besides, thanes were elemental wizards. They conjured lightning, fire, force, light and so forth. Incredibly powerful, but not necromancers. But he was convinced it wasn't the great demon. The ghost dragon had said as much. And Mayfall was the only other suspect they had on their list as far as Yorik knew. It was a short list.

There had been rumours before the dark wizard had finally shown his true nature that he had been turning to the forbidden arts. Demonancy and necromancy. There had never been any proof. But when Yorik had killed him or nearly killed him, he had witnessed his demon summoning. So why not necromancy? And he had claimed responsibility for the undead dire wolves around Myral's clearing. Besides the undead had only started walking at around the same time he had killed Mayfall.

So the cause of all this Yorik knew in his heart, was Mayfall. And it was his fault, no matter what Myral said. The pain of his injuries was as nothing compared to the pain of his soul when he realised that. His failure, his vengeance, had led to this. But he knew better than to speak of his pain. Myral had no tolerance for his self loathing, and in any case it would not help. Mayfall had to be stopped.

The attack had happened some days ago. The bodies showed signs of decay; skin blackening, bellies starting to bulge. And the smell – it wasn't overpowering yet – but the corruption of death was well under way.

Yorik had seen death before, in all its forms. It was a part of the life of a paladin. But never had he seen so much death in one place. So many innocents lost to the world.

Though it was likely a foolish thing to do when there might still be enemies about, he bowed his head in silent prayer to the Lady for the strength to carry on, and to stop whoever or whatever had done this from doing it again. He needed strength.

He had been praying a lot lately. Drawing on the Lady's strength ceaselessly as he tried to heal his broken body. And it was broken. The ribs had healed and he could breathe more easily, but whatever was wrong with his shoulder blade would not heal so easily. He had been drawing on her will too as she told him again and again of what she stood for. Of what his vows to her were about. He needed her guidance. He needed to never make another mistake.

“How?”

Myral finally asked the question, sounding just as shocked as Yorik felt.

“Mayfall.”

Yorik didn't even have to wonder. He just told him the answer. The evidence of what had happened was strewn all around them. The fields of golden armour clad corpses told him everything he needed to know. This wasn't the Dark One. The Dark One had never been involved at all. He was just something Mayfall had used to hide behind. To conceal his identity. The great demon might raise the dead through his necromancers, but even he couldn't rip whole trees out of the ground and hurl them around. That was the work of a wizard of unbridled power. And Mayfall was done with hiding.

Mayfall, thane or not, had simply walked in, leading the armies of the undead, and rendered the Order completely helpless. And then between him and the undead, they had destroyed the town, murdered everyone. They had gone on a rampage of destruction and spared no one.

“How many?” Myral gave voice to the terrible question.

Was he asking how many had died, or how many had survived? Even Yorik didn't know. But he was certain that though he'd asked the question he didn't want to find out the answer. The bodies scattered around the glade had to number in their thousands, and too many of them were unarmed civilians. So many were women and children.

But the bodies were so damaged, so many of them weren't bodies at all – they were just pieces – and they were scattered so widely among the burnt out remains of the city, that there was no way of knowing. No way of even counting. Especially not when many of them had been undead before they had been destroyed.

Still, some must have survived. Many. While thousands possibly many thousands – were dead, at least some must have survived. Yorik could not believe that this was a grave for a hundred thousand people. He looked at the ancient wizard and saw the same deep lines of pain etched in his face that he knew were on his. Etched into his heart. But duty did not allow for weakness and there were things that had to be done.

“Myral, do you know where the survivors fled to?”

With the battlefield so confused, he knew he would never be able to track them as they had obviously fled in all directions. But they were elves and maybe the ancient wizard could tell him where elves might flee for sanctuary. Though perhaps not for a while. It would be a while before Myral could do much at all.

He was over five hundred years old, even if much of that time had been spent as a tree, and for the first time since Yorik had known him, he looked every one of those years. The lines on his face had multiplied, and his normal robust tan had faded until he looked almost ashen. But the look in his eyes – loss, shock, grief and confusion – that was what truly spoke of his age and infirmity. He just shook his head and Yorik didn't press him any further. There was no point. Not now. There were more practical questions to ask.

“Is his power without end?” It was a terrible question to ask, but looking at the ruin all around him Yorik had to ask it. If they were to fight him, even defeat him, he had to know. He had to find a weakness in the dead wizard.

“Without end? No. Just very great. Greater than we can withstand.”

“And how could he strike here? The foreteller said … ?”

Yorik didn't finish his sentence. Myral and Annalisse were close and it would not be a good thing to have to speak her name out loud to him. Not when they were surrounded by so much death. The elf surely knew what he was asking and that he was right to ask it. After all, Annalisse had come to the city because her visions had said that this was where she and her family would be safe. Where the armies would come together to stand as one and where the final battle would be fought. And the Order had been brought here because it was here that they would make their stand. That they would fight back and finally defeat the enemy. Or so he and his brothers had been told so long ago. But now it seemed that her visions were a lie. Could the thane, could Mayfall have sent them to her? Again it was a question that needed to be asked, as well as whether the foreteller and her family were lying there in the long grass with the rest of the dead. But Myral didn't answer him, and Yorik knew why. He had no answer.

Besides, it could wait. Everything could wait.

For the longest time they stood there, staring, lost in their shock and pain, before Yorik remembered his duty. Mixed in among the dead were the bodies of his brothers and sisters in arms. He had to find them, bless them, say goodbye, and pray to the Lady for their souls. In truth he should also have buried them, but there were so many it was never going to be possible for just the two of them.

Besides, he had to find the heads of the Order. He had to find out if they survived; if the Order survived. And if it did, then that was his destination. But when he had bowed his head of late the Lady had been quiet. She was still there, still helping him with his injuries, but speaking little. Now he guessed he knew the reason. So many of her children had been killed that she was lost in her own grief. And she hadn't wanted to burden him with that.

“You should find yourself some new armour.”

Myral finally broke the silence. He was right of course. The broken gold that had been his armour was all but useless as its remains hung off him, and he knew his brothers would not object. They wouldn't have objected even if they were alive. Paladins often shared their armour. Armour was expensive and took time and effort to forge, and as the paladins changed in shape little by little as the years passed, swapping pieces was easier than returning to the smiths for further fittings.

Besides, a lot of the armour was scattered everywhere, torn off the bodies of the wearers in the frenzy of the attack.

“And you should see if you can summon us some fresh horses.”

Yorik didn't like giving orders to the wizard, especially when he looked so old and sick. But it was the right thing to do. They needed fresh horses – the old plough horse they had bought from a farmer was on her last legs – and the wizard desperately needed something to do. Something to take his mind off the horror in front of them.

“And then plot us a fast course to the Land of The Sky.”

Yorik didn't want to go there. He knew the sylph would not welcome them. And it was so far away that it felt like they were riding away from the battle when they should be fighting. But if anyone knew how to fight Mayfall it was them. And he had to be fought. He had to be killed. Yorik had to finally kill him.

In the end this was all his fault. These dead should be laid at his feet. And the only thing he could do was try to stop too many more joining them. That was his purpose. His only purpose. To kill Mayfall.

After that he could kill himself.