The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) (22 page)

So far the battle succeeded. The Ulrog were disorganized and poorly prepared. Olith smiled to himself. In all of these centuries of fighting, neither Ulrog nor Zodrian learned. The Keltaran were not a people constrained to the tactics of what they were supposed to do, but a dynamic force always ready to gamble and surprise. He turned to the black-robed giant standing to his right.

“Brother Shor. We are in luck. I see no fire of Chaos to support the Hackles. Perhaps their Malveel masters meet at another location.”

“I wish that were true general.” replied the monk. “But the heavy concentration of fighters to the north leads me to believe otherwise.”

Olith squinted and allowed his eyes to roam in the direction Shor motioned. The melee loomed thick and the figures of Ulrog, Keltaran foot soldiers and cavalry blurred together. A geyser of red flame erupted from within the swarm and splashed down upon Ulrog and Keltaran alike.

“One of the beasts comes to life.” stated Shor.

Vespewl’s wild red eyes swept across the battle. Black blood oozed from a long gash rent beneath the scales armoring his head. Fury boiled within him. He knew a Keltaran inflicted the gash, but the ultimate blame lay upon the arrogant stupidity of Vespewl and his Malveel brothers.

How could they think that a cornered and desperate foe would not attempt the unthinkable? In all these years the humans proved their resourcefulness under pressure. As the forces of Amird gathered for the final blow, the Malveel ignored these lessons of the past. Arrogance and Stupidity.

Vespewl turned and a great claw snatched an Ulrog tracker from the ground.

“You will go to the Army of Minm and find Woil. If he is not under attack yet, tell him he will be shortly,” growled the beast through snapping fangs. “Then move on to the encampment of Sulgor the Magnificent. Tell him to attack the home of the scribes now, while we engage the Keltaran here!”

Vespewl tossed the Ulrog in the direction of the Mnim camp and spun back into the battle, releasing a great plume of fire across all in his path.

“AND TELL THAT IMBECILE NAGRET TO BOLSTER MY EAST FLANK!” roared the Malveel lord.

“The beast puts pressure on the center of our line general,” stated Brother Shor.

Olith nodded his understanding. The Ulrog shifted into a fighting unit and the Malveel lord rallied his minions to his cause.

“If the center of the line breaks, half of our forces may be cut off from retreat,” continued Brother Shor.

Olith frowned then sighed.

“I hoped for more damage from our first wave,” said the general. “At this rate we accomplish nothing and send our men into greater peril. Signal your reserves, Brother Shor. We march into the fray only long enough to affect a proper retreat.”

Shor bowed then moved forward into the full vision of the one hundred black-robed giants arrayed around him. He raised his long handled pike on high.

“Brotherhood of Awoi! We march into the teeth of the beast!”

The group leveled their weapons and raced down the hill toward the blistering glow of Chaos fire.

Nagret the Shadow finished his report to Woil and moved through the Army of Mnim eyeing the Hackles under the Lamentation’s control. Their numbers were great and they appropriately averted their eyes as the Malveel lord passed amongst them. Many knew him only through reputation, but it pleased Nagret to see how his ruthlessness instilled the proper respect in the slaves of Amird.

Regret crept into the mind of the Shadow. By rights he should control these Hackles. He stood next in line to gain command of one of Amird’s great armies. In the past, the hierarchy of the Malveel was well established.  Vespewl ruled his Zorim fighters. Greeb owned the Mnim. He and Wulak shared responsibilities in the Scythtar under Woil’s management. Upon Greeb’s death, Nagret became the logical choice to succeed the One Eye in the valley, leaving Woil more control over the larger Scythtar.

However, the grab for power by Woil and the consolidation of Zorim and Scythtar under Vespewl left Nagret with scant control. He stalked westward  carrying a message from Woil back to Vespewl. The Malveel lord gnashed his fangs. He acted as an errand boy for the brethren.

The clash of battle arose from the distant western camp of the Scourge. The Hackles surrounding Nagret raised their eyes and searched the fog. Tension filled their stony bodies. Nagret’s lip curled in disgust over their ignorance. Surely some infighting resulted from forcing separate Ulrog camps into such close quarters. These incidents were inevitable. He halted.

“My Scythtar packs do not like being forced into close proximity with the likes of the Zorim dogs,” smiled Nagret. “I am sure a few found it so distasteful they endeavor to show Vespewl’s Hackles the hierarchy in the battle to come.”

Several of the trackers within the group smiled in understanding and the fighters present noted the relaxation of the trackers.

“However, let it be known, your Malveel lords do not approve of fighting amongst yourselves. Insubordination detracts from the greater purpose at hand. I will see to the squabble and rebuke those who transgress orders,”  Nagret snarled, “ .... but I will take my time to allow my Scythtar a bit of pleasure before the pain.”

More of the Hackles smiled and growled in appreciation of Nagret’s wicked jest. The Shadow basked in their approval and deliberately strutted forward, his head held high.

A heaving tracker burst into the encampment. His black eyes darted frantically and fell upon Nagret.

“My lord,” he growled dropping to one knee. “The Keltaran are upon us.”

Nagret drew a deep hissing breath and his fiery eyes widened in shock.

“Lord Vespewl begs for your assistance on his western flank,” continued the tracker. “I am to continue on to Lord Woil with news of the attack.”

Nagret’s expression changed from dismay to intensity.

“Hebegsfor my assistance?” asked Nagret.

The tracker knew better than to contradict his report.

“My Lord Vespewl asks you to protect his flank,” he replied.

“By what means?” snapped Nagret.

“He did not say,” returned the tracker, averting his eyes to the ground.

Nagret’s eyes widened as he mulled the implications. He lowered his head and spun on the Hackles camped before him.

“All those within hearing of my voice are now under my authority,” bellowed Nagret. “Lord Vespewl commands me to come to his aid. You will now domy bidding as we rally to the side of my Malveel brother.”

He spun back to the tracker.

“You will fulfill your task, tracker. Go to Lord Woil and inform him that I commandeer half of the Mnim on the authority of Lord Vespewl.”

The tracker nodded his understanding and Nagret scanned the Ulrog masses for nearby priests.

“You,” he snarled at the red robed Hackles. “You are now my command staff. Form this rabble into some rank and set them at a run to the west!”

Vespewl raged through a mass of Brodor riding giants. They hacked at his scale armored flanks with battle axe and slammed his powerful limbs with their war hammers. All was to no avail. Lord Vespewl, third of the Chosen of Amird felt none of it. His powerful forearms knocked hammers spinning from the hands of the largest of the giants then slammed their bodies to the ground, piercing them through with his nine inch stone claws.

This was the true power of the Malveel, a beast built for killing.  Vespewl reveled in it. He hadn’t felt such power or such fear in a century. He decided long ago to forgo the fight and preserve himself for the coming of Amird. He disregarded all of that now as he raked a Keltaran giant from the back of a rushing Brodor. The Ulrog rallying to the side of their master made short work of the Keltaran.

Vespewl knew not why the Keltaran ventured out from behind the paltry defense the walls of Delvi afforded them, and he cared not. They dared to believe they could inflict damage uponhis army! Their delusions would be their undoing.

“The Keltaran commander leads pike men from the hills, my lord,” shouted a tracker at Vespewl’s side.

The Scourge’s eyes rose to the west and he spied a group of giants ranging toward the gap his force pushed through the Keltaran line.

“Olith of Keltar,” snarled Vespewl. “I owe you a debt.”

The Malveel launched his massive body forward, slamming a shoulder into a pair of heavily armored Brodors. Riders tumbled from saddles. The horses themselves crumpled to the ground, broken and shrieking in pain. Vespewl trod upon the horses’ thrashing bodies as he closed on the Keltaran pike line sweeping down the hill.

Olith led his men at a full charge toward the fiery-eyed demon and its escort of rampaging stone men. He could see how the Malveel edged directly toward him. It appeared clear that Vespewl the Mighty Scourge sought retribution. A devilish grin played on the old giant’s face as he drew the broadsword of his brother Grannak from the sheath strapped to his back. If he died striking a blow for Avra, let it be a blow aimed at the heart of Amird’s campaign on this earth. One never knew, with a bit of luck ...

Utecht hefted his battle axe from the crushed skull of the lifeless Hackle splayed at his feet. The fighting grew less intense. The mass of Hackles filling his vision thinned and the melee broke into the smaller skirmishes common of such big battles.

The Keltaran sergeant scanned the battlefield quickly and soon discovered the reason for the wane in intensity. Hackles everywhere streamed toward the proximity of their leader, the Malveel in charge. The beast rushed from the main battle toward a confrontation with the Brotherhood of Awoi as it rolled down the western hills toward the fight.

“Keltaran!” shouted Utecht above the din. “To the west and Lord Olith! Victory is near!”

Olith’s muscles tensed. Surely it would take all of his strength to absorb a blow from the Malveel and try to drive the blade through its thick hide. The fiery eyes rushed toward him and the size of the beast multiplied with every step.

Suddenly, Brother Shor and a half dozen monks sprinted past the general, forming a line in front of him. Shor glanced back to his leader. Their eyes met.

“Swordsmen to the back ranks for clean up,” shouted the monk with a smile. “The charge is the glory of the pike men.”

The monk spun forward and rushed at Vespewl.

In the east, Woil bathed his own battle in fire. His conflagration caught Ulrog and Eru horsemen alike. The Lamentation cared not who perished. All appeared clear to him. Those trapped in the city of the scribes initiated a desperate attempt to stave off annihilation. Possibly, they intended to break from their confines and scatter to the four corners of this world. No matter. Woil would bask in the glory of Amird when he crushed this challenge in the iron fist of the Army of Mnim.

The Eru formed one of their intricate war circles. Woil heard reports of how they devastated The One Eye’s ranks. He raged as his Ulrog recoiled and backed down. They were stupid beasts but their memory reached far enough to recall the pain of the previous week at the Derol’s edge.  Woil refused to let them falter.

The Malveel lord raked the soft loam of the southern plains beneath his massive claws and plunged past his minions directly into the swirling maelstrom. The first rider to encounter his wrath fell from the razor edge of his outstretched wings. The vise grip of the Malveel ripped the second rider’s stallion from beneath him. The flames of Chaos engulfed the horseman before he could rise.

Even as he wreaked havoc on the circle, Woil knew he exposed himself. A dozen Eru arrows snapped off the stony scales armoring the beast’s back. Sparks flew as riders streamed past the Malveel, raking his hide with their curved cutlass blades.

“Break the circle!” roared the Chosen to his Hackles.

The stone men came alive and rushed into the breach created by Woil. The Hackles swarmed to the sides of their master.  The circle slowed, broke and then dissipated in confusion.

“Retreat and reform.” shouted Temujen.

The Eru riders spun their mounts and poured south.

Sulgor burst through the partition into the inner chamber of Izgra’s traveling pavilion. The Half-Dead stood naked, bathed in the red light of Chaos fire. His flesh clung tightly to the bone beneath its rotting surface.  The warlock spun on the Malveel.

“You go too far,” hissed Izgra raising his hands. “He is close. Your interruptions delay his return!”

“We are under attack,” snarled Sulgor in reply.

Izgra’s eyes widened in shock. Sulgor recognized the surprise and moved forward.

“You did not foresee this,” stated the Malveel king.

Izgra paused and his upper lip quivered in anger.

“My Lord Amird does not share all,” he growled. “Perhaps he keeps information back for a purpose. Perhaps he understands how some lose their conviction when they are aware of the challenges ahead.”

Sulgor stalked forward and the glow around the Half-Dead intensified.

“I lose neither conviction nor faith, warlock,” snapped Sulgor. “If you wish to see the conquest of the Zodrian Guard, ready yourself. They attack us.”

Sulgor spun and exited the tent.

Every animal in the line of cavalry snorted and stamped in agitation save one. The Black stood stone still, head held high. The sights and sounds of battle were commonplace to the huge, dark stallion.

Manfir sat atop his mount and surveyed the scene before him. On the right, archers and pike men harried the advancing Ulrog. Dravgo Shandley did his best to contain the surge. On the left, General Wynard actually made progress against the Ulrog Horde. If any other man commanded those units, Manfir might show concern. However, Wynard knew the tricks of battle and Manfir thought him exceptionally capable.

As if in response to his thoughts, Manfir witnessed Wynard turn his front line from the advance and fall back fifty yards. The Ulrog retreat slowed and a few zealous priests turned the Hackles back upon the Zodrian cavalry. The fight joined again.

The center of the Zodrian line remained the key. Brelg and dozens of foot soldiers squared off in intense combat with the heart of the Ulrog army. Flair and his cavalry units danced their speedy horses up and down the line in a frenzied attempt to plug any holes allowed by Brelg and the foot soldiers.